Disclaimer: Some of the situations in this story actually happened. All names have been changed, though, so I won't get yelled at.
Love Is Pain
Prologue
"Great job out there, Jess," someone said to me as they jogged past in a hurry to get to the school and go back to the football game and hitting their knuckles on my bass drum as they passed me.
"Thanks," I said with a smile, even though the person, whoever it had been, couldn't see me since it was almost nine o'clock and dark outside.
I twirled my mallets between my fingers as I walked down the trail that led from the elementary school to the high school. For some reason unknown to me, our football field is at the elementary school. Hey, I just march there.
I breathed in deeply and sighed as I looked up to the sky. I was one of the last people to leave the stadium, as our band director calls it. I usually was, since I wasn't too keen on the idea to walk back to good old Nekoosa High School. It wasn't too far of a walk, but anyone who's had to carry the largest bass drum, for even a few minutes knows it isn't all too fun.
We had just finished out last football game performance of the season. I could hardly believe that I only had two years left. I was halfway through with my marching band experience. It was a sad thought, if you know what I mean.
Slowly but surely, I made it to the band room and I sighed quietly as I lugged my bass drum across the room and over to the percussion closet. I set it down in front of the closet, not really ready to put the drum away for the season. Yes, I knew that I was going to use it plenty more for the rest of the year. Basketball season started in just over one month, which meant pep bands. But it was always a little different when you were putting your uniforms away for the year. Especially this year. I learned a lot more this year than I had in years previous. And I don't mean learning to step off with your left foot or learning our new cadence. I learned actual things that would matter later on in high school (not that stepping off with your left foot or our cadence was extremely important).
I gripped the sides of the drum and realized I still had my gloves on. These gloves had been a gift from God. It gets pretty cold at night in October in Wisconsin. I gained a whole new respect for the clarinets and open-holed flutes and others who had to cut the fingertips off their gloves hobo style. By the end of the game their fingertips were blue.
I heaved the drum up onto the top shelf. I never did understand why the largest drum was on the top shelf, but I didn't complain...often. I closed the door to the closet and listened as the lock clicked. I picked up my hat with its white plume from on the chair I set it on so I could take off the drum. I ran my fingers through the plume, somewhat in a trance. I snapped out of it and went out onto the stage where the girls change.
Most of the girls had left already to go back to the football game. There were two freshmen, though, that greeted me, but continued to talk.
"Still, I'm not going to miss the uniforms," said one freshman, Callie Phelps.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," said the other, Rita Winthrop.
I smiled with my back to them. Earlier in the year, these two girls had been part of the group of freshmen that thought that the uniforms were cool. We warned them then that by the end of the year, they'd find that they weren't warm enough or cool enough and served little purpose except looking good from the stands and being a nuisance to the person wearing them.
I quickly changed into my jeans and sweatshirt and hung my uniform up onto the hanger. I put some bandaids on the blisters that had formed on the heels of my feet from the shoes we had to wear. I learned to always carry bandaids around - especially after this year. Then I put my wrist brace on my left hand and laughed quietly, remembering how I hurt my wrist in the first place. I didn't wear the brace during practice and performances because it made it hard to bend my wrist, which was, of course, the reason I was supposed to wear it in the first place.
I slipped into my Adidas sandals and put on my jacket. Rita and Callie had long left and I was the last person in there. I slung my backpack on left shoulder and carried my helmet case under my left arm and had my uniform slung over my right. Then, I made my way up to the uniform storage room, also known as a practice room.
I gave my helmet and uniform to a band parent, who remarked on how well we had done. I thanked them quickly, then walked back to the band room.
Most everyone had left already, anxious to get back to the game. Standing in the doorway, though, was Kevin Tyler. He had one hand on the door frame and his gaze was fixed upon the floor. I could hardly believe that three months earlier I didn't even know who Kevin was and that I thought him as a snot on top of it.
I swiched shoulders me backpack was on and I walked up to Kevin, breaking him from his trance.
"Ready?" he asked me, flashing a lop-sided grin.
"Yep," I said and we left the room.
Love Is Pain
Prologue
"Great job out there, Jess," someone said to me as they jogged past in a hurry to get to the school and go back to the football game and hitting their knuckles on my bass drum as they passed me.
"Thanks," I said with a smile, even though the person, whoever it had been, couldn't see me since it was almost nine o'clock and dark outside.
I twirled my mallets between my fingers as I walked down the trail that led from the elementary school to the high school. For some reason unknown to me, our football field is at the elementary school. Hey, I just march there.
I breathed in deeply and sighed as I looked up to the sky. I was one of the last people to leave the stadium, as our band director calls it. I usually was, since I wasn't too keen on the idea to walk back to good old Nekoosa High School. It wasn't too far of a walk, but anyone who's had to carry the largest bass drum, for even a few minutes knows it isn't all too fun.
We had just finished out last football game performance of the season. I could hardly believe that I only had two years left. I was halfway through with my marching band experience. It was a sad thought, if you know what I mean.
Slowly but surely, I made it to the band room and I sighed quietly as I lugged my bass drum across the room and over to the percussion closet. I set it down in front of the closet, not really ready to put the drum away for the season. Yes, I knew that I was going to use it plenty more for the rest of the year. Basketball season started in just over one month, which meant pep bands. But it was always a little different when you were putting your uniforms away for the year. Especially this year. I learned a lot more this year than I had in years previous. And I don't mean learning to step off with your left foot or learning our new cadence. I learned actual things that would matter later on in high school (not that stepping off with your left foot or our cadence was extremely important).
I gripped the sides of the drum and realized I still had my gloves on. These gloves had been a gift from God. It gets pretty cold at night in October in Wisconsin. I gained a whole new respect for the clarinets and open-holed flutes and others who had to cut the fingertips off their gloves hobo style. By the end of the game their fingertips were blue.
I heaved the drum up onto the top shelf. I never did understand why the largest drum was on the top shelf, but I didn't complain...often. I closed the door to the closet and listened as the lock clicked. I picked up my hat with its white plume from on the chair I set it on so I could take off the drum. I ran my fingers through the plume, somewhat in a trance. I snapped out of it and went out onto the stage where the girls change.
Most of the girls had left already to go back to the football game. There were two freshmen, though, that greeted me, but continued to talk.
"Still, I'm not going to miss the uniforms," said one freshman, Callie Phelps.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," said the other, Rita Winthrop.
I smiled with my back to them. Earlier in the year, these two girls had been part of the group of freshmen that thought that the uniforms were cool. We warned them then that by the end of the year, they'd find that they weren't warm enough or cool enough and served little purpose except looking good from the stands and being a nuisance to the person wearing them.
I quickly changed into my jeans and sweatshirt and hung my uniform up onto the hanger. I put some bandaids on the blisters that had formed on the heels of my feet from the shoes we had to wear. I learned to always carry bandaids around - especially after this year. Then I put my wrist brace on my left hand and laughed quietly, remembering how I hurt my wrist in the first place. I didn't wear the brace during practice and performances because it made it hard to bend my wrist, which was, of course, the reason I was supposed to wear it in the first place.
I slipped into my Adidas sandals and put on my jacket. Rita and Callie had long left and I was the last person in there. I slung my backpack on left shoulder and carried my helmet case under my left arm and had my uniform slung over my right. Then, I made my way up to the uniform storage room, also known as a practice room.
I gave my helmet and uniform to a band parent, who remarked on how well we had done. I thanked them quickly, then walked back to the band room.
Most everyone had left already, anxious to get back to the game. Standing in the doorway, though, was Kevin Tyler. He had one hand on the door frame and his gaze was fixed upon the floor. I could hardly believe that three months earlier I didn't even know who Kevin was and that I thought him as a snot on top of it.
I swiched shoulders me backpack was on and I walked up to Kevin, breaking him from his trance.
"Ready?" he asked me, flashing a lop-sided grin.
"Yep," I said and we left the room.
