I pull slowly into the lot and cut the engine. I remain sitting in the car, taking in the familiar chaos around me. Other cars move around the gravel lot; some park, while others stop long enough to let younger band members out before pulling away. Teenagers trickle in and out of the old building in a steady stream, loading instruments, uniforms, and other gear onto the yellow school buses and the old band truck. Some pause in their rush to greet friends while others are so focused on not forgetting anything they don’t dare stop moving and double checking. Band parents stand nearby, loading water and crackers for us to eat after halftime. This has been my life for the past six years, and until this moment I never realized just how much I
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As soon as it hits zero, I call to the girls to move. The two football teams move away from us and towards the fieldhouse. I dart across the front sidelines, carefully placing equipment in the right spot. The rest of the guard hurries around me and the band members take their places on the sidelines. I finally reach the fifty yard line and set my sabre on the ground before Caleb’s platform. I run to my spot in line behind five instrument players on the forty yard line, adjusting my grip on the opener flag. Satisfied, I stand at attention, my head held high and a big smile on my face. The lead snare drummer gives four clicks, the signal for the percussion to start playing the cadence and the band to enter the field. I mark time and count as Mr. Smith introduces the band to the audience. Finally, it is my turn to march onto the field. I step off with my left foot and march forward, using my peripheral vision to remain in line with the two guard members on either side of me. We stop as we reach our spots in the opening set and mark time. The snare drummer again gives the four clicks, and as one the band turns to face the home side before falling into parade rest. I keep my smile in place as I stare at the ground with my head down. My feet are in the correct position, shoulder-width apart, and my free hand rests lightly against the small of my
As soon as it hits zero, I call to the girls to move. The two football teams move away from us and towards the fieldhouse. I dart across the front sidelines, carefully placing equipment in the right spot. The rest of the guard hurries around me and the band members take their places on the sidelines. I finally reach the fifty yard line and set my sabre on the ground before Caleb’s platform. I run to my spot in line behind five instrument players on the forty yard line, adjusting my grip on the opener flag. Satisfied, I stand at attention, my head held high and a big smile on my face. The lead snare drummer gives four clicks, the signal for the percussion to start playing the cadence and the band to enter the field. I mark time and count as Mr. Smith introduces the band to the audience. Finally, it is my turn to march onto the field. I step off with my left foot and march forward, using my peripheral vision to remain in line with the two guard members on either side of me. We stop as we reach our spots in the opening set and mark time. The snare drummer again gives the four clicks, and as one the band turns to face the home side before falling into parade rest. I keep my smile in place as I stare at the ground with my head down. My feet are in the correct position, shoulder-width apart, and my free hand rests lightly against the small of my