Ah, the beloved Phone Chain. We hadn't ever had one, but the Leaders
created one in their meeting after the football game that cursed Friday.
We spent at least an hour crammed into the Ensemble Room organizing the
Chain. We had promised the band and the directors we would do so. We did.
We each had a list of certain people we were supposed to call. The
directors were supposed to call Haley and me, then we had divided up the
rest of the Leaders and each would call half. Then the Leaders had divided
up their sections, and so on. We were doing it in case the directors heard
ANYTHING about Cara's condition.
So what did I do all Saturday? Nothing. I sat by the phone, in my house, and did nothing. The same went for Sunday. Absolutely nothing went on. There was no need for the Chain after all. At least not that weekend.
Actually, Haley called once. It was the most pathetic, dramatic, and morbid conversation I've ever had with that girl.
"Hi, is Chiante there?" Haley asked when I picked up the phone.
"Yeah. Hi Haley."
"Hi." There was a pause then she asked. "How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess. You?"
"About the same. You haven't heard anything, have you?"
"If I had, you'd have heard too."
"I know, but."
"No, Haley, I haven't heard anything yet."
"Do you think we'll hear anything this weekend?"
I looked at the clock. "It's 5:30 Sunday afternoon. I think if we were going to hear something this weekend we would have heard by now."
"Yeah, good point." There was another pause. "Do you think Cara is going to be alright?"
I had to think about this one. "I don't know. I think she's a fighter and nothing has managed to bring her down yet. And she has all the support of all the Bandies behind her, so."
"But it was a really bad crash. Chiante, it smashed into the passenger side of the car. That's where she was sitting."
"Everything kind of cancels everything else out, so I think it's one of those 50-50 situations."
"True. Anyway, I was just really calling to find out if you'd heard anything from the Rumor Mill or something. Or anything, really. I'm really bored."
"The Rumor Mill doesn't run in my neighborhood."
"Huh?"
"No one tells me anything. I'm the last Bandie to know anything."
"Oh, well, I've got to go do homework, you know. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay, bye."
Monday came. The day at school was long and drawn out. I didn't really want to be there on Monday. I wanted to go visit Cara in the hospital. That was only wishful thinking, though, because not only would my parents ground me until the day after forever if I skipped school, but the Rumor Mill was saying no one could visit her (yes, for once the Rumor Mill didn't pass me by). Apparently a couple Bandies had tried to visit her, but she was in the Intensive Care Unit and was only allowed to be visited by family. According to the Rumor Mill she was hooked up to a million machines, and didn't look good at all. It was confirmed at marching band practice. Mr. Andrews told us. He also told us she was getting steadily worse by the day. Haley had run out and gotten a piece of bright poster board on her period off, then the two of us had written "Get Well Soon, Cara!" We taped it outside the band office and everyone signed it. Then we handed it over to Mr. Andrews because he and a couple other staff members were going to go over to the hospital to see Cara and her family (her family mostly). Then we went home.
We were all a bunch of robots.
The next morning, in the middle of third period, the intercom made the annoying buzzing sound it always makes before someone actually talks. "Attention, students. Would all the marching band members, including color guard, please report to the band room for an emergency meeting. I repeat, would all marching band members including color guard please report to the band room for an emergency meeting. Thank you."
Exchanging a look with Haley, who just happened to have the same Government class as me, we walked out the door. As was nature, we passed most of the other Bandies as we headed down to the band room. All of us looked apprehensive. Was it about Cara? We supposed it was, I could tell by the looks on their faces. Was it good news? Was it bad news?
Once we were all finally in the band room, Mr. Andrews told us all to sit down. He stood in front of us for a moment then said, "You guys, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to say. It's going to be the hardest thing for you to accept." He paused. I looked around. It was bad news. We knew it had to be bad news. "This past Friday I saw this band bond together because something tragic happened to one of its members. You bonded together like I've never seen you do before. Over the weekend, you bonded more. Today you'll have to make the strongest bond possible because you guys are going to need each other more than ever now." This time the pause was longer. "This morning, at 8:32, our own Cara Jackson passed away in the hospital from major head injury."
The silence was deafening. She was gone; she was actually gone. The entire band began looking around at one another. Then we began to cry.
So what did I do all Saturday? Nothing. I sat by the phone, in my house, and did nothing. The same went for Sunday. Absolutely nothing went on. There was no need for the Chain after all. At least not that weekend.
Actually, Haley called once. It was the most pathetic, dramatic, and morbid conversation I've ever had with that girl.
"Hi, is Chiante there?" Haley asked when I picked up the phone.
"Yeah. Hi Haley."
"Hi." There was a pause then she asked. "How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess. You?"
"About the same. You haven't heard anything, have you?"
"If I had, you'd have heard too."
"I know, but."
"No, Haley, I haven't heard anything yet."
"Do you think we'll hear anything this weekend?"
I looked at the clock. "It's 5:30 Sunday afternoon. I think if we were going to hear something this weekend we would have heard by now."
"Yeah, good point." There was another pause. "Do you think Cara is going to be alright?"
I had to think about this one. "I don't know. I think she's a fighter and nothing has managed to bring her down yet. And she has all the support of all the Bandies behind her, so."
"But it was a really bad crash. Chiante, it smashed into the passenger side of the car. That's where she was sitting."
"Everything kind of cancels everything else out, so I think it's one of those 50-50 situations."
"True. Anyway, I was just really calling to find out if you'd heard anything from the Rumor Mill or something. Or anything, really. I'm really bored."
"The Rumor Mill doesn't run in my neighborhood."
"Huh?"
"No one tells me anything. I'm the last Bandie to know anything."
"Oh, well, I've got to go do homework, you know. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay, bye."
Monday came. The day at school was long and drawn out. I didn't really want to be there on Monday. I wanted to go visit Cara in the hospital. That was only wishful thinking, though, because not only would my parents ground me until the day after forever if I skipped school, but the Rumor Mill was saying no one could visit her (yes, for once the Rumor Mill didn't pass me by). Apparently a couple Bandies had tried to visit her, but she was in the Intensive Care Unit and was only allowed to be visited by family. According to the Rumor Mill she was hooked up to a million machines, and didn't look good at all. It was confirmed at marching band practice. Mr. Andrews told us. He also told us she was getting steadily worse by the day. Haley had run out and gotten a piece of bright poster board on her period off, then the two of us had written "Get Well Soon, Cara!" We taped it outside the band office and everyone signed it. Then we handed it over to Mr. Andrews because he and a couple other staff members were going to go over to the hospital to see Cara and her family (her family mostly). Then we went home.
We were all a bunch of robots.
The next morning, in the middle of third period, the intercom made the annoying buzzing sound it always makes before someone actually talks. "Attention, students. Would all the marching band members, including color guard, please report to the band room for an emergency meeting. I repeat, would all marching band members including color guard please report to the band room for an emergency meeting. Thank you."
Exchanging a look with Haley, who just happened to have the same Government class as me, we walked out the door. As was nature, we passed most of the other Bandies as we headed down to the band room. All of us looked apprehensive. Was it about Cara? We supposed it was, I could tell by the looks on their faces. Was it good news? Was it bad news?
Once we were all finally in the band room, Mr. Andrews told us all to sit down. He stood in front of us for a moment then said, "You guys, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to say. It's going to be the hardest thing for you to accept." He paused. I looked around. It was bad news. We knew it had to be bad news. "This past Friday I saw this band bond together because something tragic happened to one of its members. You bonded together like I've never seen you do before. Over the weekend, you bonded more. Today you'll have to make the strongest bond possible because you guys are going to need each other more than ever now." This time the pause was longer. "This morning, at 8:32, our own Cara Jackson passed away in the hospital from major head injury."
The silence was deafening. She was gone; she was actually gone. The entire band began looking around at one another. Then we began to cry.