My High School Choir

It was expected to belong. A boy who has his sights aimed high, who aims to make his parents proud, will show respectability and rise above the common folks. It was the driving force that made me join the choir, a voice of mediocre quality would not disgrace the school as it was mixed into the crowd of screaming baritones, of pubescent basses and the lone and rather spindly looking pallor who, as a rarity, was an essential tenor. When teenage vocal cords perform, there is an awe that settles in the hall, or auditorium, it clings to dusty walls and rests among the cobwebs of the past. And hearts pick up their happy beat as if to shout about their sheer invincibility, each ear, as it partakes the sum of all, of loud, angelic voices oh, so pure, claims ownership of the collage of tones impressed and stirred to greater deeds, while restless eyes now roam, subdued search rows of colleagues in the amber light until they find that pair of mellow molecules, look back into the innocence of all, and tiny promises now sing a melody.