After one more time consuming rehearsal, we through ourselves immediately into school and all the things in preparation. In honor of such things, we had the afternoon before the first day off. I remember attending the last day of freedom lunch with my mom in my marching shorts and a t-shirt. The next day, after some praise from Kristi and some of my new upperclassmen friends about finishing Comp. Band, I was ready for school. Or, at least I thought I was.
My bus never came that first day. I could feel a too familiar feeling begin to rise in me: panic. I always got so worked up over band ,and I still do. It's a thing. I ask every question, call everyone I know, follow in the example of the Seniors and freak out basically over everything. I have to be at a rehearsal ten minutes ahead of the rest of the band. It's truly insane, but I can still picture me running back up the hill, clutching the sling strap on my flute case, screaming for my mom to get the car.
Eventually, we got there, still early. The band room was not open yet, and there were some band people gathered on the marching field. I hopped out of the car and headed to the mass of people. I stood with some other nervous Freshman and looked around at the crowd. They were dressed just liked I'd seen them at the party: normal. Most of the Seniors and Juniors were not there, as they were in second hour Wind Ensemble, the best band in our band program. Exclusively for Seniors and a few lucky Juniors, they make no exceptions ,or trust me, Kristi would be in that class. My heart sped up when I realized everyone was carrying shorts and water bottles for rehearsal. I finally found Kristi.
"Hi Kristi." I said, thumbing my backpacks straps in nervous anticipation.
"Hey, you look cute today. Are you ready?" She asked excitedly.
"For what?"
"Well, rehearsal. Oh, and we get numbers today?"
"Rehearsal?" I asked, feeling my stomach clench.
"Yes, after school from 2:45 to 5:00, just like we always do. It starts today." It's okay. I said calmly to myself. You can just call mom, explain you heard the wrong information, and ask her to send your cloths and water bottle. No biggie. She wouldn't mind. I let out a deep breath.
"Numbers?" I asked. Kristi nodded.
"They tell you which dot you march."
"Dot?" I asked, feeling stupider by the minute, but Kristi had already left, spotting a group of confident looking Sophomores. I shook my head, more flustered than ever and called my mom with the news. It did end up being fine, so I snapped my phone shut, gaining a little more confidence back. Everyone was here now who was in first hour band. It was weird not seeing Ben or Melinda or Hilary or Grant or some other Senior monitoring the group. I saw Ashley, Jennie, Hannah and Krista off to the side, talking in hushed tones. I was curious, but knew to stay where I was. I may have been a Freshman ,but even I was not stupid enough to talk to the Older Flutes whenever they were talking about the Younger Flutes. Not anything bad, mind you, but they were definitely sizing us up. I did however glance over at them and was greeted with warm smiles. I smiled back . My section was kind to Freshman that did as they were told. Chantel and Kelsey were talking loudly with Wes and a few other Juniors.
After what seemed like forever, Mr. Gorham came out and lead us all through the commons and to the Band room. It turned out to be the only way to get there, as the Construction cut off the back parking-lot exit, the two High School exits, and the various Choir Room exits. In fact, the Choir Room and the Band Rooms were completely cut off from the school, the Construction linked the two rooms, the commons (on the right side of the end of the hallway) and then there was an expanse between the Commons and then the PAC turned out through gray double doors. You wouldn't even know the PAC connected unless you happened to use that door as a shortcut like we so often did in Pre-Band to get to the last full band rehearsal faster. We stepped through the double gray doors of the Band Room and were greeted with the smell of Valve Oil, Carmex, and the lemony fresh scent of Pine-Sol: Cleaning your underused-Construction mucked Band Room since 1978! I noted the familiar flute lockers, which were really wooden shelves with tiny spaces for cases, the old White-board used to write rhythms, announcements, schedules and playing order on, and the Hundreds of Chairs set out for us to sit in. Once again, sitting. Not something that's normal for us. I found a seat next to Sara and Jessie Kay and began to get anxious. PJ came and took a seat next to me.
"Nervous." She commented, watching my leg bounce up and down in an unrealistically paced rhythm.
"Ugh! The Torture!" I said, watching the Band Directors converse with one another behind the glass of the Band Office which conjoined the big and small Band Rooms. I could see the Sousaphones glittering on the other side and started counting values.
"PJ, I am so nervous, I'm counting! I hate math!"
"Girl, just take a deep breath. Everything will be fine . I don't think you have a lot to worry about. Amanda. Look at me." My leg stopped as Mr. O'Kelly steeped on the podium. The laughter and talking died out as he smiled out into the crowd.
"Roll-call." He said weakly, obviously having lost some Band Director Bet or game of Rock, paper, scissors. All 185 of us smiled as Mr. O'Kelly started at the begging of the alphabet. Familiar names were called and we made it through in record time, the Woodwinds sympathizing with the Woodwind Director. It did take the Tubas an awfully long time though, but fortunately for them, they weren't arranged by Section, so their Section was sparred retribution. After the dreaded Roll Call, Mr. O'Kelly moved onto something more important.
"Okay, without killing anyone, the numbers will be posted on the Whiteboards by the Clarinet lockers in a few minutes. If there is a star by your name...you are a Doubler." He said the word "Doubler" the way you might say "Died". I gulped, not feeling so sure of my placement. Corie Jo was laughing somewhere behind me. She had told me a hundred times she didn't care and that she probably wouldn't do Comp. Band her Sophomore year anyway. I saw the sheets posted and we were turned loose. I found my name immediately.
And...there was a tiny black star right next to it. I felt my throat tighten, but I looked to see who else was marching spot 36. Metzger. It was Metzger. I chocked back my surprise and walked numbly to the spot where the drill was written. That was the one of the worst Band Classes I can ever remember. From then on, it was confusion, learning to write down the drill was complicated, as every upperclassmen was to busy to care, including Kristi. I felt betrayed that my "Sophomore" who had so loving claimed me as her Freshman didn't take the time to notice I needed help, especially because I had asked her. But I got through. I couldn't speak to Metzger though. She was thrilled to get the chance, while I, once again, had expected something grander. And the one person who had actually said they would quit before, the one person who didn't care...got the only Freshman spot in the section. The general unfairness of it all made my head spin. All the extra practice, the times I had come early, my discipline in rehearsals, had totally been overlooked. I was devastated as I left the band room that day. "Don't worry." came out of the mouths of my older friends. "You'll be fine." But I wasn't fine, and I vowed I would not give up my spot, my 36, until I could truly say it was mine.
I cannot say this vow put me in a particularly good mood come 2:45. Not because of school. I had to face my section as a Doubler. I'd have rather get shot in my right arm than that, but I went anyway. No one said a word, but I felt bad, knowing I was one of the ones that wasn't good enough to get my own spot. And there are little things worse than having low self-esteem. Take that from me. I marched for about twenty minutes, and then Metzger went in. Instead of doing normal Doubler things, I did something different. I watched. I marked time. I played when the Band played. I stepped off. And then, after ten minutes, I was back in. This was how it went for the Rehearsal. I did spend the greater part marching, but it was harder to be the one running in and out when everyone else knew their spot by heart. I caught on, eventually, but that first rehearsal did a number on everyone. We left sweaty and tired, and everyone knew where they ranked.
Four Comp practices and one full band rehearsal later it was time for an annual rite of passage: the first football game. It did not cool down any for us, but everyone was excited, just the same. Flip-folders were passed out, white gloved finger tips were found littering the floor around the Flute and Clarinet lockers, heads were measured for hats, and uniforms were taken from their resting place in the back of trunks and under beds and slipped into bright red bags that read "PRIDE OF OWASSO" in a circle around the head of a ram, our school mascot. The Freshman still carried their uniforms in the thin plastic in which it came in, as the uniform bags were late.
In the afternoon of August Thirty-first, while the football players, cheerleaders, and various foot-ball game goers had gone home for some Pre-game down time, the band marched their "Grandioso" drill to perfection. Then, everyone rushed inside to grab their uniforms and dinners. As we were just cool, Mr. Gorham had rented out charter buses for the hour long drive to Stillwater. Corie Jo and I were excited to see Rachel, a fellow flute paler from Stillwater and I was happy to get the chance to see the band and my friend Pete as the youngest member on the Drumline.
We boarded the cool sanctuary of the buses and relaxed for a while in the luxury of air-conditioning that was so foreign to us after a summer of sweaty marching practice. I laughed as I captured a picture of Austin, my friend and newly assigned Percussion Buddy. He pouted and said something about me having to carry a lot, but then assured me he was only kidding. As the flutes had the lightest instruments, we were made to have a "Percussion Buddy", who we would carry a stand and binder and whatever else need for games. In essence, we were pack mules, but we didn't mind. We were a family. We were told a few minutes before we arrived to get into uniform.
"Uh...Okay." I said. I was one of the smart Freshman who had worn their shorts on the bus. Some girls in the back had not thought that far ahead and quickly stripped off their jeans and put shorts on. One of them wailed that no guy should look. Of course, everyone looked at the source of the noise, who yelped and dove behind a seat. Kristi shook her head at the display.
I pulled on the coal black pants quickly, zipping them up and snapping the brass colored shut.. Kristi showed me how to adjust the straps. I was still a little annoyed at her from the first day of school but did as she said with nervous Freshman obedience. Next, came the bright red coat. I buttoned the innermost button, which you wouldn't see anyway, then came the side zipper, the two snaps (Originally, there had been three, but after our 2005 Show "Fowl Play" some of the buttons had been ripped out due to a part of the show in which the band had produced flags out of their coats. Needless to say, they weren't exactly as careful as they should have been.) on the right side of the zipper, and then the most tedious part: fastening the clip at the top off the collar which most Upperclassmen fondly called "Cleavage".
"Your Cleavage in showing!" They would shout, causing a rustle of hidden laughter among the rookies. The Seniors would become livid if they caught the Freshman, but they never did. I fastened the hook and grabbed my case and hat box, which contained my shiny white marching gloves, my hat, and my flip folder. I then picked off my Buddy's Music Binder and ambled off the bus to the growing crowd of band members. I saw Hilary step off the bus in front of ours and saw her Drum Major uniform, white pants and white shoes worn under the regular coat with a baton sticking smartly out of the back of her collar for later use. She smiled at me.
"First game?" She asked gently. I nodded, not mentioning that there was the homecoming game that the eighth graders attend every year that I had gone to last year, because I had a feeling this would be an entirely different experience. She nodded back and went over to join Grant, Stacy and Wes, who was walking really, really fast to join the other Drum Majors. (It is a rule to never run in uniform.)
We were told to form one long line, with flutes last, to march into the stands. There would be no cadence to start us because we were late and the game had already started. We walked into the field and quickly got into the stands. Unlike the cool metal stands of our special section of the stadium, then were concrete and very uncomfortable, but no one noticed. We busied ourselves with Percussion Buddies, the Older Flutes screaming after the younger ones to hurry up. We hurried up the sides to the middle, handed off the music, and walked really, really fast to uncase our flutes for the warm-up.
After the warm-up, Melinda, our newly elected Section leader, checked for gloves and flip-folders. Flutes and Tubas were not required to get lyres like the rest of the band, so she didn't ask for them. I looked over to the Pride of Stillwater stands and felt my mouth drop. They were there, but their uniforms were only half-on, the coats hanging over the seats limply as they played the Stillwater school song. I inquired to Kristi about it, forgetting my anger in light of the other band breaking one of the uniform rules. Rule number one: you are either completely in uniform, or not wearing it at all. Kristi shrugged.
"Some bands are different." I nodded, wondering how anyone could disrespect their uniform in such a way. Mr. O'Kelly was handed a mic as he stepped up onto a Drum Major ladder. Some laughter was heard as the Freshman guard in front of us. unmercifully teased Wes, who was standing in the front of them with the rest of the Drum Majors.
"Alright, school song!" He pointed behind us to Taylor, lead snare and section leader of the Drumline.
"Tap, taptap, tap, tap!" Sounded out the drum. Mouthpieces banged up into at least fifteen mouths behind us at the last possible second. Other than that though, the song was alright and we played through "YMCA" and "Rocky Top" before Mr. O'Kelly pointed to Taylor for something else. The Drum started a cadence and we got up and chanted to it.
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" We said waving our arms to one side and then the next. Then, we snapped across to our right and left and started again. Then, everyone jumped and alternated their right and left hand in a circler pattern and screamed "GO! GO, GO, OWASSO! GO, GO, OWASSO, GO, GO, OWASSO!" And the drums banged out the last measure, to which Ben shouted "HUH!" In the silence in the end. We all laughed as Ben and his Band Buddy, Philip had a loud strange conversation. These would become ritual at football games, as would Ben freeze framing spontaneously during different points in the game. We played a few more songs, and then, it was gloves on and hats on for our first half-time performance of the year. This was precisely the time I found out my hat strap was twisted and could not be repaired. And Gloria helped me get in on, as I freaked out because I didn't want to be late. I was lucky enough to have been warned about a Senior joke, which made Morgan sad.
"Your plumes on backwards!" She said as I pushed the soft black plume I had been handed into its hole.
"Plumes can't go in backwards." I said with out looking up.
"Darn it, who told her?!" Ashley laughed somewhere off to my right just as the tap, tap, tapping came from Taylor's drum. To top off the Hat Fiasco, I was also unprepared for Stillwater's field. It was not the soft flat turf with the tiny black beans under t I was so used to. It was a hilly, grassy, pot-holed mess, but I did alright. I marched my best, thrilled that in this march, I didn't have to worry about doublers. I smiled as we grouped off to the side to watch Stillwater. I felt so good, so amazed at what I had accomplished. An upperclassman patted me on the back as we took off our hats
"Good job, Freshman!" The Seniors whispered kindly.
"Watch out for that pot hole, babe." The Juniors said motherly.
"You didn't die!" The Sophomores commented rudely.
"Be quiet!" Mr. O'Kelly ordered.
After Stillwater's Performance, we cased up and went to get some food. The Band Patrons passed out drinks and I got some popcorn from the concession stand. The Stillwater band patrons congratulated us and Corie Jo and I went off to find Rachel. We found her quickly and talked of the still far off All-Region tr-outs and Band Camp and Marching Band. She was doing well as a Color Guard and she told us of the triumphs of Pete. She laughed when we told her we had mostly Freshman in our Drumline.
"Pete will be mad. He just said how disciplined that second biggest Bas Drum was, and the rest of the Drumline snickered." I laughed too.
"Austin! Ha!" I said recognizing him at the fact the Freshman was praised above his Senior counterparts. If only some of us could be so lucky. We said good-bye to Rachel and headed back to the stands. The night wound down in a spiral of stand tunes, cadences, a dicey performance of part ones music, the premier of the "Alma Mater" Mr. Gorham had written, and classic inappropriate jokes on the way home. We got back to the Band Room late, stumbled out of our uniforms, and went home, glad that the team won...or at least that's what they told us.