Say You, say me

I’m not sure what prompted me to join chorus in seventh grade, but whatever the reason, I found myself amongst the seventh and eighth graders who piled in the front rows of the poorly lit auditorium of the old Central Cambria Middle school once a week.

There, under the watchful eye of Mr. Seymour, we practiced scales and warmed up our voices, and sang songs like “Don’t Cry Out loud,” by Melissa Manchester. (I might question that choice of song now…for multiple reasons…)

As a shy 14-year-old, I loathed attention of any kind and so, if ever I was called on to sing solo, I noiselessly moved my lips in such a way that Mr. Seymour complimented my very transparent voice and eventually let me off the hook.

Given that I was occasionally mistaken for my dad on the phone, I classified myself as an alto, and ended up sitting next to Mary Parson, who was in eighth grade. Mary was quick witted, and the kind of person that you both did and didn’t want to sit next to in a serious situation, because the comments she made under her breath made you laugh out loud.

That year, Mr. Seymour decided that we would sing Lionel Richie’s “Say You, Say Me.”

Shortly after we started to rehearse the song, Mary rewrote the lyrics. Like, all of them. I had a front row seat to my very own Weird Al Yankovich, every week. Through Mary and her humor, I grew just a little more comfortable with chorus, using my voice to sing Mary's lyrics.

And Mary, though she probably didn't realize it, became my safe space. (As much as I’d like to share those words here, I’m going to keep this a family show.)

Last week, I opened Facebook and learned of Mary's passing from cancer at just 50 years old. I doubt that we had shared more than the occasional Facebook message in the past 30 plus years.

My heart has been heavy since learning of Mary’s passing, and the world has felt just a little dimmer. I know a number of you on this list knew Mary; and those who didn't probably know someone like her.

We don't always know the impact we have on other people. I'm not sure that I ever told Mary that for the past 36 years, no matter where I’ve lived or who I’ve been with; any time I hear “Say You, Say Me,” I’m immediately transported back to that old dark auditorium, and can hear Mary’s voice; her humor, her laugh, and her complete joy at making up a completely different song.

And I can’t help but be filled with joy myself. It was a gift she gave me that has continued to give.

There is no good way to end this email. I've just been reminded a lot this week, about telling the people in my life what they mean to me more often.