The orchestra backed him beautifully, the strings carrying one to the heavens. Each word sung in Italian reverberated off the walls of the ballroom, filling not only your ears but your soul. His rendition of Schubert’s “Ave Maria” gave me chills, and I was not a religious man. He had a glorious, powerful voice that grabbed and held you captive from the moment his first note hit the stuffy airwaves. Then the stunning one, Jules the tenor, starting singing and I had to hurry to place the goblet on the table before I embarrassed myself. The three on stage smiled and nodded in thanks. The glass of water in my hand nearly slipped from my fingers. His skin was deeply tanned, his hair black as night and long enough that he had to flip it back from his face, and his eyes big and brown and framed by thick dark lashes. And then my sight moved to the young man on the left of the soprano, and it felt as if a horse had kicked me in the gut. My eyes touched on him then moved to the young miss who was lovely with her gold hair and blue eyes. The fellow on the left was a pale Black lad with bad skin and thick glasses. The girl was sandwiched between the two males. We smiled and nodded while the trio walked to then settled behind three stands that held sheet music. “Christine is the soprano, Kennedy is the baritone, and Jules is our tenor. Professor explained to Pierre and me in a soft whisper. A baritone, a tenor, and a soprano,” Mrs. “The crème de la crème of our vocal students. The men were in tuxes and the willowy young blonde was in a sparkling silver evening gown. Three performers walked onto the stage, two young men and a woman. Give me Billy Idol over Pavarotti any day. I much preferred the songs I grew up with during the eighties.

Actually, it was somewhere down near the bottom. Opera was not on top of my musical favorites list. I shifted in my seat, took a sip of water, and resigned myself to two hours of utter boredom.

Between the Pipes by V.L. Locey