Things escalated kind of quickly with the chorus drama, so much in fact that I adjusted privacy settings for a while. I know that feeling, those clues, when someone is suddenly popping up as “people I may know” or maybe they’re commenting on things I like when I haven’t told them I like said things…
there was a little virtual footprint hunt going on. And honestly, I understand. I’m a tracker myself.
I have mentioned joining a choir, feeling like an outcast from the seemingly dismissive elitists within it, and having found a friend to confide in. I’ve also told the story about how I secured a spot in the honors ensemble and got my own song with friends from the chorus. I’ve obviously been happy having the musical projects to work on in my spare time, and I have reaped the benefits of symbolizing unity by harmonizing with something bigger than Autumn. There is also admittedly some satisfaction – okay, not some, but a lot – in seeing those who never included me having no choice but to take notice in a change of season.
I’m so happy to be here with you girls! Yes, those are unicorns pulling the hot rod. This old thing, it’s my Hot Rod Slay All Day, no big deal.
Where I left off, NemmyNemz had stormed outside after hearing she wouldn’t have a solo this session (purposely leaving over $100 in tickets under her chair). Miss Divine, with her elaborate wigs and a history of numbers all to herself, had decided to quit the choir.
“You could have left that alone, you know,” Beth insisted. The way my nemesis would raise her hand and insist no one was singing correctly, how she bragged about having gone from opera houses during her university years to singing on risers in a church “only because her school kicked her out for financial reasons”, the things she published online about how “people who can’t even sing got solos, and they’re boring songs”, yadda yadda yadda negative energy yadda yadaa, it was suggested to me that if I had let fate run its course, the group may have been better off without the former headliner.
I live for the juicy juice. I pry. And in all honesty the thought of the divorce being so suddenly settled left me with the threat of a certain emptiness inside. Is that why we always see the Joker and Batman live another day together?
I reached out to Nemz. I reminded her that she had bought tickets for her friends and family to see her, told her that she was an asset to the group and that the best revenge is definitely not accepting defeat. I told her she could just claim she had been having a rough time, slap on an ignorant looking smile and return to practice glowing in the face of her haters while taking some time to reflect and rebuild. A few harder jabs of tough love were thrown in there, too: I suggested she consider her last honors performance and tell me it wasn’t nasally (phrasing it “I just assumed you were really sick”). I suggested she still had growing to do, like learning to appreciate the talents of others and find ways to shine without body glitter.
She rejoined. It didn’t take long to realize that her personal brand may have left her with few supporters because she instantly started spilling the tea and inviting me out to places. I met up with her once, to hear her out, and I learned that the “dinky little choir” she was hating on had been the best and most important thing in her life for several years. She had an ego, made remarks that dropped my jaw, but something in me was totally living for her passion, her madness, her dissonance, and the empty chair next to her I had eyeballed for months wasn’t a challenge anymore. It was over. The goal’s behind me.
She went from totally ignoring me to “I have a great idea for a duet next session if you’re interested”.
Beth went from calling her “Nemz” to “Your Little Friend”.
“Maybe you should go talk to Your Little Friend, the director asked us to stand and she’s just over there sitting with her arms crossed. If that was a student in my class I’d be concerned.”
She’ll be fine. Maybe a little sitting before she stands again. And if so, I’ll support her.
In news more tangible, I am nervous for the concert. I hate micro-managing myself for things like “dress wrinkles fix” and “remember step stool”, etc. I hate leaving for one song to dress for another in record time. I hated learning that the best venue they could secure has folding chairs for the audience, meaning I had to find a supportive chair for my mom because the “chorus tooshy cushies” we apparently sell in the lobby are not to my level of recognition.
Nope. No ass pillows here with my name on them. I absolutely refuse. Don’t exist.
Also. We keep going flat as a choir during a capellas and it is hard to hear around me. I’m singing quietly and listening to the pitches get lower and lower. The director permitted music to be used for our German piece and I really wish the group could have shown him that we could all memorize it. And one of my dear friends is struggling, so I’ve made her special practice tracks, but I wish I had made them sooner. The director is not happy with the lack of covered vowels during our Latin song. Oh, and when the narrator introduced our small acts song he neglected to mention our violinist’s name, as if she is just some hired stagehand to the song, so I have to correct that before show time… did I mention I forgot the words to part of it too? That was a great way to show everyone how much everything means to me…
I hope this Christmas concert is entitled to a Christmas miracle.