Last night the chorus director mentioned a past member who passed away two weeks ago. Who wanted to speak about him?
My hand shot up, but the director looked to the men and picked one of them. I used to be in that group when I sang tenor (the new director moved me to Alto 2. It took me two years to be able to hit the highest notes. I squeaked a lot, but the director was correct. I am an alto 2, not a tenor).
Those tenor years were a huge learning curve for me. I’d dropped out of chorus in 9th grade and had regretted it for thirty years. Then I joined the community chorus in my fifties. The original director placed me on the risers, next to Ed during the performances. He was on the end of the third row. The 4th and 5th rows were the basses singing a different part. I am tall and blocked some of them from being able to see the director. Since we turn inward toward the center, I couldn’t hear the tenor on my left, only Ed.
That was my riser spot for the next several years. Ed had a strong voice, but the problem was that he had sung so many versions of the songs in his musical past that he would often go on autopilot and sing what he remembered from before. He admitted it.
I was new and only had one tenor voice in my ear, Ed’s. His singing of notes other than the assigned part really threw me. I decided that for the next semester, I would sit by him and make sure he learned his part.
I didn’t say that to him, just that I wanted to sit by him since we were riser buddies. He was fifteen years older than me and married. I never dreamed that he would misinterpret my request as being romantically interested in him. Every week Ed would get there first and save me a seat. He learned his part, and I was happy to hear the correct tenor notes in my ear for the next thirty concerts (three every December, three every May). One year a taller-than-me tenor joined the chorus and he stood between us, but then he moved away.
Ed dropped out of the chorus to care for his wife, I was told, but not before the awkward evening that he asked to take me out for dessert and coffee after rehearsal and I naively agreed.
That’s when I found out his misinterpretation of our sitting together. Looking back, I should have told him exactly why I wanted to sit with him at rehearsals.
I’m not sure I saw him much after that.
Last week I attended his memorial and learned he was the oldest of four brothers, a big teaser, and a religious guy who was adored by all.
Sorry for the miscommunication, riser buddy. We had some laughs over the years. I like to think we were good friends.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 