Twelve. Number twelve. Yesterday began with number twelve. Yesterday ended with songs sung subterranean to passing metro passengers. Yesterday actually ended with a cookie and a coffee consumed in a ‘healthy’ restaurant and a ‘healthy walk down a steep hill to the metro.

My wife has been dealing with a cold and it has disrupted her sleep patterns. She has tossed and turned and has seemed to never be comfortable throughout the night. Me, except for the normal trips to the washroom sleep soundly but woke early. As I tried to dress without waking her I heard her voice say, “Twelve”. Looking at her it was clear she was still sleeping. She then shook and again said “TWELVE.” Her head fell back to the side and she started softly snoring. 

When the was awake and moving around a little later in the day, I told her about the two recitations of the number twelve. She had absolutely no memory of it. We played our little game of trying to suss out where the number twelve might have come into her consciousness recently. Nothing popped up, nada. 

The rest of the day was pretty much like ever single other day I live. Laundry, dishes, making the bed, purging emails and looking with horror at the news. The one thing that was different was that Loren’s choral group was performing in the metro station at Marques Pombal. I had bugged him that we should go see them and see if he knew anyone still in the group. He agreed.

But then when time came to go he dawdled. He suggested we should walk to the station despite the much nearer metro station to us that would have provided a faster trip to the performance site. At this point it was clear to me he was dogging it trying to delay as much as possible. Loren would never suggest a long walk all other things being equal.

Because of Loren’s long stride we got to the site about 18 minutes before the performance. As soon as the choir director saw him he pointed for Loren to take a place in the back row. Loren had not practiced the music. He hadn’t been with the choir in nine months. He didn’t have the music. He hadn’t warmed up. Afterwards he told me it was about the same as living the dream of showing up to the final having never gone to class and being naked.

Loren gave it his all. He shared a choirboy with a man who was a foot shorter than he was. His head kept dropping down to read the next line and then popping back up to bring the bass line forward. When the choir began to do some simple choreographed steps to accompany a very repetitive song, he watched and fell into the rhythm . It was hard to miss him with his head towering above the rest of the choir.

When it was done people shook his hand and the choir assistant made sure that Loren committed to coming to practices in January. Loren then looked at me and demanded sweet potato fries from Honest Greens. So, off we went looking at Christmas lights and store window decorations. We were got there a gluten free cookie was the choice instead of fries. Then it was down, down the high hill to the nearest metro stop. 

Loren acquitted himself well singing naked last it was. A boring Monday was punctuated with joyful serendipity.