All I'm Asking

Adante

   My night was filled with scenarios. Best case scenarios and worst case scenarios of telling Brett everything. As amazing as it would be in the moment to confide in him, it never lasts. You know that. Everything will be picture perfect at first. Then, the first slip up and everything will fall apart.
Brett's persistance particularly, was making it hard to concentrate on my classes as well. Somehow everything seems to resurface this internal debate. I found it especially difficult to maintain my focus in Aural Skills due to my predisposition to confusion.
"Miss Y/L/N, am I boring you?" I was ripped from my civil war by Dr. Tan's deep voice. His eyes cutting through me like broken glass. I sat wide-eyed. I was completely speechless while my face breached a hundred degrees. "Since you find this material unworthy of your divine attention, you won't mind sharing with the rest of us what key signature we're in?"
"Key signature?" I couldn't get my heartbeat under control. "Umm..." sequences. I can't hear the sequences. "Well...."
"Or maybe you were listening for the meter perhaps?" Dr. Tan raised an eyebrow as we crossed his arms.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Tears threatened my persona. All I could hear was his voice on the day of my audition. I've been outvoted so this won't change anything. But I think allowing you into our program would be a horrendous decision. You don't belong here. It's that simple. You've costed by on exception and luck. I don't know how you got this far. But you aren't built to succeed within music. I honestly don't think you deserve a degree in music. How will you ever become a virtuoso? How could you ever teach? The best you could do is settle for an orchestral job. You're destined to fail so you're wasting your time.
"You don't know? Then I suggest, if you want any hopes of passing your finals, paying a little attention."
Everyone turned in their seats to stare. On one hand, I wasn't surprised. Dr. Tan had made his stance on me and my condition perfectly clear in my audition. In the other hand, I was baffled that this was happening. He's trying to make me quit. The rest of class was agony. When we were dismissed I couldn't get out of that building fast enough.
I burst through the front entrance burning with anger, embarrassment, sadness, frustration, and if I was honest with myself, a little bit of resentment. But then I saw him sitting on the steps, reading something on his phone. How is his timing always perfect? Before I could stop myself the tears I'd been holding in slipped down my cheeks. He looked up from his phone and my resolve finally crumbled beneath all the pressure I'd been putting on myself. I began to cry and the man before me rushed to his feet.
"Y/N, what's wrong?! What happened?!" Brett's voice rushed towards me as I sobbed into my hands. I couldn't look at him. I felt myself embraces by a pair of warm arms. Brett's arms. "Y/N, seriously, you need to tell me what's going on." I could hear the depth of his concern and I wanted to believe more than anything that he was genuine. I had run out of resolve for the day.
"Brett..." I struggled to speak through my broken heart. "It's... I... I don't... know if... I can... do this." My sobs began to mark his shirt.
"Do what?"
"After what... happened at... my old... school... and Dr... Tan... it's just all too much."
"What's all too much?"
"Me... I'm too much..."
"Why are you too much?"
"And what if... what if music... is just too much? I can't do... anything... else. Music... is everything... to me... my heart... my soul... but everyone keeps... telling me... that I can't... and what... if they're... right?"
"Why do people keep telling you you can't?"
"Because of... what's wrong... with me?"
"Y/N what's wrong with you?"
I could tell the story. Not yet. In that moment all I could manage was allowing myself to fall into him. All I could manage was to just let someone be there for me. After awhile he took me to a nearby bench and sat me down. Once I'd collected myself, save for some leftover sniffles, his demeanor changed slightly. He kept his gaze down for the most part and I couldn't help but notice the space between us on the bench. Why is he sitting so far away? I wish he was closer... wait, why do I care? After everything that's happened, how close Brett sits to me on some stupid bench is the last thing I should be thinking about.
"I know that you're going through something right now. I also know that you feel like you can't trust anyone right now. But you need to tell me what's going on. I can't help you if you won't let me. Clearly, whatever you're going through is weighting heavily on you. So please let me carry some of the weight for you."
I took a deep breath and watched the cars go by. Brett was right. I don't think I can do this without them. I let out the breath I'd taken and started from the beginning:
"When I was five, I asked my mom if I could play the violin. I'd heard it on one of my mom's tracks. When we could finally afford lessons, I was about ten or twelve? I can't remember. I would always avoid practicing but I didn't know why. I loved playing the violin. I got into youth orchestra nine months early. Then after a year I quit. They offered me a full ride scholarship. But I didn't want to play anymore all of a sudden. My teachers kept giving me a hard time in school and I never knew why. I would say the most embarrassing things in class and everyone would laugh at me. I made it through three years of college back in America. But everyone kept telling me that I have no business being a musician. My parents and teachers kept telling me that I just wasn't working hard enough, that I just wasn't paying enough attention in class. So I stopped eating, barely slept, and spent every hour practicing and studying. Finally, I found out what was wrong with me. Everyone kept telling me that I should just be grateful that I know now. But somehow, knowing feels so much worse. Now people just tell me that I have no business being a musician."
"What's wrong with you?"
"I'm... Dyscalculic."