“What kind of music would you like?” Music? “Yes. You’ll have earphones on. We can play music through them. What kind of music do you want? Country? Rock? We have all kinds.” The test was to last about thirty-five minutes. Can I have Classic? “Classic? Sure. Beethoven? We have all sorts of discs. Would you like Beethoven?” Beethoven is OK. How about Tchaikovsky? Chopin? Something soothing – adagios by anybody. “We’re going to start now. The music won’t begin for a few moments. You’ll hear other noises.” There was movement – vertical; horizontal – and then bright light. There was a series of noises: clicks; buzzing; thumps. The music began. It was Beethoven. The music was uninterrupted for a few seconds, then other sounds began. They were like something from Star Wars – the ponderous, menacing movement of a Battlestation; the whine of diving Federation fighters. There were odd sounds – conversation among robots. I fancied that the engineers that had constructed the MRI unit had seen Star Wars many times each. Or perhaps it was the other way around – in order to work on the sound effects of Star Wars one had to experience many MRI’s. But that didn’t work out time-wise. At least I didn’t think so. Then a new experience: thumps and bangs accompanied by vibration. The invasion of the Clone People. Through it all, Beethoven bravely played on. But he was deaf. Perhaps he couldn’t hear all the other noises – only the grand and monumental strains that flowed, uninterrupted, in his mind. There was a brief respite. The music ceased. A shifting of machinery took place and then the process began again. More Beethoven; more odd noises. Then it was over. The music stopped. There was no more Star Wars - only a fast, rhythmic thumping. Perhaps an oxygen pump? I missed the music. The driving rhythm of the pump was hypnotic. It reminded me of the concluding strains of Liszt’s Second Hungarian Rhapsody. The music ran through my mind and with it the vision of Tom and Jerry of cartoon fame playing out their routine of the pianist giving a performance in Carnegie Hall and the mouse that lived in the concert grand piano being disturbed by the unwelcome noise. Finally all noise ceased. In my mind, Jerry replaced the now-unconscious Tom and, having played the final chord of the performance himself, took his bows before the wildly applauding audience. The exam had been concluded. I sat up on the cot on which I had reclined for the past half hour or so and looked at the tunnel-like machine from which I had just exited. Had I really been in that thing? I was glad I wasn’t paying for the test out of my own pocket. I’m sure it was damn expensive. But it had been an experience. I wondered if the cost included an amusement tax. ---written by Joseph Florent Stierheim | 
