I was writing a musical with Jayson A.–I was doing the words, he was doing the music. We were in a little shack of a restaurant by the side of the road in Nashville, IN. I looked around and thought, “Rahul should give this place a second chance; it’s really cute.” It was late summer, with the sun and slow heat beating down. I sat on the wooden picnic bench out front and Jayson talked on his cell phone, tilting his baseball cap back and forth with his hand.

We got back in the car and crossed the water into the city, where we had a meeting with the producers of the musical. We had to show them what we had so far. Rummaging through the papers we had brought, I got a sick, sinking feeling as I realized Jayson hadn’t put the sheet music into the folder.

I tried to remember the tunes we had come up with, and couldn’t. No chance of just standing up and singing it for everyone. There was that terrible feeling of sorting through the papers again, knowing that the time I could spend pretending was running out.

I stood up in front of the waiting, irritable faces, stretching out to the left and right along the long white table. “I am so, so sorry about this,” I told them all. “We just don’t have it right now. I’m really so sorry for wasting your time.” Grumbles and people drifting away. I was so embarrassed, ashamed and angry.