Burn In

by J.O. Williams (September 2025)

 

Paul Johnson, when he had a good job with the Westinghouse Electric Company, sold semiconductors to the Navy and Air Force. The products were military standard diodes and SCRs (silicon-controlled rectifiers) that were deployed in the guidance systems of the Mark 45 torpedo and the AGM-2 Walleye glide bomb. To ensure that these components would not fail when activated (failure of a torpedo guidance system can lead to quite undesirable results; a poorly guided Walleye would at least not attack its sender but may cause unfortunate collateral damage on the ground), to avoid either negativity, the Westinghouse Youngwood Plant burned-in the semiconductors for 168 hours. That is, they were subjected to the most extreme of electrical cycles for enough hours that if they had not failed burn-in they were highly unlikely to fail in their few minutes of actual operation.

Paul therefore argued with his stepson Nicholas about the burn-in they performed on their audio equipment. Nick said it was just to condition the component, especially speaker cones perhaps not flexed before shipment, while Paul claimed it was necessary to subject components to failure mode while still under warranty. This was one of the few arguments they conducted about their audio systems and record collections, Paul having encouraged Nicholas in reproducing music as realistic as possible, and occasionally regretting that he would be called upon to help finance things like a $4000 LP record needle (please, a phono cartridge!) bought discounted to $3000 as a demo unit. (But burn-in may not be a good thing for a stylus, Paul cautioned). And so on and so on.

This disagreement about audio burn-in was nothing compared to their agreement on music. From the day Paul found himself a new step-father (Nick was fifteen then) and knocked on Nick’s bedroom door, entered and asked Nick if he could turn up the volume on AC/DC’s “Back in Black,” they clicked on everything from ABBA to Zappa with Bartok, Messiaen, and Strauss (all of the Johans plus Richard) in between. Spot quizzes on new music, side Bs and versions down to the orchestra and conductor became more commonplace when Nick owned his own home, married and became a father. Nick and Margaret’s child, Emma, grew and before they would have predicted, took on her elders and claimed no small victories with the likes of Ethel Cain, L’il BigToe, and Weyes Blood. Three strikes, boys! Yet the men aced Phoebe Bridgers’s “Funeral.”

Nick and his wife were both hybrid workers, and on those days that both were called into an actual office, Paul was called on to pick up and tend to Emma at his home until they retrieved her. She was eight years old when Paul began to get into trouble.

It started innocently enough. After she finished her homework, Emma would tell her granddad what game she wanted to play.  If she was undecided, they made one up. One such game, hardly original, was the Key Monster. Run and hide. Ring of keys rattles loudly. Prowling, growling. Giggling heard.  Monster attacks. Tickling until a real “Stop!” or “I’m going to pee!” is screamed.

The game had been over for while when Nick entered his step-father’s home and was met with the routine music quiz. The piece could not have been easier: Beethoven’s 5^th.  Identifying the orchestra could not have been harder, given that there were 269+ recordings of it. After given the answer, Nicholas did earn two points by identifying the Ramallah Concert as the occasion for the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra’s performance under Daniel Barenboim and one point for commenting that the Orchestra’s co-founder was Edward Said, an author whose “Beginnings” Paul had waved in Nick’s face more than once. Nicholas departed with eight points on his scorecard. So Paul was surprised when within an hour he received a phone call from Nick with concern in his voice.

“Hey Dad, can I talk to you for minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“You know how much we appreciate your watching Emma after school when we have to go in, really a lifesaver until one of us gets home.”

“Hey, my pleasure. When the day comes I can’t keep up with her she’ll be old enough to stay by herself…”

“Right and well, you know how Margaret gets over-protective sometimes, and…”

“Uh-oh—Margie? You don’t say…”

“No, no , nope with the ‘Margie,’ Dad. You know she can’t stand that. I mean she just mentioned again how her friend Pepper, I mean Sylvia, had her birth name legally changed from ‘Pepper’ after hating it for some thirty-odd years. And Margaret hates ‘Margie.’ And she really doesn’t like Margaret all that much.”

“Sylvia Borders now, huh? No more Pepper? No more picked a peck of pickled? What would you choose for Marge? ‘Ophelia’?’

“Quit! She hears you and you’ll hurt her feelings, so just let me tell you … that she was a little concerned with the game she heard you were playing with Emma, it started out being the key monster but it changed into, I don’t know…”

“Oh yeah, she said now she’s eight the key monster doesn’t scare her anymore, but you know how she likes to be tackled and tickled.”

“Yeah, sure, but you used to just blow on her tummy, but now?

“Still blowing, but chewing a little bit, too.  You know, the monster thing?”

“Did you tell Emma that she was going to be a snack? That you were so hungry you would eat her all up?”

“Every last bit. Why?”

“So Margaret, and I after all, would prefer that you cut out the cannibalism part. Back to blowing, Ok?”

“I never told Emma I was cannibal!”

“Right, just that you were going to eat her all up?”

“Oh for God’s sake! Ok. I’ll quit the chewing. Tell Mar-gar-et to re-lax. Did Emma say that it bothered her or I hurt her?’

“No, not exactly, she just was telling her Mom how the game had changed.”

“Was she upset?”

“No, she kinda laughed about it, but Margaret just thinks the, I don’t know, symbolism of the whole thing is not cool.”

“Oh, I am definitely not cool, but I shall adhere to your policy next Tuesday, right? is when you have that meeting in the city?”

“Yes, Ok Dad, same pickup time—love you!”

***

The next time a problem occurred Nick did not wait for Margaret to unsheathe her claws. Picking up Emma, Nick had performed his music quiz with aplomb despite his having taken a dislike for Cat Stevens after the Salman Rushdie kerfuffle, and Nick refused to identify him as Yusaf Islam. Nick acknowledged that his (“he’ll always be Cat Stevens to me”) composition just played, “White Flower of Srebrenica,” was “deeply moving, but it begs the question: can good art be made by bad people?”

“Who determines what is bad? Oscar Wilde was considered a monster, yet there is Salome and are you An Ideal Husband?” Paul replied.

Nick got his ten points marked on his scorecard and changed the subject.

“Couldn’t help but notice that the, uh, movie you were watching with her when I came in was a little gruesome. What was that?”

“Something Emma picked off the DVD case. Tried to talk her out of it, but she said she’s going to be a veterinarian so a little blood won’t scare her.”

Nick picked up the DVD case. “This it? Faces of Death? Really, Dad?”

“It’s not that bad, and I pointed out the fake scenes like the guy who supposedly, accidentally parachutes into the Gatorland Park. Chomp, chomp! Obviously fake. Emma had a good laugh at that, and the worst real scenes I made sure got fast-forwarded.”

“For instance?”

“The one where a man’s arms and legs are tied to two military jeeps and they pull him apart—that one even creeps me out—the arms come off first, by the way. And the restaurant where the diners hammer the skulls of live monkeys to eat their fresh brains—skipped it.”

“Dad! She’s going to have nightmares!”

“She’s tougher than you think, like the scene where this crowd has a guy on the ground and they’re kicking him to death?  Emma asked me to pause it as the camera was pulling back and you could see most of the crowd, and she examined the screen and asked me, “Granddad, I don’t see any women here, do you?” I shook my head and she asked why, and I must say I presented the case for how this was the male’s natural tendency for violence, and that masculine trait is becoming obsolete, how it now causes only harm and eliminating it somehow would be a good thing.”

“So Faces of Death became a teachable moment?”

“OK, marginal, given the context, but yes, I will cull my DVD case of, let’s say, the great Jeremy Iron’s Lolita, the Director’s cut of Deep Throat, even Titane which no one understands anyway, and for sure Irreversible, and any other body horror flick unsuitable for young eyes.”

“Thank you, and just hope Emma doesn’t give her mother highlights of today’s viewing pleasure.”

***

You would think that Paul had learned a lesson on appropriate movie viewing for a nine-year old (Emma was nine now), but no. He had for her another questionable teaching moment when they watched together that minor masterpiece which featured LA Gaudi architecture and was perhaps the lowest Metacritic-rating for an excellent film ever that proves what my wife says: “what do critics know that I don’t?” (anyone care to guess the movie or answer my wife?).

The routine music quiz also had some architecture-related content. The composition was another easy one for Nick when he heard the tenor sing “What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?” but the performers were not easily determined until Paul flashed the record jacket at him for a brief moment. The all-black Decca record sleeve and the word “Requiem” Nick caught, followed by amazement. “Where have you been hiding the original Britten, with the Russian, the German and the British singers? The premier consecrating the Coventry Cathedral that had been destroyed in the blitz? Paul, really, do you have any other gems I need to hear, need to borrow, s’il vous plais? Really!”

Paul’s carrying home Britten’s War Requiem was not enough to forestall the call, this time from Margaret, the next evening, concerning the previous day’s movie instructions from 8 Million Ways to Die.

“Hello Paul…”

“Hi Marge- aret, how’s things?”

“Oh, just a question about Emma’s visit yesterday…”

“Okay…”

“How is it that I got a call from Ms. Lockmiller at Emma’s school—seems like our little girl was informing other students of a certain scene in 8 Million Ways to Die, which I have never heard of, that it contains 83 variations on the ‘f’ word…”

“You’re talking about the word ‘fuck’, right?”

“Yes sir, and why should I know this? Because, evidently, you have exposed Emma to a certifiable ‘R” rated movie without asking us first. And where did she come up with the number 83?”

“And yet, an ‘R’ rating requires anyone under seventeen to be accompanied by an adult. Emma is under seventeen and me, the adult, accompanied her, and if you had watched this scene—I mean it has the young Andy Garcia—first time I ever saw him—playing Angel—so good looking, but slick, even a little slimy and Jeff Bridges playing a massive alcoholic, and so between them is a pile of cocaine, and Angel has Jeff’s girlfriend’s head tied to a shotgun and is fucking demanding that his cocaine be handed over…”

“Would you stop now?  Stop!”

“Well, we did stop. And I rewound the scene to where the first iteration of ‘fuck’ was said, and we counted the number of variations on the theme of ‘fuck’ and came up with 83—awesome and Emma could hardly count halfway through because she was laughing so hard. Good lesson on burning-in the offensive word, you know, diminishing the power of a word that you seem to have trouble saying.”

“Look, Paul, you do a great job helping us out with Emma, and she apparently loves having you do so. But would you do me a big favor and please not expose her to any more R-rated stuff? And I don’t think Ms. Lockmiller cared hearing about Andy Garcia saying the ‘f’ word 83 times since it made the rounds at school. Imagine.”

“Oh, I imagine that you want me to change my modus operandi, make my journey with Emma less random, change my narrative, so to say, from being in the moment to being less in the now?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“It’s like when I’m with my fam, I like to be present, a little Zenny.”

“Huh?”

“Seems like you want me to become a better version of myself. But I like this version and I’m not sure a new version would be all that stable. Could this new version even give my old version permission … permission to change? Do I have your permission? Maybe I have to turn my ‘shoulds’ into ‘musts’? Prioritize outcomes? Empower myself? Maybe holistic energy fields is the way, my path, my journey? And healing oneself, is healing involved? Who’s to say? Crystals? To be or not to be? Bzzzzzzz!”

“All right. I think you may have started a little early on the Manhattans. And you’ve made your point. Don’t need go overboard.”

“Will do, at least not without my lifejacket, and since you give a fuck, I won’t be counting any more with Emma, if I can help it.”

***

After that last exchange it seemed that Nick and Margaret had no simultaneous office days for weeks. Then, slowly, one pickup from school, then another, with no confrontations about film recaps, obscenity recitations, or cannibalism. Had Paul contained his behavior? No, as a phone call from Emma’s school would exemplify after an examination of her wrists showed an unnatural chaffed redness, resulting in the following:

“Hey Nick.  This can’t be about the “Inside Out” movie?  I mean, that’s supposed to be a good thing, right? Oh, oh, did Emma tell you where I got it? Hey, it’s not like…”

“No, no, nothing about that. We just need to … can you maybe come over so we can talk about this not on the phone?”

“Why, has your cell been tapped?”

“No, it’s just that Margaret and I, we both need to talk about this with you. Better in person, you know, OK?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a few, but what’s this about—don’t leave me in suspense.”

“It’s, well, we got a call from the school’s counselor that we’re not sure what went on, but not on the phone, OK?”

***

Paul was about to enter his stepson’s home having gone over all the things he had introduced into Emma’s life over the past few months that could rise to objection: a snack of jalapeño pub cheese and crackers? Did it upset her stomach? Did Emma imply they were in a pub? The exploration of the Prado Book of Art? The river of skulls in Bruegel’s Triumph of Death? Emma laughed at that (so many skulls!). Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights had plenty of nudity but they were the least of the frightening images in the triptych as all the nudes were genital-less, like Ken and Barbie. She had also listened to Saint-Saens’ Danse Macabre?  They play that every Halloween.  Oh, oh, wait, yes there was that scene from Adams’ Death of Klinghoffer?  Well, yes, that was … too much. Okay, I’ll take my medicine. But John Adams is like … really?

“Feel like I’ve been called into the Principal’s office. What’s going on?  Hey Margaret, you look disturbed,” Paul began when the two who answered the door spoke not.

“Well, any mother would be who got a call like the one I got from Ms. Lockmiller, the school counselor, today.”

“Lockmiller … how do I know that name? Was she the one who asked the parents to sign off on their child’s pronouns, including the kindergartners, until that lawsuit did what? Shut her down?”

“Yes, that one, but she has the children’s interests at heart.”

“How many of them deeply, in their heart, care about pronouns?”

“Well, none now, apparently—but this is beside the point…”

“Which is?”

“Apparently, Ms. Lockmiller overheard two of Emma’s friends talking about how, when her granddad babysat her, he would use his neckties to tie her up, like she was an animal. Around the ankles and wrists.  To a table or couch. What were you doing? I don’t want to even think about … child bondage. Lockmiller was ready to call Child Protective Services, and she called you the Dom and Emma the Sub? I don’t even know what that means, but I held her off until we could talk to you.”

“And I do appreciate that. Did Ms. Lockmiller speak with Emma about this? Horse’s mouth type thing?”

“Oh no, she said she did not want to make Emma relive the trauma.”

“Oh my, yes, the trauma. We all have been so traumatized … by life! First thing, Lockmiller doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There was no trauma. But there was laughing, frolicking.  Let’s ask Emma, with no prompting, how the wolf ties up the lamb until it escapes and hides.”

“We put her to bed already so she wouldn’t be part of this discussion. So, she’s probably asleep by now, and…

“No, momma, I’m awake and heard Granddad. If there’s a problem, I wanted to give him this back,” came the voice from the top of the stairs.

“She asked to borrow it to practice tying herself up.  You see, Emma was the inventor of the game. Emma, how do we play the wolf versus lamb game?”

“You tie me up and then you go away to make a fire to cook me with and I untie myself and escape while you’re gone and I hide. Then you try to find me and chase me round the house until you get me again and use this to tie me up again. And my legs!”

“Thank you, Emma—that sounds about right, except your little ‘baa-baa’s give you away when I pretend to be your mother with the big ‘baa-baa’s!”

“Can we show Momma and Dad our game now?”

“Emma, I think your Mom wants you in bed, but I’ll come up and tuck you in so good you can’t escape.”

“Okay!”

“Well, apparently Ms. Lockmiller got the wrong idea, and was just doing her job,” Nicholas said.

“Well, as an apparent parents, you maybe should make sure her job doesn’t neglect things like facts, reality, speaking with the person who actually might know the truth of the matter, apparently. And if you want us to stop playing the tie-up game, just tell Emma she can’t, and give her the reason, or she’ll ask me to play the next time we’re together. Also, have Ms. Lockmiller read Chekhov’s short story ‘Overheard.’ ”

“Now Dad, you have right to be feel … misunderstood, but we can do without the sarcasm.”

“Good! Because I can do without the police beating down my door, so yes, next time there is a ‘misunderstanding’ let’s do a little digging first…”

“Sorry.”

“Me, too.”

***

On what was to be Paul’s final, routine, child-sitting-after-school episode he had already placed the LP record—the 2003 Harnoncourt of Mozart’s Requiem: where did Mozart end and Süssmayr begin?—on his turntable and readied his home for Emma’s visit. Marinated artichoke hearts, Gouda cheese and non-fat buttermilk, loaf of sourdough, the routine snack, was plated. He was not aware of the significance of this visit, but it was to be the end of Emma’s burn-in period to the nervous system of the human race.

“I guess you heard what I got for my tenth birthday?”

“I did hear, and I’m not sure I like it all that much.”

“Why? It’ll be cool. My own phone, even if it’s just a flip-phone.”

“Right. A lifeline if you need it when you start staying by yourself. But you will check in with me?”

“Not every day.  Sides, you’re at the gym every other day.”

“So call me on tue-thur, K?

“Okay, if you insist.

“I do.”

“So what are we going to do this afternoon? Momma says I’m too old to play the lamb-wolf game, so…”

“You’re too old? What about me? I play it. I love it!! But, your mother will be obeyed. And since you’re so much older now, let’s have some fun with history, or her-story, if you please.”

“What kind of history?”

“Modern history?”

“That’s not history—that’s current events.”

“Okay then current events that reach back, let’s say 4000 years.”

“What’s that, then?”

“What do you know about the West Bank and the Gaza Strip?”

“Only that they’re part of Israel. “

“Good! Not ‘part of’ but ‘occupied by.’ A good start. Here, this area on the map is the West Bank, so we’ll begin there even though Gaza may be gone by the time we get to it.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“We’ll get to that, but first, three words. Pull up the dictionary. First thing we do, we’ll look at words in three foreign languages: Palestinian, German and French. You know those foreigners, exchange students, who speak two or more languages? The Spanish family next door? We need to keep up! Let’s see what ‘an-Nakba,’ and  ‘Lebensraum,’ and ‘Abattoir’ mean. Wonder what the Hebrew translation for those words are?”

For a few hours after Emma’s visit Paul suspected his phone might ring. That night there was a response from neither his stepdaughter-in-law nor his stepson.

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J.O. Williams has taught World Literature and Mathematics in the Tennessee Community College System, while his other work experience ranges from marketing for White Consolidated to IT Technical Support for Life Care Centers of America. Episodes from these jobs were the inspiration for his work.