Here it was. The highlight of our marching band season, the highlight of my second year as a flutist. And it was pouring.
We were at attention, solemn, hyped. The rain was an ever-moving yet ever-the-same picture against the lights- the same six-pac lights that had blinded us on the 'tino practice field. I shivered, anticipating the countoff.
"ROMAAANS! Build- me- a- city! Hut- hut- hut!"
I reflected on how that used to be "Romans, let hell loose"… I suppose someone had objected to that. How boring of them.
The pit began their clanging, and the guard began pulling their Marble Blocks of Wood, their sodden uniforms clinging dejectedly to their pathetic frames. They looked their part of slaves well enough… the band began falling out of the picture box to tiredly wend their way to their spots. We were supposed to look like worn-out drudges, so some people carried their instruments on their backs, limped, and helped each other along. It probably looked funny- slaves in smart band uniforms. As my count came up, I fell out too and limped slowly, waiting for Jennie to catch up. I'd sadly thrown out the possibility of twirling my flute since that seemed too joyous to our narrow-minded section leaders. Stupid flutes.
Jennie's arm hooked around my shoulder, and pressed my uniform to my skin. Not quite wet through, still. Thank the BOB.
We found our spots, getting in a clumsy line behind Sonya. As the drumline banged out their final beats we sprang to attention, instruments flickering all over the field. No longer were we slaves, oppressed and sad- we were the band, ready for revolution. Our music was great- our drill was fine- and our effects were cool.
Then the whole field did a "pop" or a "lift" and the show began.
I felt the rain drip from my hat brim as I backmarched, carefully avoiding the shadow of Offstep Guy behind me. I remembered each set perfectly, putting my flute up during the right count- "Snap up, down in four"- and guided during the slide. During rehearsals when we'd taped it, I had noticed our cool domino effect as we began guiding one by one. You could barely blame us at first, since we'd diagonally backmarched into that line, but by now we should have been together. Apparently, Doc didn't find the domino effect especially cool. Offstep Guy suddenly moved a step back, and as I followed I realized we'd dominoed. Phooey.
That couldn't be helped, and I strode to my next set while angrily belting out the crescendo. I'd switched flute bodies with my friend Yoda at Lodi, and I hadn't been able to play this crescendo loud enough. Of course, she had had crappy pads- she'd only just got them fixed- and hadn't been able to play half the notes back then. Oh well… that was history.
I halted and snapped my flute up to the box, thinking how French horns and trumpets, trombones and baritones must all be drowning now, in a mixture of rain, spit and slide oil. I heard horror stories later… gross.
Our next set was into circles. This was a cool part of the music, but a prelude to the cooler part- that coincided with the Drumline of Doom set. The snare drum solo as circles crossed the field was practically drowned out by the drumming of raindrops. Die, o Rain.
The clarinets began their little blips. Fast moving and exciting, this part was electrifying. We snapped flutes up and began our blip ping-pong game with the clarinets, while curving around the drumline. The tenor sax that headed our line gave them a wide berth, and that was one danger averted. Praising the BOB, we headed into a mesh, during which I hit no one, and from that into the Sprinkler Hole mesh. On our practice field, my spot at the end of this set was in the sprinkler hole. I'd almost sprained my ankle so many times… but there was no sprinkler hole here.
I was very close to the front sideline- I could make out a judge standing right there, wearing a poncho (lucky!) and talking into that little machine. They better cut us some slack, I thought. The grass wants us dead, not to mention the wind and the mud. Oh, and that little factor that's coming down from the heavens. Stupid weatherman.
We formed into our horn manual set. This was a very cool-looking maneuver, when we played blips and the drumline had a solo. We had a bunch of horn snaps, while didn't give us much time to set embouchures, but here, in the rain, I was afraid for my teeth. I'd bet anything I'd knock a couple of them out while I snapped my flute…
I didn't.
So, having lost "anything", I dismally marched towards the Third Move of Death- the do-sa-do. If you think you know what that is from square-dancing, you're wrong. Forget all that. Happy music and a clueless partner- no, that's not it. Instead, think of a sforzando and 4 quick interlocking 2-to-5 diamonds. Also, think of a horrified unbalanced second- an evil clump of grass- and mud. Lots of mud.
Halt.
End of Part 1.
Wow… so much already over. I'll never again get to do the Curve of Doom or the do-sa-do… just thinking about it makes me wistful now. Right then, it made me downright sad.
