Prologue As he walked out onto the pavement beside the other trumpets, he felt his pulse quicken. He gripped his own instrument tightly at his side, nervous about the upcoming event - his first marching performance. He stood with his section, filling in the holes, spacing out the parade form, until a long, shrill blast of a whistle reached his ears. He stepped quickly into formation and assumed parade rest, his right foot moving out to shoulder-width distance and his gleaming horn descending to his side. Beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead as the drum majors walked by to inspect his uniform. After lifting his pant leg, revealing the black sock underneath, he saw the drum major's feet continue back through the line. He stood there, an eternity passing in mere seconds, until finally a clapping sound reached his ears. He pulled his right foot into his left, and with a quick shout of "one", his apprehension melted away. The drum captain clicked off the cadence, and he began marking time. The next few minutes became a blur as he marched down toward the looming field of green and white in the distance. He could just make out the roar of the crowd as the team began to exit the stadium, and then the lights hit him like a brick wall. He hefted his horn to his chest as his left foot touched the line, and immediately headed toward his spot on the field. The rest of the section lined up around and in front of him, and then, with a perfect high-step, halted. The drum majors did their salutes, the crowd began to settle, and as he stepped off into his first performance, he realized where he truly belonged...