Letters, Letters...

September 16, 2__________

Dear Samantha,

Those are very nasty pills Dr. Rex gave me. I was up most of the night feeling as if I were on one of those horrible rides at the amusement park that spin you round and round in circles. I just hope they’re giving those nasty cancer cells as much misery as they’re causing the rest of me.

For some reason, last night the Trout Quintet kept playing in my head. That thundering first chord just kept crashing in my ears, and then those skittering runs would shiver down my spine. That’s one of my favorite pieces of music in all the world, but last night, I wished Schubert had never written it!

The first time I heard the Trout was when I was in high school. Angela Sloan, my wonderful teacher, told me about a concert on the university campus where I could hear the Trout performed live by a really good group. “Camerata,” I believe was the name of the group. The pianist was a young woman from Toronto, with long dark hair that she had pulled back from her face with a big silver clip. She was probably Italian, now that I think about it – I don’t remember her name, but I do remember the intense love and concentration with which she came to her instrument. From the moment she sat down to the keys, she was no longer in the room. It was so obvious that the music transported her to some magical, mythical place, where only she and the other musicians could dwell. I was sitting close enough to watch her hands, and I remember thinking that they seemed kind of short and wide (like mine), not the sort of hands you would expect to be able to pull such vitality out of the Schubert. She led the group with such calm assurance. I could see the flitting glances between her and the first violinist, occasionally a quick half smile or nod, a gentle lean into the music prompting the momentum to increase.

Needless to say, dear Samantha, I was captivated. Not only by the music, but by the working relationship of this group, as they seemed to become alternately one instrument, and then splinter off into their separate parts like stars from a comet. Right then and there, I decided I had to be part of a group like that. I went back to school the next day and recruited two violinists from the school orchestra- Nancy Shaffer and Lisa Reston, and Karen D’Angelo on viola. Good solid musicians, but not inspired. It was David Estancia, the cellist, that added the extra spice we needed. God, he was so handsome! The olive skinned, dark haired good looks inherited from his Portuguese forefathers, along with their spicy temperament and fiery passion for art and music. I think he had ancestors who were Flamenco guitarists and dancers. When he sat down and pulled his cello between his knees, and then hugged it close to his chest, the three of us girls nearly fainted every time. At first, it was hard to get any work done during rehearsals. You know how high school girls are – well you don’t actually, not yet anyway – even the high minded girls like Nancy, Lisa, and I. After all, we were only human, and we had hormones too! And David, well he loved the attention. He flirted shamefully with all three of us. Secretly, we each thought we were his favorite girl, but he never really favored one of us over the other. He was a good and thoughtful friend, too. When Nancy’s parents got divorced and she was so lost and angry, he would bring little gifts to each rehearsal and hide them in her violin case, or in her coat pocket.

Naturally, David turned out be gay – your mother would say you shouldn’t know about things like that, but, my dear, it’s a fact of life now that lots of people choose alternate lifestyles, as they so euphemistically call it. Men are attracted to men, and women to women. It’s as simple as that. In my opinion, it’s a private matter between the individuals involved – it’s not a symptom of the downfall of society, as your mother will probably tell you it is. Her position on that subject is just one of the areas where we do not see eye to eye, and have finally “agreed to disagree,” as the saying goes.

That first quintet - Da Capo, we called ourselves – was the highlight of my senior year in high school. One of life’s true joys is working together with people who are all passionate about the same thing. I’ve had the privilege of doing that ever since, in some form or another. I hope you will, too, someday.

Love endlessly,
TT