The bus ride is a typical 45 minute bus ride to Batesburg-Leesville, and I am a bit jumpy and nervous from earlier and the fact that this is our first competetion. I tightly clutch Gabi and Guffy's hand as we enter the parking lot. We let go of eachother so the woman climbing on the bus can stamp us, to signify that we are preforming. Guffy and I scope around, eying the older members of the band-who are pulling down their sleaves and up their gloves, holding out the underside of their wrists. We do the same, and they lady walks by-casually stamping a orange ink-dot on our wrists.
After marking the rest of the bus, the woman gives directions to the parking lot and practice area to the driver before exiting the vehicle-allowing us to be on our way.
We follow the directions, soon to find Brater standing beside two other buses and the band truck. It doesn't make sense that the other two buses are here first, but we are bus 1... It's whatever; it's probably cause we are just slack and all.
Bus 1 unloads and we gather around Mr. Brater with the rest of the band. Brater tells us to grab our intruments and get all uniform on, if it's not all on already.
Gabi puts my hair in a loose high bun quickly before strapping my helmet around my head, carefully setting my hair so it'd fall out when taken off. I hear Chris mumbles something to himself about Gabi baby-ing me. I ignore his comment and grab my case. I reach to open my case as Chris grabs my wrist. My section leader drags me, forcefully, around the other side of the band truck, with Nick in tow. He orders Nick to pin both wrists to the truck, which he does. "You listen closely, bitch." Chris growls violently, pointing his finger angerly from behind nick. I listen intently. "If you miss ANY set, ANY entrence, ANY form, ANY action, ANY NOTE-you can bet your ass will be beaten into next week. MUCH worse than ANYthing you've got in the past month. So you'd best be on your best game, cause if we make anything less then 1st place, it'll be on YOUR shoulders. And, you will not tell ANYONE about what we've don'e together; you, nick, and I. If you do, things will only be worse for you. A whole lot worse." Chris barks. Probably the worst pep talk I've ever gotten. "So you better go out there and march your tiny fucking ass off, princess!" Nick then pushes me off towards the cases, after smacking my butt. Chris, though, doesn't walk off. He puts his hand around my neck and pushes me back against the truck. "And, my dove, don't think just cause you have a special part, means you can slack off. It's actually more of a burden, more to learn. More to mess up on." then Chris walks the other way.
I slide my gloves on-tucking them under my gauntlents and sleaves, trying to shake off my encounter. I grab my baritone and oil it one final time. Gabi approaches me and adjusts my helmet back. "How did that get so crooked?" she asks, unsuspectingly, while putting in my plume. I was about to say 'chris' when I remembered his threat and lied, "I tripped. And hit my helmet to the side." I tell her, then quickly add, "I'm sorry." I'm not exactly sure what I ment by that, and Gabi oviously doesn't know either, good. She looks at me quizingly. I think I'm sorry for lying to her, but I'm not gonna tell her I just lied to her-she'd be so disappointed in me, and she doesn't need that right now. But I sure do hate lying to her.
Brater yells for us to get in score order to go to the practice area. I stand behind Matt and beside Beau and infront of Gabi.
We stop in a field, just under a large tree. Brater allows us to take off our jacket and our hats, so we all carefully take off our gauntlets, helmets, then jackets and set them a foot infront of us, leaving them in our show shirt, me in my white shirt, and bibbers.
We do the long warm up, stopping every couple of minutes for Brater to yell at us for something. Then, Brater goes around, one by one, tuning each instrument.
Brater gets to me and I play my high B flat. "Flat." he grunts, moving on. He goes through the rest of the baritones then to the trumpets. Chris gets the section together. "You were SO flat, play that note again." I do, and he gets angry. "keep playing! Nick, play with her." he yells. I do, and as Nick plays my tuning note for me, Chris pushes in my tuning slide towards me. I flinch and try to keep him from hitting me, but he yells. "Stop moving! play!" so he forces the instrument into my face, cutting my lip a bit. After quite a long time, Chris notions for Nick to stop. But he doesn't say for my horns down, so I keep it up. 'Did he forget about me?' I think 'or is this punishment?' I decide to let my arms relax abit, but Chris hits my shoulder with his metal chain bracelet he always wears. "Keep it up!" he yells. Matt tries to walk over to me, to help me, but Nick slaps him across the face as Brater approaches. I keep my horn up as he runs through the baritones again. He goes through everyone, even me, this time-not saying anything-which is good because his silence means he has absolutely nothing to correct you on.
He goes through the rest of the band, tuning them. Everyone is fixed, so he dismisses us into our order to go onto the field. We all quickly get our jackets, guantlents, and hats back on us-with minimum difficulty possible, for me.
Before I get in my place, directly behind Gabi, Rachel stops me. "Good luck, Leah, you'll do great." she reassures me. Rachel is awesome, she's very nice and likes me a lot. She plays bass drum, the only girl-too, like Gabi and I. We're all very similar; Gabi, Rachel and I. We're the only girls in sections, very good friends, and we even look similar, Like sisters! She's friends with Gabi, And since she's a junior, she looks out for me when Gabi's not there. We hang out in the band room before the rest of the high school lets out, most days. She has a tedancy to calm me down when Gabi isn't there to console me, but she could never replace Gabi. But I thank Rachel and she hugs me bye before she runs to catch up with the rest of the drum line, as I jump in line.
Just after she leaves, Gabi turns around and wraps her arms awkwardly around me, avoiding my baritone and her sousaphone-which is around her shoulder-from touching. She pecks a small loving kiss on my forehead before telling me to march my tiny heart out and turning around. I take her words to heart.
We begin to march to the field. My breath quickens to an unheathy rate. But I have to keep going. I have to prove myself. The pulse becomes burned into my mind, my heart might actually be pumping to the beat.
I close my eyes as I take a deep breath to become completely focused, pushing out all other concerns. I channel in on band. This is all about marching. This is my world, for the moment. We need to win and be amazing to be remembered. We have to.
We hear the snare tap behind us. The "pulse" becomes even more apparent as we continuously push our feet to be alined with it. Toes raised high, mouth-piece at eye level perfect posture, we silently march behind Brater. My heart beats so loud, I think everyone can hear it. I look around and everyone looks like they're about to be sick. I imagine that's exactly what I look like. I'm so nervous. I run through the past two months in my head, desperatly trying to remember every single thing I've been told. I mostly have no idea what the deal with competions are, I don't know what we're doing or where we'll go. But I do know the show. I know marching. I guess all I can do is go with the flow, till that.
I know the instant my foot touches the smooth grass that the intensity suddenly increases exponentially. Chris' words echo in my head. 'This is no game' I tell myself. This is more serious than I thought. Our placement could depend on one person's shoulders. I pray it isn't mine.
The field has a specific 'thing' to it; like the brisk feel of an early autumn morning, when everything is alive and alert. The air smells of sweat, oil, grass, tension, and hope. We can do this.
The line scretches to a hault. I can almost hear the silence pounding at my ears. My muscles are already screaming at me, burning with stress. I hush them silently, knowing I can't think about my sore muscles right now.
The show. I must focus on the show. Nothing but the show. 4 movements. A total of well over 500 measures. Remember, Leah. Remember everthing.
Something Brater said rings in my mind, "Football players only have to focus for twenty seconds before taking a break. We have 10 minutes before our break." no break, Leah. No resting till we have all marched off this field.
I run through the show a final time in my mind, fast forwarding through all 4 movements in the show. I've got this. Maybe... No, focus! I can do all of this! I have to.
We stand still, in our opening set. Here, we go. 1... 3... 1, 2, 3, 4. Bahhhhh. The clarinets hit their note, and we're off, marching escusitly.
Soon, I stop and lift my horn. First valve down. Big Brater breath. Tah, buzzzz. There we go! Eb. Good job. You got this. Toes up. Horn 10 degrees above parallel. Stop smiling, corners go down. Open jaw. Straight legs! Keep horn up! Careful with this execution; 14 counts. Good. But perfectiction is key! Toes UP! You're on the corner-you can't be wrong-everyone'll see, including Chris and Nick AND judges! March! Straight knees! Do you WANT to be beaten today?! You are marching like you DO! Okay, fast part. Stay in time, on top of the beat. Bah, bah, bahhhhh! Okay, Ab-Db-F. Rest, rest. G-C-E. Okay, again-go faster! Higher! Louder! Good! Toesss! Keep 'em up! Okay-big breath and block. You're next to Gabi, be good! Stay on beat! Hurryyyy! Okay :) good first movement! But the show is young! Don't start slacking!
Bah dah tahhhhh, bah dah tahhhhhh. Step step, slow. Step step slowwwww. Turn, 2 3, 1 2 3. Good. Turn back, 1-lah-lee, 2-lah-(lee), THREEEE! Hey, there's Rachel. "Stay calm. Be amazing. I love you girlie." She says, knowing no one can here her but I. I just listen and stand still at the hold. Okay 4/4 now. F#! E natural! Key of G. Tah-dah, tah, tah-dah, tah! Tah! Tah! Tahhhhhh! Beeeee! Set ambushure for very high F. 1-lah-lee 2-lah-lee, 3! (and) Tah! Whoa-that was good, girl! High notes! Careful! Straight legs, march with correct style. Fast air! Damn it-I high C instead of a higher Eb. Calm down, no way Chris herd that. Play, bitch! Okay, LOUD, LOUD, LOUDDDDDDDDDDDD! Off! Whew!
Okay, third movement; this is were only I am different. You. are. the visual! Only you are doing this! No maś! No one else! Pour Què?! Stop being so dramatic, Leah. Keep calm. But You're the damsel in distress, so you can be a bit discombobulated. But stay focused. My entire line turns around. As, we face backfield-cresicendo, decresendo. Okay. Good. Again. It's about to happen. Now. The rest of my turns back around and does a ten, plant, point, nothing, open, three. But I just keep marching forward.
Okay, ready... Horns down! Good, right on time. I let my horn fall to my side and look scared as the rest of my line continues forward left and they close up my hole. I get in the mind set of a little Russian girl about to be kidnapped. I run to my left, then right frantically. I spot 2 big dark-dressed people running towards me. As planned. I carefully run through a preselected few regular band people, in the hold that's playing really dramatic and intense music. Something that matches the suspense of Jaws-in my mind. And what's tradgic, is that in the story-no one comes to help me. I look back, as instructed, a few times-but they're catching up. I'm supposed to be at the N30. I'm only on the N40! They are faster than I, they'll be here soon. Run!
Well, soon they are. Both of them are the two boy colorguard we have, dressed in black spy-like clothing. They are both really strong and about as big as Nick and Matt-who are about the same size.
They catch me on the 35. It's only 5 yards; no biggie.
The smaller one takes my baritone and runs off with it, supposing to show them taking away all the evidence. I feel my hat being taken off, also, which I know is so it isn't broken. My soft blonde waves fall just below my shoulders, I know this is to show my feminimty, to show the audiance that I'm a small girl.
Confused, I look around for my "belongings" and helmet-panicked. I turn my head, while moving my body expressively tense and sharp, to my left and right, but seeing nothing. Fear is itched on my face.
Suddenly, I feel toned arms wrap around my stomach and arms from behind. I try to get him to release me, but he won't. I sling what I can move of my arms violently and kick my feet around, but no success. I do just enough to show I'm fighting very hard-but not enough to hurt Jacob, the guy holding me. This was very hard to plan, which resulted in several brusies on Jacob. But Jacob and I are good friends now, he's another of Gabi's friends, and we've really gotten to know eachother as he's kidnapped me so many times. Ha. But as I struggle, I look mad, crazed, and terrified. As my hair flies everywhich way, Jacob carries me to the 50, just behind the back hash.
There, Jacob carefully-though looking agressive, throws me to the ground. This, also, takes a lot of planning and practice. One of the first few times, he threw me so hard I blacked out for a moment, but when I came-too, he apologized so much. He's so sweet.
This time, I land perfectly safe, even though the wind was knocked out of me a little. As scripted, I scream loudly and high-so it carries eerily across the otherwize suddenly silent field. Jacob then pertends to viciously kick and hit me, which has also caused me many brusies in the practices, as the music picks back up. He picks me up under my arms and knees, as I pretend to be unconsious. I make sure my head is very limp to show my hair swaying in the wind. He runs behind the very large 'city' screen in the back of the field.
There, he drops me on my feet as two girl colorguard simultaniously begin to pull at my uniform. Quickly but carefully, they pull my jacket off and I step out of bibbers. In less than ten seconds, I'm out of uniform and in my white.
Suddenly, as ordered, I'm directed into the silver pipe cage with some of the smaller colorguard. The colorguard look very fancy with their shiny blue and black uniforms, but I need to focus. Sure enough, the boys and rest of the colorguard push the cage out to the fifty.
This is the fourth movement, "The revolution". The dancers militaristicly march around the cage. My character, though, is sitting on the ground-my arms around my legs and my hair spread across my knees. I violently quiver.
Then, at the loudest part of the music, the climax, I suddenly stop. I stand and notion for the others to follow my lead and they do. I run to the side of the cage and begin to shake the bars-demanding freedom. I hear someone silently whisper, "Careful." as we don't want to break the bars yet.
This retrospectively causes the dancers to get angry. The big guy motions for his team to aim at us with their colorguard riffles. We sense to back off. The boy comes in and throws me over the shoulder. I know I'm a child, I'm scared of guns, I don't resist.
The man sets me down outside the cage and I don't try to run. He assigns two bigger girl dancers to hold me down. I jerk from side to side, with no avail.
I am almost punched and kicked and beaten, all given appropriate responses by myself. My hair slings dramatically in all directions.
The music gets louder and higher, and more majestic. While i watch, a guard sneakily comes and puts my hair in a bun, shes never seen. The other "children" in the cage start to revolt. They all shake the bars, till-eventually, they fall out. The kids escape! I struggle hard to get loose and I'm rewarded with my wrists being set free. I 'punch' them and fight and roll, till finally-i'm home free.
The first place I run is to the closest screen, where I discover my uniform. I pull it back on and slide into the jacket. Simultaniously, I am zipped up and my gloves and gauntlets are strapped back on in less time than it took to take this off.
Then I run by to the spot my baritone and helmet has been laid, and pick it up-I didn't even stop running. I snap my hat on and slide the already-tight neckstrap under my chin. A spot in my section in drill opens perfectly up as I fit in snuggly. I'm not even noticed, it seems like. A smile is clearly evident on my face.
I begin to march the tag. Ready... Horns up, again, with everyone else. Straight knees. Dahhh, dahhh. dahhhh, dahhh. March you're best, stay in line. Nick should be coming beside you right... Now. Be exceptional! Watch Rachel, at the edge of the field. She just stepped out to conduct us while we go back field. Follow her hands. Good. Stay in her time. Tah... Tah... Tah. Tah, tah, tah... Tah, tah. High A flat!... High A flat!... LOWWWWW!... Off-and-down. Nice snap, Leah! Good, baritones! Whoop, whoop!
End of show. Maintain focus. Just march off the field. A few more steps... Whew-okay. Relax. Good job!:) I am almost crying cause of the relief. "Dont be crying... we haven't made it to finals quiet yet!" Rachel says. I take it as a very good sign.
But the show isn't really over.
I hear Brater's voice yell "Get in score order!" so we quickly scramble around to our sections-me towards the back- before sperating into two, long, straight lines. Luckily, we don't have to march.
I am beside Gabi. While walking, i turn around to wrap my arms around her-struggling to remain moving. I turn back around when I see Nick's glare. Aw man, I've really done it. But done what? Was it missing the high e? Or not making it 5 yards? It could be either. Oh, i'm really in for it. I remind myself, stay by Gabi.
We walk, exhausted and tired, back to the truck. There, we are instructed to put our instruments in our cases and take our hats off. So carefully, I take my strap off my neck with my incredably sore arms. I find my box, labled 'B11', and stick my shako in it- after Mrs. Wendy takes my plume out. Gingerly, I slide off my gauntlets, gloves, then jacket off-careful to not harm them and put them in my 'hang' bag safely.
I see Nick and Chris heading in my direction. Run..