This just sorta popped into my mind one little day...just a little one-shot dedicated to our school's drum major. This is basically what I think might have gone through our drum majors head when she was conducting us, with a bit of fiction thrown in. We didn't make it to State, btw. sniffle

I do not own that Rebel Band, but it does own me. :-P

da capo

Over-confident, my sixth-grade band director once called me. The poor man was struggling to teach me french horn, and hated it that whenever I came to a part that I thought I knew in the music, I would play and play and play, as loudly and boldly as I could. He'd try his hardest to cut me off, but it never, EVER worked. "HEATHER!" he'd shout. "STOP!" I'd stop, and blush sheepishly, and listen to his lecture, embarassed as anything.

And now, as I stand here at the entrance to the stadium, about to call my band to attention, I realize, "Holy hell, that guy was right." We were just about to march in our biggest competition, the UIL Area D Marching Band Contest. And it was my job as head drum major to hold us all together. I felt like a bottle of Elmer's glue with a band uniform on. I took in my drum major uniform, and realized with awe that this was my last competiton if, by chance, we didn't make it to State. I was a senior...

Suddenly, everything seemed sharper, and better-looking. Sparkling white pants (called bibbers, they look like overalls), a sharp red jacket with white buttons, void of the usual Friday night breastplate. White gloves, white gauntlets...the white star on each sleeve, and the words "JACK C. HAYS REBEL BAND" around that star, vibrant in blue. My cowboy hat sat on my head, it's feather resting securely in place, and my half-cape fluttered lightly in the breeze. I'd miss this uniform...

"Heather, whenever you're ready," I heard Mr. Gibbs, our head band director, say to me in his West Texas accent. For a short moment, I panicked. Was I ready? Was the band ready? Could we really march an impressive show tonight? Would we remember to be body-center, would I remember when to cut them off, would they keep their shoulders square, would Joy remember she had to be at the back of the field to direct them? I took a deep breath, and looked up at the sky, and then to Joy and Eddie, the assistant drum majors. I gave them a confident smile, and counted them off.

"BAND, TEN HUT!"

"HUT!"

Wow...that "HUT!" is what I live for sometimes. To hear over two hundred voices bellow that one word at the top of their lungs...it's amazing. My qualms left me, and I made my place to the front of the line, flanked by Joy and Eddie. We stood at attention, chins held high, and then Isaac, our drumline captain, began the taps on his snare. "Five, six, dut dut dut," I whispered to myself as we started marching. The crowd went wild, and I heard the announcer introduce us. I grinned inside, ready to start. That Rebel band, as we're called, would do well tonight.

After leading the band in warm-ups, we all moved to the edge of the track, in parade rest. Again, I counted Joy and Eddie off. "BAND, TEN HUT!"

"HUT!" This time it was even louder.

We marched onto the field, and the announcer gave a more detailed introduction. He said where we were from, our show, and then the words I was waiting for, atop my ladder. "Drum majors are Heather Sony, Eddie Sanchez, and Joy Washburn." I took a deep breath, and mentally ran over my salute. Then those six words came that meant the world to me.

"Drum major, is your band ready?"

I did a drag turn, and saluted him, then took my hand away from my forehead, ending in a slow bow. "You may take the field in competiton." We all removed our gauntlets and hats, and stood to face the band. Our hands came up, and horns came up. We began our count-off, and heard the color guard begin theirs. "One, two, three, four, five, six--" Then the first trumpet notes of "Festive Overture" blanketed the stadium, and our show began.

At six o'clock, I stood along the fence with the rest of the band, playing the responsible senior drum major and hushing the underclassman as they started to announce the results...and who made it to finals. You wouldn't believe the tension in the air as they said those school names. Our entire band was silent for the longest time, which is saying something. Joy, Eddie, and I gripped hands as the 7:30 finals time slot was announced.

"Marching at 7:30 will be..."

We all took a deep breath, and squeezed our eyes shut, praying, hoping...

"Jack C. Hays High School from Buda Texas!"

I screamed. Joy screamed. Eddie screamed. The band directors whooped. Our first goal was accomplished...next stop? Nowhere else but State!

fine