You Can Replace My Rhythm But Never My Luck

I was mediocre, utterly tone-deaf, and entirely unqualified. I was only brought into the ensemble because they were short a body.

Once inside, I discovered I was surrounded by masters.

Rhett, the handsome cellist, was max level on cello, viola, and violin.

Sasha, the runaway pianist, could sight-read sheet music backward.

Celina, the flutist from a musical dynasty, had perfect aural recall for any composition.

And me? I knew nothing. My palms were always damp with sweat.

They tossed me a tuning fork and a sand shaker, telling me to just rattle itjust keep the volume down so I didn't bother them.

Before long, our little group exploded.

Awards, concerts, commercial gigsmore than we could count.

I happily shook my sand shaker, carefully basking in their reflected glory.

Until one day, a genius musician, a recent Berklee grad, pointed at me and demanded my spot.

He said my rhythm was non-existent, my timing was all wrong, and that he could actually elevate the group. He insisted he belonged on that stage.

At last, the anxiety Id been living with finally crystallized into dread.

01

The performance ended. The entire hall rose to its feet in a thunderous standing ovation.

Another stellar performance.

I flexed my aching handsore from shaking the sand shakerand managed a wide, relieved smile.

Fantastic. Another gig fee secured!

My dream of saving up for a down payment was looking more and more real.

I tucked the shaker away and stepped to the front of the stage as usual, joining the others for the final bow.

In the front row, one young man stood out.

He looked to be in his early twenties, about my age. He wore a crisp white suit, making him highly visible in the sea of dark-clad audience members.

His eyes were burning, fixed on the stage.

When his gaze swept over me, I suddenly shivered. Id had that unsettling feeling all nightlike someone was intensely scrutinizing me.

After the final curtain, a small crowd lingered.

Ever since a previous live stream showcased the band's improvisational genius, we'd blown up online.

Now, after every performance, people stayed to take photos.

The guy in the white suit stood holding a piece of paper, looking agitated and waiting patiently. But the crowd kept pressing him to the back, preventing him from getting close.

Mara, our band director and the oldest member, is a soft touch. With a three-year-old son at home, she cant stand seeing a young guy getting pushed around.

Without a word, she grabbed a pen and walked over to him.

Ill sign for you first, kid. Ill get the rest of them to come over in a minute.

Mara took the paper from him and scribbled her name. Then she waved the rest of us over.

Rhett, the cellist, Sasha, the pianist, and Celina, the flutist, all peeled away from the photo-takers and added their signatures to the page.

The young man's eyes were wide with surprise, but as he watched them sign their names in bold flourishes, he seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stop them.

When I stepped up, he was clutching the paper tightly, almost reluctant to let me sign.

A sudden flash of curiosity hit me. I tugged the paper from his grip and saw there was writing on the back.

The title was unmistakable.

A rsum? I asked, startled.

Mara came back over, scratching her head sheepishly.

Oh, shoot, sorry, kid. I thought you were here for autographs. Do you need this? I can run to the copy shop at the corner and print you a fresh one.

Anyone would be annoyed if their job application was mistaken for a blank autograph sheet, but the guy didn't seem to mind.

No, no, its fine! He quickly offered a bright, easy smile.

This was meant for you all to see, anyway!

For us to see?

The rest of us looked confused.

A rsum? Arent those for looking for a job? I haven't touched that dirty stuff in years.

Rhett, the cellist, spoke up flatly. Back in college, hed worked as an HR assistant for a major firm, sorting personnel files until midnight. Hes hated paper ever since; all his sheet music is digital.

I think its tragic, Celina chimed in, that one piece of paper is supposed to summarize a human life. Celina, who comes from a family of flutists, plays with a soaring tone, but her default setting is a sort of melancholy, which is why we sometimes call her our Blue Sister.

Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny, signaling a potential slide into an emotional spiral. Sasha, the pianist, quickly jumped in to cut her off.

Well, I think its fun. Ive never signed a rsum before. Let me see it.

Sasha took the paper, eager to read what was written.

But the thick, dark ink of everyones signatures had bled right through, making the text on the back illegible.

Sasha gave up and started admiring the signatures. My autograph looks great, though. If I just lift that little dot higher, itll be perfect! She looked up. Hey, kid, have you been secretly practicing your signature?

That last stroke has definitely improved!

Sasha and Celina started playfully jabbing each other. Celinas lips curved into a tiny smile at the compliment, the gloom instantly forgotten.

The conversation had drifted completely off-topic. It seemed no one cared why the young man was there.

Seeing his slightly awkward expression, I piped up, feeling sorry for him.

Excuse me, what did you bring your rsum here for?

His face brightened, finally asked the question hed been waiting for.

But his next words utterly shattered my calm.

He pointed at me and said, I want to join the group. And I want to replace him.

02

Everyone was stunned. He introduced himself with confident urgency.

Hello, everyone. Im Holden Vance. I just graduated from the Berklee College of Music.

His tone was earnest, as if he were mid-interview.

I was accepted early, in my junior year of high school. My rsum is full of international and domestic awards.

Ive been searching for a high-level ensemble to join. I found your videos online and Im a huge admirer. Every member of this group is incredibly talented.

Except for him!

His tone shifted violently, pointing straight at me.

His righteous indignation made me flinch. The uncomfortable feeling from the stage rushed back. He had been staring at me the whole time.

Holden continued, his voice rising.

Ive watched him for a long time. His rhythm is a mess. Hes off-beat constantly.

In the entire concert, he didn't stick to an eight-count even once with that sand shaker.

You are all performing seriously, and hes the only one coasting!

Holden was getting angrier, as if I had personally defiled the sacred, beautiful image of his dream ensemble. He looked ready to swallow me whole.

His words left me speechless. I instinctively shrunk back, pulling my head down a little.

Because I couldnt argue.

He was completely right.

I really dont understand rhythm.

On top of that, Im tone-deaf and have zero coordination.

I cowered, hiding a bit behind Sasha, afraid that if he observed me further, hed come up with even more damning conclusions.

Seeing my reaction only emboldened him.

You, all of you, are a popular and high-potential ensemble! You shouldnt have someone like this in your ranks!

For the future of this band, you need to replace him immediately!

Sasha frowned.

Jamie being off-beat all the time is that really a problem?

Holdens eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

This was an orchestra! How could a lack of rhythm not be a problem?

Sasha elaborated, Weve known that forever. And weve been performing just fine, haven't we?

Rhett, Celina, and Director Mara all nodded.

They were all fully aware.

They were the ones who had picked out my sand shaker in the first place.

When I first joined, I knew nothing about instruments.

The ensemble leader said, Dont worry, the others are versatile. You can learn from them.

I went to Rhett first.

Rhett, the cellist, was Grade 10 on the violin, viola, cello, and bass. String instruments were his playthings.

He handed me a three-quarter-sized violin, saying my hands were small, so I should start with the smaller one.

But my fingers were too clumsy and rough. I couldn't hit a note correctlyalways a half-step too sharp or too flat. Eventually, I just snapped a string.

Rhett tenderly stroked his cello and suggested I go see Sasha.

Sasha had been playing the piano since she was three, had mastered thousands of pieces, and could play sheet music backward.

The piano keys are fixed, so theres no risk of going off-key. If I mastered it, Sasha and I could play a four-hand duet, which would be a great visual for the band.

Sasha enthusiastically taught me piano theory. I practiced relentlessly.

But I discovered I have terrible body coordination. I could only move one hand at a time.

If my right hand played, my left hand would freeze. If my left hand played, my right hand would forget what to do.

In the end, I warped the pedal, wore the white keys black, and still couldnt perform a full piece.

Youre probably a piano gremlin, Jamie. Sasha shook her head, resigned.

How about you try the flute?

Hearing I was going to try the flute, Celina actually cheered up. Her eyes lit up.

She explained that she came from a flute dynastyparents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles all played the flute. She was destined to play it, too. If I could learn to play her flute, shed have an excuse to take up a different instrument and stop being the flutist.

I happily accepted the flute. It was easy to handle. The keys were fixed, the size was perfect, and I only needed to use my right hand, letting the left just steady it.

But playing the flute requires long, steady breaths. Afraid of disappointing Celina with my weak lung capacity, I practiced holding my breath.

Before playing, I took an enormous gasp of air.

I blew into the flute with all my might.

The flute shot right out of my hands and flew straight at Celinas forehead.

Thwack! Celina collapsed.

When she sat up, a noticeable bump had appeared on her head. She hid her face and started to weep.

My mother always said to listen to the old ways, or you'll have a bad end. I just didn't think my bad end for not playing the flute would look like this

After that, she refused to teach me anything else. She just practiced her flute quietly on the side, her melancholic aura thicker than ever.

I was consumed by guilt.

Finally, all hope rested on Director Mara.

03

Mara is the Big Sister of our groupthe oldest and the most experienced.

She's gentle and meticulous. She keeps her long hair because her son likes to grip it when he sleeps. When she conducts, shes so expressive her hair dramatically whips around, which is very eye-catching.

Shes also a total maverick who loves to challenge conventions. She used to be into extreme sports and is always full of fresh ideas for the ensemble.

When she learned the group had three certified geniuses, she was thrilled.

And when she discovered that I, the fifth member, was completely useless? She was ecstatic.

In her decades-long career, shed never encountered such a unique combination, and it sparked her competitive drive.

She spent a long time digging through the ensembles dusty prop closet and pulled out a tuning fork and a sand shaker. She tossed them to me.

You can definitely handle these two!

I caught them.

The tuning fork was cool and rang with a single tap. The sand shaker was weighty and made a satisfying shhh shhh sound when I rattled it.

I was overjoyed. These two instruments required almost zero brainpowerMara knew best! I weighed my options and chose the sand shaker.

But Jamies rhythm is off all the time. Will it bother you guys? Mara asked the others.

Rhett: I have my own internal clock.

Sasha: My score is already committed to memory.

Celina: Dont ask me. Im in a state of despair. No opinion.

Mara smiled at me.

All right, Jamie. Just try to keep the sand shaker quiet so you dont distract them.

I nodded, happily.

From then on, I had my official instrument: the sand shaker.

For every performance, the ensemble only brought three micsone for the cello, one for the piano, and one for the flute. My sand shaker was never miked. That way, even if I shook it frantically, the sound wouldn't carry far.

And since they were all musical savants, my erratic noise never bothered them.

I was safely established as a member of the ensemble, free to perform and bask in their glow.

So, when Holden pointed out my flaws, their reaction was lukewarm.

He clearly hadn't expected this. He wouldnt give up.

You are all so brilliant! You deserve a better musician.

I have great rhythm and perfect pitch. I got straight As at Berklee. I can do more than just shake a sand shakerI can play a dozen instruments. If I were in that spot, I promise I could bring so much more to the ensembles future.

Hmm. Very impressive, Rhett said, adjusting his glasses coolly. Then his tone changed.

But what does that have to do with me?

My barber appointment is starting soon. Im out.

With that, he walked off, his face expressionless, slinging his massive cello case over his shoulder.

Rhett is always the ultimate cool, aloof type. He often says he never cares about anything two hours or two miles away. His motto: Car headlights only need to illuminate fifty feet to get you through the whole journey. Why worry about all the unnecessary stuff?

Holdens face went stiff with embarrassment. He quickly collected himself and turned to Celina.

Flutist Sister, I also play the Chinese zither and the bamboo flute. If I join the ensemble, we could perform traditional folk pieces.

Celina was still staring wistfully in the direction Rhett had left.

Every performance ends, and it's always a separation. Its so moving. She turned her back and covered her face.

Holden, at a complete loss, turned to Sasha.

Sasha had been the most outwardly friendly to the audience. She seemed outgoing, the easiest to talk toperhaps she was his last hope.

Sasha looked at him sincerely.

Kid, youre so talented, why dont you start your own ensemble? Why do you have to replace Jamie?

Holden sighed. I would, but finding a group of geniuses like you is impossible.

Seeing someone occupy a spot when theyre clearly not qualified it's frustrating.

I saw in the news that youre planning to compete in that International Ensemble Award. They average the scores of every musician to get the final result. Having him will only drag you all down!

I cant bear to see your talent wasted. Im good. If I replace him, I can guarantee you win that grand prize!

Pianist Sister, please give me this chance?

Sasha looked conflicted. She checked her phone alarm, pretended to take a call, and quickly exited.

Now, only Mara remained.

Mara is our leader, the Big Sister, and the one who usually makes the final decision. My sand shaker gig was her idea, after all. If Holden got her approval, he would likely get his wish.

He looked at Mara expectantly.

Mara took her time. Kid, youre still too young.

You could replace anyone of us, but not Jamie.

Holden looked utterly shattered. Why?!

You know he cant play a note. Why are you all protecting him?

Mara paused, considering her words.

If Jamie isn't here, then this ensemble ceases to exist.