A fierce October wind ripped across the football field as the clock clicked down the second quarter. I stood directly in front of the home bleachers, my set in my hands, a mallet tucked behind each ear. The tone let out as the clock moved to all zeros. "Go, Cadence! Move!" I felt the marimba poke me in the back of the legs as my section leader rushed to get set up for halftime.
"I'm going, Jasper." I picked up the bell set quickly and hustled over to the sideline.
The five-member pit began setting up all around the drum major's platform. Two of the band parents and the drumline instructor helped move the chimes and the tympanis. I could hear the center snare begin the clicks for the band to move across the field. "Faster!" Jasper muttered, sliding his marimba into place beside my bell set.
"Fuck, it's cold out." Jameson rubbed his meaty hands together as he picked up the tympani mallets.
As soon as the drum major reached the first hash on the field, the announcer began our introduction. The pit continued to scramble as the band moved into formation on the grass.
"Let's give a big hand to the Centre Valley Marching Wildcats. The show this year is entitled…"
I totally blocked him out as I rushed over and saved the bell tree from falling over. The little metal pieces clinked together loudly, and I winced. Jasper shot me a Look, and I hissed in his general direction. "Shut up, Jazz."
I ran back over to my bell set as the drum major approached her podium. I took both my mallets from behind my ears, and rubbed my hands together to warm them up in the freezing, whipping wind. All around me, the pit went into detail. I mirrored them.
"Attend-hut!" The drum major called out, and I snapped to attention, my mallets poised, ready-to-sting-bees above a delicious flower.
Her arms began to move in four-four. All of the low brass came in right on the first beat. Woodwinds squeaked in on beat three. The battery began pounding out vicious rhythms on the and-of-three. My hands clenched tightly as I came in on beat four, along with the marimba and the xylophone.
The little bell set tinged and twanged my part as my clumsy and cold hands attempted to keep up with the assorted sixteenth-notes. I heard my section leader facing the same problem beside me, and Alex, the sophomore on xylophone, seemed to have the same doom as Jazz and I.
"Jazz… Jazz." I hissed as I played, my teeth chattering.
"What do you want, Cadence?" He murmured back.
"What are we going to do when the mallet solo comes up in the tenth set?" I felt tears prick up behind my eyes as I hit yet another sour note.
"We're going to be fucked. That's what's going to happen, Cadence Mallory." I heard the pain in his voice.
"Dang." The tears began to fall as the band move its way into the ninth set. "Here it goes."
For twelve endless measures, it was almost silent on the field. I say almost because Jazz, Alex, and I would occasionally butcher out a note or two. It was just too darn cold for any of our hands to move fast enough.
As the rest of the band came back in, I saw the slump in the drum major's shoulders. I saw the drumline instructor on the bench, his head down between his knees. I saw our head director shooting the three of us an evil stare.
I felt the disappointment radiate off of the three defeated mallet players. My heart seemingly cracking. My shoulders shuddering as the tears cascaded down my face. The brightness of the field lights. The thrum of the bass drums under my feet. The single blister on my right foot. The itchy scab on my left leg.
There was only one thing I couldn't feel.
My hands.