Manon

Working in the basement the other day, I found my piano score to the opera Manon.

If you know me and opera, you know that Manon and La Boheme and Der Rosenkavalier are my desert island faves.

The introduction to Manon is too lengthy to retell here. Pour me a Prosecco and I’ll explain.

But the story behind the acquisition of the printed score is so simple and familiar.

Kenda and I had been in school together since 4th grade. In 7th grade, I think we were in the same class sections for six of seven hours, including choir and band. By high school, we were close friends.

And then she started dating a close friend of mine.

We weathered that (and my unstated confusion about all sorts of things) and made it to the end of high school, still very close and very much on a high and meaningful plain of musical communion. She and I were very close indeed, sharing fervently the gift of music and of eight+ years of lived experience in each other’s presence so much of the time.

As a gift that summer after high school, as we were heading our separate ways, she gave me a piano score to Manon. And wrote this most lovely inscription:

(Kenya’s back-slant handwriting was legendary.)

Alas, we lost touch with each other very quickly. She went to big State U, and paths diverged. When I called to talk with her that first Thanksgiving, she was not available. A Facebook search several years ago was fruitful, but I received no response to my ‘friend’ request, which is still pending.

But the thought of her across these many years brought a smile to my face this week. And now I must listen again to the Beverly Sills recording of Manon.

[UPDATE: I decided to track her down, and did, and sent a snail-mail letter this week. I hope is not an unwelcome intrusion.]