I cant do it. Excuse me? My fingers traced the outlines of the ivory keys.

Lingered between C and E flat, gingerly applied pressure to the white key between; a rather dull, solitary note floated out from the depths of the old grand piano at whose helm I sat. This thing was at least 80 years old, carefully transported to the composition chambers of Northwood High School for the enjoyment of its plethora of musically gifted students. It wouldve been a pretty elegant feeling, you know, playing such a majestic instrument, if it werent for the slender young woman scrutinizing me over the top of a chipped wooden clipboard. And if I had actually known how to play the Chopin Nocturne sitting on the bench beside me. Im sorry, Ms. Sawyer, when I said I play the piano, I didnt mean that Im that good, my eyes avoided hers, my voice sounded weak. I felt like a dog with his tail between his legs. Be that as it may, this is your final, Shounak. You led me to believe that you were capable of it, I gave it to you. Youre backing out now? Her usually clear, grey eyes clouded a little. I really felt like crap. I left the music room that day feeling like I had been jettisoned from a world that I used to call home. Floating around in a metaphysical realm of self-pity. See, I really liked music. My parents were both hardcore proponents of academics, but they had never frowned upon the fine arts; my dad loved listening to the Dave Brubeck Quartet as he wove his way through pages of computer code and technical briefs, whistling as he worked. My mom loved Michael Buble while vegetables bubbled in the hot water on the stove, while cornbread rose in the oven. While they did enroll me in every institution of learning in existence (all in the pursuit of that grand calling we call college), my parents didnt hesitate on dropping cash on music lessons; six years of piano, a drum-set for my 12th birthday (the neighbors would have none of it, however, so that didnt stick around for too long). Violin lessons for a few weeks, music theory. Anything I wanted. And even though I gained proficiency in so many different instrumental media this way, I was never really talented in any of them. It saddened me, because the words harmony, acappella, and chord progressions interested me more than derivatives and molar mass did; I wanted to be able to do it, too. I wanted to play an instrument as part of something great, to hear everyones sound come together into something divine and full of passion. So thats why I enrolled in Symphonic Orchestra, told them I could play piano and string bass, stumbled through a semester of dispassionate concerts and awkward practice sessions, and ended up failing my music final.