Arias And Aidas
By

Melvin C. Hathorn

There are few professionals left who are completely dedicated to their careers. One of these is the dental hygienist profession. Dental hygienists are out to save the world from the terrors of gingivitis; they are missionaries determined to convince all of the joys of flossing. There is one profession however that outranks dental hygienists in its zealousness, the professional soloist.

I first became aware of the dedication of the soloist while at a friend's wedding. As the ceremony progressed, the time arrived for the soloist to sing. She stood, promenaded to the front of the sanctuary and with an exaggerated gesture spread her material on the music stand. A full-figured blonde, she looked the epitome of an opera star.

Except for the absence of a Viking helmet, a spear, and a breastplate she was indistinguishable from the feminine version of Pavarotti. The audience hushed. A deadening solemnity silenced even the most jaded spectator. A stern forbidding expression clouded her face. With a scowl at the pianist as if to say, "Don't you dare screw up." she nodded. The pianist began. She began. Unfortunately, she couldn't sing. One particularly flat high E caused everyone to cringe.

After the first solo, she returned to her seat. There was a low murmuring undercurrent of relief. The restless stirring, coughing, and paper rustling seemed to speak to the audience's deliverance. This was short-lived, however, because a few minutes later she walked forward to sing again. And a third time. After each solo, the beleaguered guests, thinking this was the last, breathed a collective sigh of relief. Each time she walked forward, another undercurrent swept through the audience. Finally she reached her concluding selection, The Lord's Prayer.

Those of us who have heard the Lord's Prayer acknowledge it a difficult piece, but if it is done correctly, beautiful. She pulled out all the stops for this one. Her intensity would have put Torquamada to shame. Even the most numbed listener would have to admit that whatever talent she lacked was more than made up by her energy. Energy that rattled the windows, energy that vibrated the pews and energy that caused the floor boards to tremble.

As she concluded the last line, Thine is the Kingdom, and the Power and the Glory foreveeerrrrrrr and before the final Amen, there was a short rest. Perhaps it was nervousness; perhaps it was a minor rebellious streak, but for whatever reason, in that moment of silence a perspiring groom said in a stage whisper loud enough for all to hear, "It ain't over till the fat lady sings."