A/N: Hope you enjoy the last 'real' chapter of Part of the pride. The final chapter will be up next wekend. i hope you are on the edge of your seats because, after all, Freshmen don't stay Freshmen forever, right?-Amanda.
Atlanta: the Final Frontier.
We left on a Thursday morning. It was still dark outside as I piled on bus number three, carrying my flute hoodies, section shirt, snap-up pants and a sort of gift box from the band patrons. Kristi and I laughed as we realized our pants were way too big and way to easy to pull off, but we were happy to have them anyway. Soon, we were all ready to go, loaded down with instruments, homework, uniforms and overnight bags. Pillows were soon punched into shape and nearly everyone slept the first few hours of that fateful trip. Not me though, or, at least not the whole way. I was working through a sizeable mountain of homework that threatened to break my spine as I hefted the heavy bad over the seat without waking Jessie Kay, my seat-partner.
"Ouch!" I hissed through my teeth as the aforementioned backpacked crushed my leg into the metal foot bar. Kristi glared at me.
"Freshman…" She growled threateningly.
"Sorry…my homework…" Kristi nodded, readjusting her blankets.
"Well…be in pain more quietly." Later that day, we came to our first stop: Conway, Arkansas. We were to eat lunch and practice on the Central Arkansas University soil. I was wearing an Arkansas shirt I had picked up my third year of band camp at the university of Arkansas in Fayetteville. And wasn't' too keen on dining on campus. I smiled as I saw Mr. O'Kelly was decked out in his old Alma Mater's gear (He attended U of A band camp and collage). Lunch was okay, but as we headed out for rehearsal, it seemed as if fire and brimstone were about to rain down upon us from the blackened skies. It looked like something out of a Terminator movie. It was cold and freezing rain assaulted our poor flutes and anyone who hadn't thought to throw on sweatpants prayed for mercy.
The rehearsal lasted forever and everyone had to run laps. Not only was it painfully obvious we were being awful, they had students there watching. My section was getting screamed at for not having their instruments and Mr. Gorham was relentless. I knew he had to be though, and I wasn't apart of the flutes that were getting yelled at. I remember Mr. Gorham and Mr. Taylor and Mr. Harris yelling that we needed to suck it up and forget it was cold and darn it all if they wouldn't prove a point. With grim expressions on, Mr. Gorham and Mr. Harris began pulling off jackets and gloves and sweatshirts, littering the floor of their white life-guard reminiscent observation towers with the articles of clothing. We went on as normal and soon they were standing outside in nothing but their shorts and t-shirts. Point taken, I thought as the rain fogged up my glasses.
It wasn't' just cold and wet and miserable, to say the least. It was dangerous. I remember nearly slipping on the slick lines of the Conway field. The upperclassmen in my section were proud I didn't fall, but I think all our hearts were beating a bit faster. It was a strange and frightening experience. I was moving backwards one second and the next, nearly colliding with a junior in my section as I crossed yard lines. I can only imagine my horrified expression.
Eventually, our rehearsal from…well, you know…was over and we were back on the bus. The cold from my body and the heat from the bus contradicted each other in a way that made it feeling like I was being assaulted by tiny needles in my extremities. We were all worse for wear as we left, but the band as a whole had improved immensely. It was an understood feeling that we had truly passed the point of no return. We were definitely not in Owasso anymore.
Early the next morning, we were woken to the sounds of bus breaks and band directors. We quickly unloaded at the Renaissance Hotel in Atlanta and made our way to our rooms. I'd say more, but I can't quite remember this period of time due to extreme lack of sleep. Darn my weak Freshman bus-sleeping prowess! Soon though, I was drinking Starbucks in a nice hotel lobby and waiting to head to the mall. We played cards, talked and took 'sneak' pictures of the Seniors. All in all, it was less productive than I make it sound, but still a nice change from the monotony that I would be enjoying had I (god forbid) not been there.
We stormed a nearby mall and dined in the food court. I had acquired a certain palette for dining what I like to call, a la mall-grease so often that fall and went straight for the place that smelled the best, which turned out to be an Italian specialty place that made their own canollis! After words, we shopped around a while and splurged in places like AE and Bath and Body Works, ignoring the curious glances from hard working business men and women on their lunch breaks. Sure it was a Friday afternoon, but what part of marching ban competition did they not get, I mean really! Dillon made the interesting choice to sample the latest wares at Victoria's Secret and returned to the bus with a shirt, a dog and…a thong. Kristi was less than pleased and her boyfriends selections.
But bigger things than baritone players in lingerie awaited our return to the hotel before our final rehearsal. The rehearsal would take place on the field of a nearby high school and we were supposed to change and head there in a ridiculously short amount of time. Unfortunately, none of the keys were working. I could practically feel my resolve melt when my key didn't immediately grant me access to my room, which had my flute in it. Luckily for me, I was 'sort of' calmed down by various Seniors roaming the halls, particularly Ben and Amy.
Finally though, I was able to rescue my poor flute and we were off to the final rehearsal. The rehearsal, to put it lightly, was a scream/cry fest. It was sad and the directors were feeling that the other shoe was going to drop on us at prelims the following morning. Push-ups and laps were doled out in excruciatingly painful measures. A feeling of hopelessness began to push against the weaker links of the band and the directors were poking the proverbially bear with a stick. Luckily for us, the remained true and our last rehearsal ended with a joyous cadence around the perimeter of the field. Well…almost. Dillon was injured and than screamed at by Mr. O'Kelly, for which all parties involved and not, were very angry. As we headed back to the mall for a really late diner, word came that Owasso had lost football game. Everyone lifted their spirits even higher to the 'fact' that it was because we weren't there. That night ended with cheers and a sense of purpose for the day that would define the 2007 Pride of Owasso Competition band. It was show day.
After a hasty breakfast and a haphazard bus ride, we arrived in the parking lot across from the Georgia Dome. We waited forever to go to warm-ups, but we did eventually. After warm-ups, every thing became a blur. Soon, I was standing in a loading dock, packed in tightly with the others in my section. Mr. O'Kelly did his thing whispering to me, "Intense eyes, Amanda." I nodded, wondering how I could look more fiece, but knowing I succeded after he nodded the second time around and patted me on the back.
We marched onto the field. It was enormous and for a moment, I let the feeling of being so small overwhelm me. But my focus never broke, even as I stepped onto the line I knew it was time. The show was good, I can say that much. I felt a little guilt about nearly missing a cue, but I thought I did well all in all. I was so relieved when I saw Mr. Taylor smiling slightly as we marched off the field. We went off from there to buy lunch and get shirts. Stadium food was a very different experience for me, both for its outrageous cost and delicious if not some what small portions.
The day went fast, what with no time to get souvenirs and rushing to the stadium to hear the announcements. Jennie was still waiting in line and I was so grateful she offered to buy my shirt too, but I was on edge, hoping the directors wouldn't notice. Thankfully, they didn't and soon Jennie rejoined the group. We didn't win anything flat-out, but we waited in the dead silence to hear our name. We began to get worried after the first five, but they did call us. A literally sea of red exploded in jubilation as our names were called, and every head turned to look at us. Our Drum Majors would later say they almost clapped for us by mistake, because they had a difficulty hearing on the echoic field. We were then treated to a collage exhibition performance and then we went off for dinner at the CNN center.
It was a crazy night. Nearly no one had time to eat due to overcrowding and a twenty minute dinner limit. We were soon at a little area off a ways from the stadium. I remember feeling an overwhelming sadness as we group into sections. The Seniors had been denied their annual Senior pre-finals talk and Melinda looked incredibly sad. We all cried a little as she read letter from the years previous section leader and the Seniors and Seniors to be threw out comments in general. Hugs were given out and warm-ups were a very emotional affair. Ben read a poem an underclassmen had given him and the sections doled out last minute advice. The flutes exchanged hugs and grasped hands as we lined up and nearly every upperclassman in my section talked with me or gave me some sort of encouragement .I wished I could've expressed how I was feeling that moment a little bit better, but I was so mixed up. I was hit wayside with feelings of loyalty and love and loss at the same time. The Juniors watched the Seniors closely and The seniors glow was unbeatable as we stepped out o the field.
I ha learned many things from the upperclassmen. You must always go half and half: half mind half heart. All mind has no soul, but all heart is sloppy. Draw on the strength of the upperclassmen, they know more than you. Respect, respect, respect. Step as one, breath as one, think as one. Learn to sleep on a bus at three o' clock in the morning. Cut off the finger tips of you gloves for better movement. Learn to speak your mind without being condescending to those younger than you or disrespectful to your superiors. If it is below fifty, wear sweats. Be attentive, but form your own opinions. But the most important lesson I had ever learned from marching band, I discovered myself, while lining up to go to awards after my finale performance.
I looked upon my friends and peers, and realized what we had become. We had been apart of something greater than us, but we were still ourselves, if not better than we had been. Some of us now carried scars or hatred or other bad things, but better things came about too. We were the reflection of what we had been taught, whether we had listened or not made no difference. Some of us would quit. I knew that as I gazed at the faces of some of the kids who already formed enmity towards marching band. But some of us, would prosper. I had a feeling I was going to be okay. I would make Melinda, Ashley, Jennie, Ben, Amy, Hilary and even Grant proud. I would carry on what they taught me along with my own experience.
I had always been upset with the fact that Freshman were not meant to be leaders, but I relieved between the walk to the field and lining up that I had been never relinquished my leadership qualities when I had joined, but I had been meant to grow and form my own style of leadership, a virtual clean slate to build a future on. I wasn't meant to act like a Senior while I was a Freshman. No one could. But I had realized leadership doesn't, and shouldn't, start when you're a Senior or even an upperclassmen. It starts when you begin to ask yourself what you can do to help. When you decide to rise to the occasion and be your best to the benefit of others. Leadership can only start when you start.
I wondered why it had taken me so long to understand such a simple lesson, but my sense of curiosity was calmed as they began to read out places and sources. We weren't twelfth, eleventh, tenth, ninth, or eighth. Well that is up from Arlington. Then they called out seven and it was a solid 80. The band members all silently thinking, "Oh my gosh…we got above and eighty." The stadium grew quite with expectation.
"With a score of Eighty-five point five-five. EIGHTY FIVE POINT FIVE-FIVE." we held our breath. 85.55. That was a great score. We wiggled slightly. We all knew the enjoyed making us wait, but this was ridiculous. The Seniors could have grown up and had kids and careers by this point. Finally, the announcer boomed out the name.
"THE PRIDE OF OWASSO HIGH SCHOOL MARCHING BAND from OWASSO, OKLAHOMA." We stood silent, no gloved clapping or shouts of joy. We stood tall and serious, our minds silently exploding in a joyous shout. The celebration would go outside later, of course but right now, it was time to congratulate Carmel, the winners of the super regional. We were all thrilled with stories of the time the Pride of Owasso took a show to Grand Nationals. Carmel students were raving to us about it. I exchange jokes with Krista and Hilary about sixth, while also being our ranking, was also the IQ of many male band members. But it was all taken lightly. I was a night to celebrate, and it certainly felt like it as the directors order pizza for dinner of the bus.
The ride home was a lot of sleeping, homework, and a nice stop off in a quite town in Arkansas for breakfast. I gad Starbucks again, but in a rural Starbucks with no glamorous feeling to it. No matter, my blueberry iced tea and muffin were still great. We watched some classics on the way home, including the Band Nerd favorite: The Princess Bride. Fortunately for the weary Freshman, they were now considered Marching veterans and had completed their year as the lowest of the low. T
he Season had certainly ended on a high note, and we still had a few more football games to go to. The sun shined brightly as we drove into the Owasso High School parking lot in the early afternoon that Sunday morning. We were given an informal sense of closure as Mr. Harris pointed to the construction that had hampered our beginning efforts so many years ago (August, which, in actually, was lees than three months ago). The now late-October weather was staring to cool everything down and the shell of what would be our new band rooms had sprung up. I smiled, thinking of all the great things we could do with such wonderfully new facilities.
"Better than B.A.s." Band Members whispered quietly. I shook my head. Some habits die hard. After getting my things off the bus I waved off to my friends who were leaving in their cars or with their parents. I knew something new lay ahead of me. Concert Band season. But I grinned as I thought of my marching Band season. When asked the following Monday if I was ready, I will always remember my reply.
"If it's anything like marching band was, sign me up and tell Mr. Gorham not to worry about giving me back my soul."
