Discovering Opera at Forty-Five

A friend had an extra ticket to the opera and dragged me along. I'd never been. I assumed I'd hate it. I wore jeans.

It was "La Bohème." I didn't understand a word of Italian, but there were subtitles above the stage, and by the second act I was completely gone. The music was so huge it felt like it was coming from inside my own chest. When the soprano sang her big aria, the man next to me, a total stranger in a tuxedo, was crying, and so was I.

I've been to six operas since. I bought season tickets. I listen to Puccini in my car on the way to work and sing badly at red lights.

My friend says she's created a monster. I wear a nice shirt now, though. Sometimes.