Today, eleven-year-old Tatiana had tagged me in a video where she rehearsed with her clarinet for an upcoming recital. She had tagged Micaela too, her instructor and one of my friends. I played a dozen or so instruments, but the clarinet wasn’t one of them.

I trapped my spoon in my mouth and typed out a quick comment to the girl.

Great job, Tatiana. You’ve come such a long way.

The next student who had tagged me was James. I knew I wasn’t allowed to have favorites, but Madonn’. This kid. James had been one of my very first students at the Initiative, too. Back then, a six- or seven-year-old boy on the autism spectrum. Now, I had no words. Music was his therapy, as had been my intention with the school from the get. Music wasn’t the only thing I loved. I’d studied psychology in college and early on noticed the profound impact music could have on children with cognitive disabilities.

I had nothing left to teach James. He’d grown up to become a well-spoken—albeit shy and anxious—young man who’d recently been accepted into his dream college. It wouldn’t be much longer before I could sit in an audience somewhere and watch him perform in concert.

I chewed around a spoonful of food and closed my eyes as I listened to him play the piece he’d focused on the most this month, one of Chopin’s nocturnes.

The featherlight notes filled my soul and brightened my mood more than any hot shower could, and I took my first easy breath in several days. James had adopted a similar style to Chopin and shared the composer’s playfulness and lightness.

I remembered James had come to me one day before class, excitement written all over him. “I figured it out, Mr. Fender! The music—it doesn’t come from the piano. It comes from me. If I feel the music in my fingers, I can pour it out over the keys.”

Just like I had run out of things to teach him, I’d exhausted my vocabulary for praise. There were only so many ways I could express how impressed I was before I started to feel repetitive. But I gave it a go in a comment anyway.

You continue to amaze me, James. I notice you’ve worked on the transitions. It’s much smoother now when you reach bar 47. Keep up the good work.

Taking a swig of my beer, I returned to my notifications to see if there was anything else. A couple new followers, one of whom was a student. She’d told me yesterday that her parents had finally allowed her to start an account to upload rehearsal videos so long as she kept it private. I sent her a request to follow back, figuring she’d want feedback if she ever tagged me.