200 mile an hour apricot

She was my competition. But I didn’t dislike her. She was a little snobby. But I didn’t judge her. And, still, she HATED me.

We were in a small elite show choir and we were auditioning for the touring beauty shop quartet. The director of the music department is standing behind us with his head bent forward between us, being forced to listen to minute harmonies and see how we can make our voices meld. She is good; probably better than me. But I have this funny musical gift. I can make my voice sound exactly like someone else; and when you are talking about singing “Birdland” and “Zombie Jamboree” in eight part harmony with eight voices. It has to be that tight. It makes all of the difference. I got the part. And she HATED me.

She already disliked me because we had a contest in music composition that I won because of my auctioneer mouth. We had to memorize ‘the circle of fifths’ a chord chart we would need for our daily homework. We HAD to say it in less than 30 seconds to pass the pop quiz. I said it in less than eight seconds. I think I still hold the record. *laugh* It was a parlor trick that semester, while we were killing time between rehearsals someone would say, “Hey... Do it.” And I would rattle it off. That’s where the 220 mile an hour part came from I am sure.

I was lamenting about in his office one day. He is my boss, my choral director, my private vocal coach, my father and my friend. His family adopted me while I was so far from home. He was one of the most amazing men I have ever met. He had this voice that was so low it vibrated your chest. When he laughed, your soul giggled, whether or not you did. His eyes twinkled. He cried while he directed the more powerful pieces of music; we would all tease him because it made us cry and then we sounded like crap. *laugh* He appreciated me for who I was. We had long conversations in his office while we worked side by side grading papers and filing music. There was a piece of God in him and I loved him.

I had driven three hours for my audition with him a year ago. When I was done he said to me, “What kind of scholarship do you need for me to get you here, Jessica?” He would tease me about how valuable I was to him. I had this ability to hear music in layers and I could usually sing whatever part he asked me to except the bass. I was never really assigned a part, I sang them all and he would tell me what he wanted me singing the night of the concert. He appreciated the fact that we could talk without really talking and that I knew how to help without really being asked. I had keys to his office and I would come into work with yellow post-it notes on my desk “We called them ‘stello yickums’ instead of ‘yellow stickums’ by accident one day and it stuck. His post-it note would have a list of things to do and he would make a funny joke then write “love you, thank you, Dr L” I still have his best notes tucked in a memory box. He changed my life because he loved me.

He watched me grow up, away from home for the first time. And he knew my personal challenges. I have this personality that people either really love or REALLY hate. It took me a lot of years to be okay with that. Well, a lot of years and a kind, loving, thoughtful lecture from him one day.

“She hates me… and I didn’t do anything to her. Can I just quit and you put her in the group? I don’t need the class really, I don’t want her to haaate me.” I snap up angrily and add “This is why all of my friends are guys!” I am sobbing in my office chair. He stands up then and closes his office door. He sits in his chair and leans forward and takes my shaky hands in his enormous ones and says to me:

“Jess, you are an apricot. Not everyone likes apricots. But here is the deal. If you TRY to be a peach, then the people who like peaches won’t like you because you would make a lousy peach. But if you get okay with the fact that you are an amazing apricot, those that love apricots will recognize you and the folks that like peaches, well they will just have to get over the fact that you are a better apricot. You are a ‘two-hundred-and-twenty-mile-an-hour’ apricot. And I am glad you are in my life. I appreciate apricots, but only when they are the best.” I start laughing through my tears. This would become the joke of my life when I would get smacked in the face with someone who had an unknown distain for me. I used this story in church talks, in motivational speeches to youth and in private moments with friends. It became one of my private mantras as I have struggled in my life with insecurities.

I am an Apricot. And I am okay like that. I eventually won her over. She got a really big solo and was able to rub it in my face in her own mind. It made it okay for her somehow. I had informed the director that if he offered it to me I would quit. We laughed and he said under his breath… ”Apricot. Ha!”