Late spring. Minneapolis, Minnesota. A dusting of pollen is starting to give everything a slight golden tinge. Even Peavey Plaza, sitting in its little corner off of Nicollet Mall, with its tiered concrete fountains and abnormally still sheets of running water, has a forest-like look about it. Traffic in the Twin Cities is not usually too boisterous, but for some reason, there is a constant rushing of noise in my head, like every car on earth is passing by on 11th Street. Luckily, this is not the nauseating stage fright I usually have before a big performance. Just a light, almost pleasant humming between my ears and behind my eyes: more excited than anxious, but anxious all the same. I am eighteen years old. I graduate from high school in a week, but I debut as a soloist at Minneapolis’s …
