Danielle in the Piazza Navona, Minolta in hand, Sarah and I dancing outside of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, the blue-eyed artist, our concert and the unbelievably blue ceiling, singing outside of the Pantheon at night.
After the tours we have lunch, strawberries from a local market and spaghetti and vegetables split between Ellie, Danielle, and I. Mr. Aamot walks by and we chat and he takes a picture of us. We reconnect with the group and take the bus to the church we will be performing at tonight. I am touchy and crabby, but I force myself to be happy despite the annoyances around me. I dance around the piazza with Sarah and take pictures of Ryan's freckles.
We head into the basilica- Santa Maria Sopra Minerva. It is the only Gothic church in Rome. The architecture is beautiful and the blue paint on the ceiling is breathtaking. It smells like my cottage, of wood, well water, and candles. We walk into a darkly lit rectangular room. The walls are lined with dark wooden cupboards where we set our bags. We rest on the single step and lean our backs on the cupboards, quickly dashing one by one to the bathrooms. Priests dressed in white robes pass through the iron gate that serves as an entrance into the room. We soon head out of the church and a man holds open the door for us, asking for money in return. I see an American bill in his basket, worth less than the money it would take to exchange it.
We walk to the Pantheon, its majestic columns serving as an entrance to a hollow dome. There is a large hole in the top of the dome and holes in the floor to drain rainwater. I am grateful for the opportunity to see the Pantheon, but after days of impressive architecture I see nothing exceptional.
We walk to the Piazza Navona, where Ellie, Danielle, and I get gelato. I get café and cioccolato like always. We walk around the streets and take photos and look in small shops. We find an art studio that is small with white walls and a cream colored couch with red pillows. The paintings are vibrant and textured, many of them splattered with paint. A kindly old man with bright blue eyes and a genuine smile tells us he is the artist and has been painting all his life. He has us feel the paintings and the texture of the art. He tells us "You feel the paint, you feel the beauty." Ellie buys a small red painting with a woman dancing on it.
We continue walking and find an alley with a gelato shop and many children, their faces and hands sticky from the messy treat. We take more photos with Sarah, Jackie, and Nancy and then head on our way. We go into a bakery where the man speaks no English and we get a pastry without knowing what it is filled with. We stumble upon three incredible thrift stores and we have just enough time to walk into one. It smells of leather and age. The walls and floors are covered in leather purses and boots and clothing from the last few decades.
We are short on time so we head back to the Piazza. Tears spring to my eyes as I finally realize that we are in Italy, walking the same streets my father walked so many years ago, admiring the same beauty that was there when he was. I see beautiful paintings and photographs being sold and think of his appreciation of art and his affinity for photography.
It is time for our concert. We rehearse and Aamot gives a pre-concert speech. He says that he can tell that some of us are starting to connect to the music and really feel it. I sense he is talking to me. I don't think he knows exactly what I'm thinking or feeling, but I'm starting to think that he can sense the connections I'm making to the music. We go into the piazza near the pantheon and sing "Shoshaloza" to bring in a crowd.
We sing our set and everything rings in the space. We are hitting our notes and our cues, but more importantly I am locked in. I feel the music soaring through my body, my soul churning out joy and sorrow without ceasing. I feel something I've never felt while on stage. It is pure, it is indescribable, it is a perfect release and connection to the music. I smile, I move, I cry, I listen, I give. We end with "Road Home." I am behind a pillar so I can see no one, only listen. I close my eyes and let the music come. With my dad gone forever, my brother and sister away creating their own lives, and my mom dealing with her own sorrow, I am now enveloped with the family I've created for my teenage self. Some of these people I've know all my life, some for two years. I have laughed and cried and sung with them all. The hands I am holding and the voices joining with mine to echo through the church and reverberate straight into people's hearts are the voices of my family, of the ones I love.
After the concert we head back into the piazza and hug and congratulate one another. We chat with the audience, the language barrier not preventing us from comprehending the thanks these people are giving us. After a while, the choir heads to the fountain near the Pantheon, all of us with the beauty of the night clinging to our hearts. We sit around the fountain and chat, the cool air carrying our excited voices. I look up and see the Pantheon, majestic and lit up against the night sky. One last tear falls as I smile and relax, completely at peace.
The men have a men sing and the women retaliate with a rough rendition of "Ubi Caritas." We all sing "La Sera" and draw a crowd as big as the audience we had early that night. We sway and sing and smile.
The men start "South Australia" and the women join in, laughing and stomping and whooping. We head to our bus, Connor gives Mara and I high fives and says we belong in the men sing and we're going to be the extra baritones for the rest of the trip. He compliments us on "Ubi Caritas" and says we should sing "Desert Rose" sometime. I collapse in my bed, grateful for the blessings of the day, for the growth of my friendships, understanding, and soul.
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