Difference

Summery: It's all different when you're the only girl in the line.

A/n: well I'm having trouble with the extreme sexism in my drumline, I made snare this year, and I beat a guy out to do it. He finds it unacceptable. And it hurts more than I can tell him, they're my brothers. So take this into consideration next time you give crap to a girl in your drumline just because they're female.

This might not be one of my better pieces. It hurts to just think about it, but it needs to be considered.


Drumline is the best thing in a person's high school life, no contest. The feeling of stepping on that field, being part of something bigger than just yourself, the discipline it takes to stand there, it changes you.

But it's different when you're the only girl in the line.

The harassment never stops, you say something, everyone twists it, you drop something, they kick it away, you do something wrong, they condemn you for it, you show weakness and they attack it.

More than anything I want to be part of all of them, just not the older sister type to the smaller ones, but a sister to all of them.

I work hard, they should know. The instructors tell me everyday that I can do it; they give me everything I need. Except the rest of the line.

It all started as we learned the forms, a shared jest between a saxophone and I, my stick missing the bag. I couldn't recover it in time, and we began marching.

The 8 counts ended and the echoing voice of the loudspeaker calls a reset. I turned to retrieve the stick of hickory, to see the bass player kicking it aside, blatantly looking right into my face and sneering.

Anger gets the best of me; I yell profanities at him and tell him to leave my stuff alone. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, I fight it down, weakness is not a thing to show in front of them.

We reset the chart and I can hear him complaining about me, tears threaten again.

During the break I ask a friend if I was in the right to scold him for it. He over hears it and tells me to do something to myself that makes the friend gasp, anger flares again and I yell at him. An instructor tells me to calm down and another bass player shouts at me.

Tears finally break through as I yell at the other drummer and the instructor, "If he is messing with my things you better freaking bet I will yell at him. If you have a problem with me at least be civil with me!"

I feel embarrassment flare up in my chest as many people stare, I walk onto the field, putting my head on my knees and crying. It's a day to live through, to have something to live for.

The next days are not better; I begin to think he is angry with me, for making a snare spot that he thought was rightfully his.

Testosterone confuses me.

As the first night of the football season dawns, I begin to pull on my uniform, dropping my sticks to the ground next to me. Another person on the line finds it amusing to kick my sticks around, trying to push my buttons.

I ignore it for a while, until more people join in. Anger and hurt overwhelms me.

A freshman bass drummer tosses me one of my sticks, smiling softly at me. He could care less that I'm a girl; I take care of him as much as I can.

The stick slips from my hand and hits the ground. The bass drummer that started all of the harassment sneers at me. Anger fires up.

I pick up my stick and hold it threateningly, "I swear, if you say another word I swear I will hit you," I bluff.

"Then hit me," He sneers, not expecting me to follow through.

I use all my strength to hit him. His shocked face making the guilt I feel worthwhile.

Various cries of "Abuse!" and "Harassment!" Follow me out of the room as I fight to hold back the tears.

They don't understand, they don't get that I just want their respect, not their friendship.

If they could respect me it would all be ok. If I could be part of the line I would be ok.


A/N: a more depressing piece, but not many people know what that feels like, not being a part of something you love so much.

And thank you for all the wonderful reviews! They made me smile!