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bedlamsbardOr non-fiction, slightly fictionalized memoir, if you so prefer.
i.
You walk into the room and it's too big, too noisy, filled with people and bursting at the edges. It's not till later you realize it was almost empty then, clumps of people scatteed around like spilled chocolate chips. The problem is they all seem to know each other and they're too loud, trying to make up for the empty spaces needing filling.
ii.
The room doesn't quiet exactly when someone opens the door, but it stills a heartbeat to check out the newcomer. Then it continues on its breakneck pace. It's like moving water, never quiet and always changing.
This time it's a girl who walks in, carrying what might be the biggest case you've ever seen. It's not -- but it seems that way; she's not big. She's no stranger; she calls out greetings and everyone answers. When she fits together the puzzle pieces of her instrument, all you can think is, man, a chick plays that thing?
iii.
The second drum major comes in a little later, and in a few minutes you find out he's actually the first drum major. He dwarfs the other drum major by a head and a half, and does it all with the easy smile of the boy next door.
iv.
The chick with the bari trades barbs with the bass clarinet beside her and watches the tall alto sax with badly concealed interest, but when the drum majors call pieces she's all business, up until the moment she breaks out laughing in the middle of the first song and gets lost for ten measures.
v.
The street's a bad place to be, and it'd be worse if you actually were on the street instead of the parking lot. The wind's gusting so badly it nearly blows the little drum major over, and both their commands are lost in what's not really a gale.
vi.
The trombone girl calls out the encouragement and the bari chick barks commands, except when she's silent. Her steps are too big at the beginning and too small at the end, but her left foot is always on the whistle (except once, and she corrects that with what you learn later is a skip step as soon as she notices) and her steps make exactly 22-and-a-half inches in the fifth pass.
vii.
The alto player is too tall and too good-looking, and too quiet, up until you hear him laugh. He sounds like a bell tolling and it bounces between the side of the school and the back of the bleachers, which bracket the parking lot.
viii.
The trumpet players are good, but only one's actually marched before, and she keeps calling the other junior on it. You've figured out their grade because they both seem drunk on the fact they've only got two years left to go.
ix.
Actually, half the band seems to be upperclassmen. Four are seniors, two percussion, one drum major, and the alto player. The others are juniors (including the bari chick), by virtue of their not shutting up about being oh my God, upperclassmen!
x.
Baby stuff, the bari chick says, and the trombone girl says, Next year I'll be a senior, and I won't show for the rookie training.
I need to retrain myself, the bari chick says, and later, it's obvious it's only a reminder, not a complete retraining.
xi.
The little drum major can't be heard and the big one mangles his whistle commands, but they laugh it off and get through practice one way or another with a halfway decent band.
xii.
It's halfway decent until you see the drilldown, which winds down to three boys (a percussionist, a trombone, and the alto player) and the bari chick, all upperclassmen, and that's when you relaize you're not halfway decent, you're halfway decent about being halfway trained.
xiii.
The drum majors play mind games like nobody's business and players drop like flies until it's down to the percussionist (who looks like a mad scientist) and the bari chick (who keeps her gaze fixed firmly on a point in space, which is definitely not what the director ordered). The bari chick wins.
xiv.
You did good, guys, the big drum major says, but he looks somehow unsatisfied. The little one says something about it being a good first day, but you're too exhausted to really listen.
xv.
Marching band is about knowing everything that's going on and reacting to it, you hear the bari chick tell her friend who plays alto (a girl, not the guy she can't keep her eyes off of). But drilldowns are about not knowing or caring what's going on around you. The only things that matter are your body, the drum major's voice, and whether or not there's someone on your right.
xvi.
Outside the building it's dark and too empty, people scattering away like refugees fleeing nuclear fallout. Nobody's talking, just leaving, or putting their cases down and waiting for a parent to pick them up. They're not a unit anymore, just broken pieces of a puzzle, small, alone, and oddly sad.
xvii.
When you leave, it's with the knowledge you'll be back tomorrow.
Why yes, marching band has started, why do you ask?
"If I say play, you play. If I say stop, you stop. If I say dance, YOU DANCE!" Oh, Joey. *shakes head*
i.
You walk into the room and it's too big, too noisy, filled with people and bursting at the edges. It's not till later you realize it was almost empty then, clumps of people scatteed around like spilled chocolate chips. The problem is they all seem to know each other and they're too loud, trying to make up for the empty spaces needing filling.
ii.
The room doesn't quiet exactly when someone opens the door, but it stills a heartbeat to check out the newcomer. Then it continues on its breakneck pace. It's like moving water, never quiet and always changing.
This time it's a girl who walks in, carrying what might be the biggest case you've ever seen. It's not -- but it seems that way; she's not big. She's no stranger; she calls out greetings and everyone answers. When she fits together the puzzle pieces of her instrument, all you can think is, man, a chick plays that thing?
iii.
The second drum major comes in a little later, and in a few minutes you find out he's actually the first drum major. He dwarfs the other drum major by a head and a half, and does it all with the easy smile of the boy next door.
iv.
The chick with the bari trades barbs with the bass clarinet beside her and watches the tall alto sax with badly concealed interest, but when the drum majors call pieces she's all business, up until the moment she breaks out laughing in the middle of the first song and gets lost for ten measures.
v.
The street's a bad place to be, and it'd be worse if you actually were on the street instead of the parking lot. The wind's gusting so badly it nearly blows the little drum major over, and both their commands are lost in what's not really a gale.
vi.
The trombone girl calls out the encouragement and the bari chick barks commands, except when she's silent. Her steps are too big at the beginning and too small at the end, but her left foot is always on the whistle (except once, and she corrects that with what you learn later is a skip step as soon as she notices) and her steps make exactly 22-and-a-half inches in the fifth pass.
vii.
The alto player is too tall and too good-looking, and too quiet, up until you hear him laugh. He sounds like a bell tolling and it bounces between the side of the school and the back of the bleachers, which bracket the parking lot.
viii.
The trumpet players are good, but only one's actually marched before, and she keeps calling the other junior on it. You've figured out their grade because they both seem drunk on the fact they've only got two years left to go.
ix.
Actually, half the band seems to be upperclassmen. Four are seniors, two percussion, one drum major, and the alto player. The others are juniors (including the bari chick), by virtue of their not shutting up about being oh my God, upperclassmen!
x.
Baby stuff, the bari chick says, and the trombone girl says, Next year I'll be a senior, and I won't show for the rookie training.
I need to retrain myself, the bari chick says, and later, it's obvious it's only a reminder, not a complete retraining.
xi.
The little drum major can't be heard and the big one mangles his whistle commands, but they laugh it off and get through practice one way or another with a halfway decent band.
xii.
It's halfway decent until you see the drilldown, which winds down to three boys (a percussionist, a trombone, and the alto player) and the bari chick, all upperclassmen, and that's when you relaize you're not halfway decent, you're halfway decent about being halfway trained.
xiii.
The drum majors play mind games like nobody's business and players drop like flies until it's down to the percussionist (who looks like a mad scientist) and the bari chick (who keeps her gaze fixed firmly on a point in space, which is definitely not what the director ordered). The bari chick wins.
xiv.
You did good, guys, the big drum major says, but he looks somehow unsatisfied. The little one says something about it being a good first day, but you're too exhausted to really listen.
xv.
Marching band is about knowing everything that's going on and reacting to it, you hear the bari chick tell her friend who plays alto (a girl, not the guy she can't keep her eyes off of). But drilldowns are about not knowing or caring what's going on around you. The only things that matter are your body, the drum major's voice, and whether or not there's someone on your right.
xvi.
Outside the building it's dark and too empty, people scattering away like refugees fleeing nuclear fallout. Nobody's talking, just leaving, or putting their cases down and waiting for a parent to pick them up. They're not a unit anymore, just broken pieces of a puzzle, small, alone, and oddly sad.
xvii.
When you leave, it's with the knowledge you'll be back tomorrow.
Why yes, marching band has started, why do you ask?
"If I say play, you play. If I say stop, you stop. If I say dance, YOU DANCE!" Oh, Joey. *shakes head*