It was raining that first day in September. Nervous, damp-haired kids filtered through the halls, looking for familiar, or at least friendly faces among the throng, losing their bearings on the way to classes, and figuring out that rumors of a fourth floor pool were sadly untrue.
As days turned into years, these same kids found their friends, their mentors, their music. Teachers became confidantes and companions along their journey. The seasons changed, bringing fall football, winter basketball, spring track, summer beach expeditions. Proms, musicals, masses in the early mornings. Ski trips, class shows, religious retreats. Rings and yearbooks.
But it was not just the classes or the teams or the clubs or even the shows that made the magic happen. It was the music, always the music, drifting through the halls, echoing in their ears, pulling them so far into each other's souls that, finally, they could not pinpoint where one ended and the other began.
It was the music.
It was raining that last day in June. Excited, damp-haired young women and men filtered out onto the field, looking for familiar faces amid the throng of proud parents and family members filling the bleachers. They were off, like feathers in the wind, off to make their marks on the world, finding new companions along the way, creating a new generation of nervous, excited young women and men who would then go off to find their own music, often returning home with their own babes in tow. An unbroken circle that would turn these weathered friends white and weary.
It was raining that weekend in October, fifty years later. Gray-haired women and men filtered into the school chapel, recognizing old friends -- often by name tags rather than faces. But no matter. Time fell away as friends reconnected. Then the music started. It echoed in their ears and spoke to their tired souls. They sang the old songs by heart, not needing to read the words on the pages. Some smiled, some cried, some did a little of both. The music held them . . . then released them, and, for a moment, they became young again.
The rain finally stopped. The friends slowly filtered out into the night, back to home and family, children, and grandchildren. One last hug, one last memory shared. Such an important piece of each of them had been tied up in the other that they knew they would never ever entirely separate. The day was done, and indeed, all was well.
