Coffeehouse
Baggins'babe
Disclaimer; I do not own "Lost", I would be doing something so much better if I did.
The Very Begging of a Musical Career
I don't care what anybody says, in any band ALL of it is a family. The long bus ride to a competition is really just an annual vacation. Of course we will act like the siblings we are. And I on a high of the good vibes I got from my fellow band geeks. I whipped out my trumpet and jammed to the best of my ability. Everyone clapped to the beat and some of the percussionists tapped along the clunky, metal side of the bus. This is one of my most memorable performances. Unfortunately it was short lived.
"Charlie!" The band director screamed. "There is a time and place for pep but now is nowhere near it!"
Actually I pity her, too much stress, music is supposed to be fun! Every aspect even if you get the crummy job of flailing your arms to the beat. One thing I did find most peculiar about this occurrence was that I caught the eye of a girl sitting toward the front. It wasn't the fact that I caught the eye of a girl but a girl like that! Oh, sure I know her: long brown hair, first chair flute, and sitting in the bloody front. There was no way she; a stuck up, perfectionist, futuristic-minded person could think anything of someone like me; trouble-maker, who sits in the back row of the bus INTENTIONALY.
She must have noticed she was staring at me because she spun around, face glowing red.
"Charlie?"
"What?" I must have looked like someone brutally awoken from a dream state. Not that I was stricken by her beauty or whatever; but baffled by the fact that she would even look at me that way, no matter what the coincidence. "Don't leave me hanging." Of course it was only until after he said it that I noticed his hand floating in the air. Which I slapped to fulfill his wish. I kind of felt sorry for Dillon, dragged here kicking and screaming all the way from the U.S. Just because his mother divorced and was willing to get as far away from her ex-husband without having to learn a new language. He's a little different but we still accept him, after all he rocks at percussion. His excuse to practice is hilarious 'the only time I can bang on something and be congratulated for it.'
"Did you see Sadie stare at you?"
"Yes."
"And you don't care the least bit?" I really didn't have much else to say so I shrugged and looked out the window. I watched the sky; the blue, black almost enveloped what limited stars there were. Nothing but small, bright studs in an otherwise dark night. I spectated the brown face protecting the crops pass. Soon it appeared to be just two long parallel poles with consistent breaks. We turned and trod upon a desolate road for about a mile then approached a gigantic school.
This contest was in the bag! Everyone thinks their band sucks but I'm one of the rare exceptions. All of us worked hard and will get our just reward for it. Everybody rushed out of the bus as soon as it slowed to a halt. They piled around the trailer like a swarm of fangirls around a rock god, I should know. I slipped into my uniform as if I was though the pants were uncomfortable and the red and grey color was just plain tacky, there came a certain pride with wearing it. I had come far and worked hard why shouldn't I be proud? Feeling pretty good about myself I look down. My gauntlets are staring back at me, my smile fades. The most annoying piece of a band uniform has fixed its gaze upon me.
"I can help you with them, Charlie." I hear a bright, cheery voice offer.
"Yeah, thanks, Sadie."
"No problem." She responded as she velcroed them shut. They feel evil, like handcuffs; suddenly reminding you of the position you are in. An awkward moment of silence passed between us.
"I've got to go." she started. I nodded and got in line for the performance. We started and assembled into the stadium, in step mind you with a cadence that made the crowd dance, even if they were rooting for another band. As the announcer's voice boomed over the loud speaker, and the football lights glared in my face, I just couldn't help but smile.
A.N. How'd you like it? I thought Charlie looked like a trumpet player, don't worry more to come.