Maddie on Chorus Angelicus

Maddie on Chorus Angelicus You ever have a friend so beautiful she makes men briefly lose the power of speech and coordinate their limbs? That’s Chorus. We’ll walk into a room together and some poor fella sees her and suddenly he’s forgotten how knees work. He’s like— “Hi… I… you… flowers…” And I’m standing two feet away going: “Hey, bys. I’m over here.” Nothing. Complete neurological event. And the worst part is, Chorus has no idea. None. She’ll smile at him like he’s a wounded puppy. That’s how she looks at everybody. Every human being is apparently one small emotional rescue away from being adopted by Chorus Angelicus. Someone says, “Bit of a rough week.” She’s immediately like: “Oh, darling.” And I’m thinking, Jesus Christ, he missed a bus. She is so soulful. Everything means something. A bird lands on a railing and Chorus is like, “Perhaps it came because we needed stillness.” No, Chorus. It came because there was a railing. And then she starts singing. Of course she starts singing. And she can actually sing, which is irritating. You ever have a friend who cries at documentaries? Not sad documentaries. All documentaries. Whales. Teenagers. Old men repairing violins. Some woman in rural France making cheese. Chorus is gone. Absolutely wrecked. I come in and she’s crying into a blanket. I’m like, “What happened?” She goes: “They still make the cheese by hand.” Right. Emergency. Call command. And then there’s the flowers. The flowers in her hair do not die. Apparently. Which everybody thinks is mystical. I think her hair is just running at unsafe electromagnetic levels. Blazing mind and all. You put a daisy up there and it’s like: “I have seen the Field.” I’m waiting for one of them to start levitating. Still, I’ll say this. Being friends with Chorus is good for you. She notices when you’re hurting before you’ve decided to admit it. She hears the sad part of a song you were pretending was just catchy. She remembers what you said three weeks ago when nobody else did. And she somehow makes you feel like maybe the universe isn’t entirely run by idiots. Which is useful. And no, I’m not jealous of the Angel Flower Girl. Look at me. I’m doing fine. She can have the speechless men and immortal daisies. I’ve got a Rickenbacker and functioning knees. Well— most days.