I am not going to write a disclaimer. These events are all from my own brain. My Marching Band Brain. That's right, my first Marching Band fic.
Nervous Wreck
Last year, my high school marching band did something different. We'd never competed out of state before, but we did it this time. Unforgettable, large, in Lucas Oil Stadium- home of the Indianapolis Colts, amazing bands, band apparel, looking at instruments.
Nerves of thread.
I was nervous, but never that nervous. While we were waiting to go on, I could stomach food and watch bands like at a normal competition. This time was completely different. We were back stage- well more like behind the scenes. One of the seniors at the time was looking at the water jugs, wondering which football players drank from them. I was thinking about the field and what bands we were up against. Bonding. Good, old-fashioned, section bonding. It didn't help in the slightest. At other times, I am a lioness, claiming my territory. I can strut around a stage and not worry in the slightest. I can march around the football field and give everything I have. This one time, I couldn't do it. It was just too much. Too much for me to handle. I couldn't go through with it. I felt like I was going to throw up.
We got our band pep talk from our director, with three things to do- number one- give it your all, number two- don't be afraid of the judges walking around on the field, because you can knock them over if they get in your way, and number three- have fun (standard for every competition). We lined up and began to walk down to the spot where we would come out on to the field. I could hear guys talking about how cool it is to walk down the same halls as professional football players. I wanted to scream at them to shut the hell up, but my mouth was too dry to do so. The girls in front of me were chatting giddily. I remember thinking, How the hell can they be so happy? My band director gave us all a high-five and we stood to wait. When we got on the field, there was no turning back.
Too late to chicken out.
We marched on, our feet rolling on the Astroturf perfectly. At least, I think mine were. I have no idea. I was too busy concentrating on not throwing up. I flicked my eyes to the screens to check out our form. I gave us a compliment in my head for looking as good as we did right there. My eyes flicked back, but the eyes of others stayed on the screen. Our director gave us the okay-go for us to get to our spots. The pre-show started. I was counting to sixteen before I could pose and move about. Once the drum majors started to conduct, I moved to the correct spot. So far, so good, I thought, but that was when everything went south.
When we moved to the spot when I was supposed to start playing my horn, my mouth became dry again. I blew. No! I tried it again. Goddamnit! I couldn't play. I kept trying, but my mouth ran drier and drier. I was so focused on that that I ruined the first part of the show up to the big halt. I went crazy. I was too far back and out of step. I could hear someone whisper "left, left, left." Shit! This was not right.
I marched on, and I was two steps too far to the left. Oh my God! I'm screwing up all over the place. The next five sets I did were perfect. I tried to play my horn again. No luck. I moved back and nearly knocked over the trombone player behind me. Then I put it down and snapped it back up when I wasn't supposed to. Oh God, oh God, oh God!
The next few parts of the show, I was in automatic pilot. I don't think I remember even doing that part of the show. The next thing I remember was leaving the field. I was so relieved.
When you think about it, my mind was not there. I was not the usual stage lioness that I normally am. I was a rabbit running for her life. I couldn't hold myself together. We're going back to that competition this year. I hope it goes well this time.
A/N: True story.