Summer seemed to drag on forever. After Tanglewood, Peter and I spent a good deal of time together, sometimes with Owen. When he was with us we were either at Peter’s or Owen’s house. My parents had not yet met Owen, despite the fact that he had been at our concert and despite their questions about him. Finally, my parents forced the issue when my father invited us all over for a barbecue. So Peter, Owen, and I went to my house in the late afternoon. My parents greeted Peter warmly, as always. Then my mother turned and said, “And this must be the famous Owen.”
Owen held her hand gently, smiled his oh-so-winning smile, said hello, and then remarked that he wasn’t sure whether he was famous or infamous. That seemed to break the ice. My parents took to him right away and chatted cheerfully with him for much of the evening. It did help that Owen was on his best, and least flamboyant behavior. The evening was a total success.
At last, school began again, and the events of the year can be quite briefly told, as there were no great traumas or surprises. The Classical Singers resumed right where we had left off, but with some new members to replace the seniors who had left. I still worked on the piano and practiced with our trio. I had very much enjoyed the Fauré music which the Beaux Arts Trio had played at Tanglewood, so we purchased the music and began practicing. Meanwhile, Peter remained busy with the Cathedral choir, piano lessons, and organ lessons. I’m not sure when he had time to sleep. We continued to spend weekends together as frequently as possible.
Of course, Penny remained the third member of our ‘team,’ often going to events with us in addition to being a permanent member of our lunch table. She was really a sweet, thoughtful girl who totally supported our plans to commit to each other.
We had discussed with our parents where we might go to college. Peter’s organ teacher had suggested Yale or the University of Michigan, both of which had excellent organ departments. Michigan also had the advantage of having on its faculty an accomplished, experienced professor of accompanying whom my mother knew. We applied to both Michigan and Yale, with the hopes of being accepted by at least one of them.
In late November, we received a letter from Owen, which read:
Dear Christian and Peter,
Things are going along boringly but well here. I have decided to apply to the art school at the University of Michigan. Where do you think you’ll be going?
You will be happy to know I have met a boy here whom I find very attractive. Actually, I met him last year and fell head over heels for him, but he didn’t seem interested in me. This fall, all that changed, perhaps partly because we are roommates, but also because he just seemed ready. Since we have a room with a door which locks, we have been able to get to know each other very well (if you know what I mean—giggle!). I don’t really know whether he’s truly queer or whether he’s straight but finding release where he can. That doesn’t really matter now, although I suppose it will eventually.
His name is Ahmed, and he is a Saudi Arabian prince, but he tells me that’s not very impressive because his family is huge and all the males are princes. I gather that when he first got here, the year before I did, he expected to be waited on and coddled as he was at home. In fact, on his first morning at school he went to his dorm head to ask when his clothes for the day would be laid out, so I’m sure school was a rather rude awakening for him. It took him the better part of that year to adjust and find that he could have friends if he simply treated the boys as equals.
Anyway, it is too far for him to travel home over the Christmas vacation so he’ll be coming home with me. I can’t wait for you both to meet him.
Hugs and kisses,
Owen
Owen and Ahmed arrived the week before Christmas while we were still in school and performing Christmas concerts. Talking with Owen on the phone, I suggested that he and his father and Ahmed should join us at the Cathedral on Christmas Eve. Owen said he wasn’t sure that Ahmed could because he was a Muslim, but he would ask. Ahmed said he thought that sounded interesting, so we arranged to meet at the front door of the Cathedral at 10:30.
Owen, his father, and Ahmed were all there when we arrived. As we had not yet met Ahmed, Owen did the introductions. Ahmed was probably a little shorter than Peter. He was quite slim and his complexion was just a bit lighter than mine. The striking feature about him was his eyes, which were very deep, dark and lustrous, and surrounded by the longest, most delicate lashes I had ever seen.
We seated Ahmed on the aisle near the front so he could see everything that happened. Until he had come to school in this country, he had never heard an organ, so the sound was still quite new to him. Peter had been asked to play the prelude. He played three Christmas chorale preludes by Bach, each very lovely in its own way as Ahmed listened, enraptured.
During the service, Ahmed watched everything closely, from the procession, through the carols, lessons, and prayers, right up to communion. When he saw people going up to the rail, he looked at me a little frightened and asked, “What should I do?” I told him that, since he was not a Christian, he wouldn’t have to go up and that I would stay with him. While Owen and our parents went to the altar rail, I tried to explain to him what communion was all about.
“Do you mean that they are actually eating the body and blood of their god, Jesus?”
That was a tricky question, one that theologians had been wrestling with for two thousand years. I told him what I thought, that the bread and wine were symbols of the body and blood and not really flesh and blood.
He considered that for a few minutes, before saying, “That is very strange. We have nothing like that in Islam.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but would you tell me about Islam sometime? I’d really like to learn.”
He assured me he would.
At the end of the service, Owen reminded us that Peter, I, and our families were all invited to Christmas Dinner at his house the next afternoon. This would be a change in tradition for us all, but we were eagerly anticipating it.
Before dinner the next afternoon, Peter and I gave Owen copies of our pictures and he gave each of us one of his. Ahmed, who had received a picture of Owen in the morning appeared to feel a little left out, so we assured him he could also have our pictures.
Mr. Crawford proved to be a marvelous cook, and the dinner was delicious. He served wine with the meal, asking our parents first if we could have some. They agreed to a small amount so we enjoyed what seemed to be an excellent red wine, although neither of us knew anything about wines. Ahmed politely declined the wine, saying that alcoholic drinks were against his religion.
He was full of questions about Christianity, many of which were difficult for any of us to answer. How did Christians know on what day Jesus was born? What was crucifixion? Why were the Jewish leaders against him? Did he really work miracles? Did he really come back from the dead? All good questions, each one worthy of hours of discussion.
We answered as best we could and then asked him to tell us about Mohammed and Islam, which he did. I was most impressed by what he called the ‘Five Pillars of Faith,’ especially the fasting, which Muslims did every day for a solid month, taking no food or drink from sun up to sun down. I imagined that must be terribly difficult, especially in such a hot, dry climate. He said that little children didn’t do it, but that he had fasted for the past three years. Yes, it was difficult, he agreed, but he felt it brought him closer to both Allah and his family.
Following Christmas vacation we began to work on the music for the spring concerts. We had agreed with Mr. Atkinson to do a combined concert in the spring. My trio was going to play the Fauré piece and one by Beethoven. Peter was hard at work on Bach’s A minor Prelude and Fugue and Franck’s Chorale in A minor, both very major works. Mr. Atkinson suggested that, in addition to singing a Bach Cantata, since Fauré was already on the program, we perform his Requiem, to which we readily agreed. Peter had sung parts of it at the Cathedral and had found that he loved Fauré, despite the fact that Fauré, an organist of great note, never had written any organ music, for which Peter would not forgive him. On paper, it appeared to be a lengthy but wonderful concert.
In March we each received acceptance letters from both Yale and Michigan. After discussing it all over once more with our parents we chose Michigan and had the pleasure of turning Yale down (politely, of course). For once, the good decision also proved to be the less expensive one. We later heard that Owen had also been accepted and was going to Michigan. Ahmed had been accepted to Harvard, so Owen would only see him on vacations, but after all, there were over 25,000 students to choose from at Michigan, so, although we didn’t know how committed he and Ahmed were to each other, we were certain Owen wouldn’t be lonely for long.
As we neared May, Peter and I began planning for our commitment ceremony, which was to be the day after his birthday, July 18. Since it was not a religious service, we decided to write something ourselves, although we did lean rather heavily on Peter’s Book of Common Prayer for some of the wording. While we were busy planning that, we also discussed Tanglewood, and decided to forego it for this year. Although our parents had very kindly offered to get a room for just the two of us, we concluded that a room so close to them wouldn’t give us the privacy we craved so we declined. Then, remembering our request from a meeting with Dr. Cushing years ago, they suggested they give us several nights in a hotel in Boston, with the loan of a car and money for food and any entertainment we wanted. We knew they were sincerely trying to show us that they had accepted us and what we wanted to do, and we were very touched. Of course we agreed.
There remained the question of where we would live as a couple when we were in Massachusetts. We didn’t have the money to rent an apartment, but as we discussed the question, the Bradleys mentioned that they had two small rooms with a bath over their garage, which nobody had occupied since Peter’s grandmother had died. They suggested that we could furnish one room as a bedroom and the other as a study/living room. There was a private set of stairs going up to the rooms directly from the back door.
I wasn’t certain how my parents would react to me living at the Bradleys’, but, when Peter and I assured them we would split our time during the days we were home between the two houses and that we certainly would play their grand piano often, they agreed to the idea. So we thanked the Bradleys and gratefully accepted.
In exchange, my parents suggested that we have the ceremony in our back yard. They would provide the flowers and chairs and the two families would hire caterers for a reception afterwards. They also pointed out that, in the event of rain, our living room would be cramped but would work as a substitute.
Deciding that we wanted to exchange rings, we went to a jeweler in the city and asked to see gold bands. We each picked out the one we wanted and said we would like our initials inscribed inside them. The jeweler looked a bit nonplussed but quickly recovered, wrote the order, and told us we could pick them up the next week.
We decided to ask Dr. C. to act as Master of Ceremonies for us, to which he agreed when he was sure there were no religious implications to what we were doing. Penny had asked to be the Ring Bearer, which we thought was a wonderful idea. Meanwhile, the other two members of my trio had suggested that they find another violinist and a violist to provide string quartet music for us. We thanked them, expressing our appreciation repeatedly.
So everything was settled. We made a reservation for four nights at the Parker House in Boston, and tried to find out what concerts or theater events might be happening while we were there. The hotel manager said that, when the time got nearer, he would send a list of what was available.
Our joint concert was held at the Congregational church in mid-May. It began with Peter playing the Bach Prelude and Fugue in A Minor. The Classical Singers performed a Bach cantata as Peter accompanied them. Following the Bach the trio played Beethoven. The Singers then sang the Fauré Requiem, with me accompanying on the church’s excellent grand piano. Next our trio performed Fauré. Peter ended the concert with a rousing performance of the Franck A minor Chorale, a piece I had never heard before but which proved to be exciting in spots, soulful in other spots, with a tense, rapidly building, full-organ finale. The audience rose and burst into applause. We all took our final bows before moving to a reception in the parish hall.
There were so many people there, I’m sure I didn’t get to talk with all of them. Owen and Ahmed were there. Ahmed was leaving for home the next day. He said he was very sorry he wouldn’t be at our ceremony. We told him we would miss him, but understood and we hoped to see him at Christmas. Two days before our ceremony, we each received a gold watch in the mail from Ahmed, together with a card expressing his fondness for us both and his good wishes for our future. We were overwhelmed and wrote him lengthy, grateful notes.
After the spring school concert, all that remained was graduation, held in the Westbridge Auditorium. There was an organ in the Auditorium, so Mr. Atkinson had asked Peter if he would perform the Widor Toccata from his Fifth Symphony as a processional. Peter agreed, but when he went to practice, he and Mr. Partridge found that half the organ didn’t work. Nevertheless, he gave a great rendition of the piece as we all processed.
Now all we could do was await our birthdays, our brief but very important ceremony and, finally, our unrestricted time together. But that deserves a separate chapter.