A MARCHING BAND STORY


By Bryan Guanajuato


James stood there on the field. sweat was seeping from his forehead and into his eyes. The urge to wipe it out of his eyes was so strong, that he almost forgot that if he moved before he was suposed to, he would lose. James just closed his eyes. He knew he could do this without looking. He knew every turn, every step, and every visual, as if he was made just to do this drill. James watched as the drum major started to climb the stand, and it almost seemed as if everything was going in slow motion. Soon, not even the clapping and cheering of the fans could be heard by James. He was totally focused on the drum major as if she was holding his life in her fingers. She stood at the top of the stand, like if it was her throne and the rest of the band was her servants. James couldn’t help but admire the way Sarah’s usually tranquil and elegant face could change so much as to scare the living day-lights out of him once she was on her “throne”. I guess everyone else in the stands could since the aurora coming from her because they just stared at Sarah, waiting in awe and admiration. Sarah’s hands shot from her side and right in-front of her body. James couldn’t help think that she looked like a Mrs. Frankenstein. Her hands moved up and down and she counted them off, “One...Two…One, Two, Three, Four!” It seemed as everything blanked out for James. The last thing he could remember was the first rim shot he did on his snare drum. It all happened so fast, and it seemed like the show was over only seconds after it started. And now, James was standing back in the same spot this whole thing started on...the 50 yard line. Now was where if he messed up, everyone could hear and see it. This is what he, and the rest of the drum line, had trained for all their lives…or most of August. James had so much sweat all over his face that he couldn’t see anymore, but he didn’t need to see for this. It was time for the drum solo. James raised both sticks into the air above his head. The crowd seemed to hold its breath as James clicked his sticks twice and the drum’s show was on. James had practiced this so much with the line that he didn’t even have to think about what he was doing. Flip the stick, catch it on the fat end, hit once, and then flip it back to the normal way again. Hit the rim, turn to the person on the left and hit his drum, then one final rim shot and “bam!”…It was all over. The crowd jumped on its feet and cheered. James couldn’t help but smile as he marched off the field. And that’s what it is like every Friday night under the bright lights for James.