A/N- I wrote this for AP Comp and my teacher loved it. Hopefully you'll enjoy it too. To those awaiting updates on DYMM and Flip Flop, they're coming. I plan on writing a lot during my Thanksgiving weekend. Just a few more days until break…
Reflection
The bus was, for once, quiet as it pulled into the stadium parking lot. The thirty or so band members sat in silence as they reflected on their show and what had brought them here today, to Championships. They remained silent as they departed the bus and joined up with the other band members from the second bus. Bags were pulled out from under the buses and the chatter started up again. Innuendos flew left and right as the band members put on their tunics and searched for a matching, hopefully mold free glove. The members of the color guard, pretty and popular, pulled out their flags and weapons and headed off with their instructors for their own warm up. The drumline and the band found their way to the truck, which thankfully was not far, and proceeded to get out their instruments. Once dressed in full uniform, the drumline went off to a desolate corner to warm up. All that was left now were the brass and woodwinds; two by two they marched with their drum major to their designated warm up spot.
In the arc, they are separated by sections. The drum major stands alone in the center. She is the dedicated senior, the one everyone in the band looks to. She'll never let anyone know this, but she is more nervous today than she had been four years ago, as a freshman at her first band competition. Today, she had to lead the band onto the field in front of everyone else. The band was not ranked well and she worried about the score and how it would affect the band. The drum major did not care about the score they received, but she worried about those band members who only wanted to win. They would not take kindly to a low placing, even though she knew in her heart that they could take a top three spot. It was, however, unlikely. As a senior, she tried not to let her emotions get in the way. It was difficult. These people were her family. Some she had know for years and others she had just met, but they were all like siblings to her. She had spent her entire high school career labeled as a band geek, and yet she had been able to break the stereotype this season. She hopes that she had made band seem like the cool thing to do. She hopes that she had made a difference. She hopes that the lower classes would take the reigns when she and the other seniors graduated in June. She looks at her band—no, their band and calls, "Band, ten hut!"
The junior girl snaps as the drum major calls the band to attention. She warms up conservatively, wanting to save as much energy as she can for the show. The trumpet player glances down the line at her section. She stands third in the line of ten, an accomplishment she can be proud for after fighting tooth and nail for her spot. Getting a first trumpet part was like being in a dogfight this year. She is proud of the four freshmen brassline girls she has watched grow into young women. This year she actually feels some sadness for the end of the season. The previous year had been long and terrible. She couldn't wait for the season to be over and for indoor drumline to begin. This year, her section doubled in size and although the section leader became more of a tyrant than ever, she feels true to her section. The section leader, a black mark on an otherwise good line, screams and yells and throws tantrums. The girl and the other junior in the line have taken it upon themselves to lead the trumpets. She thinks it has worked; the freshmen have learned—what though, she is not sure.
The drumline join back up with the brass and woodwinds for a quick run of some of their show. The sophomore snare drummer locks in with the junior snare and the drum major. This is her first year on snare—and what a year it has been. After being moved to snare drum, her boyfriend, who incidentally plays bass drum, broke up with her after a few months of being in love. Heart broken, she looked to the rest of the line and her friends from indoor drumline. She looks forward to indoor drumline with a burning passion. Indoor drumline is a much needed relief from marching band. She worries that she won't be allowed to do it this year because of her mother. They fight and they fight and the girl prays she will be allowed to do indoor drumline. Her focus is lost for a moment and the instructor notices.
"Watch your stick heights! Your right hand was getting out of control."
"Sorry," She says quickly, correcting her hands.
The other girl in the trumpet section is a tiny girl, a petite freshman. She stunned the whole lot by getting first trumpet, a part reserved for the veterans who have put years into the activity. She knew that there were those who resented her just for being there. She was a girl and a rookie, and she was a lead trumpet player. Things like that don't happen in marching band. She realized quickly that it was a seniority based monarchy. However, she wasn't about to let her less than competent section leader slow her down. She watched the other girl in the section, the junior, and learned from her. The older girl seemed to take her under her wing and show her how to be a girl in the most testosterone filled section in the band. Who best to learn from but the original? The freshman was a shy girl by nature, but by the end of band camp she was speaking more and getting more involved. In twos walking down the stadium, she found herself next to the junior. She was poised and looked confident. The freshman tried to imitate her, but she was nervous. What if she messed up? What if she got out of step? How could this be so easy for her? She bit her lip and focused on the show at hand and the ever looming stadium.
The four girls lost their individual identities and dissolved into the block. The senior went to the front, bouncing and jumping around to get everyone excited. The junior smiled at her boyfriend and followed the senior to get into her spot. The sophomore clicked sticks with her fellow snare and set up in the block. The freshman high fived her mellophone friends before heading up to her spot in the front line near the junior. The drum major looked around and waited for her sign. The band director waved her on and she called the band to attention. All their work was now for this one moment. The drumline began the cadence and the band marched onto the field as one. Lead by one person, this small band had grown to become musicians and entertainers. The band did not belong to the instructors and the show did not belong to the instructors. It was theirs, one hundred percent.
Eight minutes was all it took. The band members, sweaty and panting heavily, marched off the field one last time as an ensemble. This would be the last time for the drum major. Tears were in her eyes as she called her final commands. The junior felt sorrow for the loss of the drum major, as did the sophomore and freshman. The seniors of the band had emotions spanning from joy to sadness. The members in the lower grades felt the same. The freshman was going to miss marching band. She had broken out of her shell, she had really grown. The sophomore was looking forward to the end of what had been a tumultuous season for her. The thought of the indoor season ahead brought her moods up. The junior was not sure how she felt. She had one last year left in marching band; next year she would be the senior. She joined her fellow band members back by the buses to pack everything up and reflected on how the season went. It had gone by in an instant. The band had gone through so much and yet most of the members had bonded together to make the season worthwhile. The four girls, though separated by age and grade all were here for the same reason. They came to win, they came to march and they came to play.