"Musical Explosion" by Jessica Barnes

The early morning wake up call, sun hasn’t even risen. Packing a bag, knowing that you are about to have a very long and trying day. The day of a marching band competition is always an exhausting, stressful and rough. There are so many things to do before you even get the chance to perform, getting dressed, warming up process, and tuned, to whatever your sections rituals before your performance. It’s a never ending until you get out of uniform, even after your out of uniform it still continues.

The top of your day begins when arriving at the school at an unusual hour, when no one is ever there. From parking your car, grabbing your hat box, day bag and to-go breakfast you’re running towards the buildings door; afraid that you are going to be late for the attendance call. Walking into the band room, it’s like walking into a smelly room filled with dirty socks and sweat mixed with sunscreen; it’s just beyond gross and sickening. Walking into the room all you see is half asleep people that look like they are going to fall over and pass out soon. The sound is dead quiet, the only sound is the sound of soft hum of music from headphones, and the low mummer of talk, the ticking of a clock on the wall; otherwise you could drop and pin and hear its little ding. Six o’clock comes around; the band teacher walks in calls you to attention and tells you the schedule. From then on it’s a rustle of noise and commotion. Getting uniforms instruments out and ready, the packing of hatboxes; leaving your instrument, hatbox by the truck, so that the pit crew can load it; then loading you and your uniform onto the bus so that you don’t get into trouble. Sitting with your section, getting all the talk out that you can before you leave, setting up your headphones. Once the bus driver tells you the rules of the bus, you’re off to the place that you have been waiting for all week. Once the school’s parking lot is almost out of view everyone on the bus screams, then the silent hype begins. A time to reflect on your show and what you need to do to get ready. All you can hear is the low mummer of music, the nervous breathing of your fellow band mates and your instructors, and the strange whistle of the bus driver.

Once you arrive, everything gets thrown back into a huge frenzy, blended into something crazy. Sounds range from garment bags opening, to zippers going up, angry cries when you can’t get it on right, to instruments being put together. Once off the cramped bus, you’re off to stretching and body warm up. The sound of stretching, pull of muscle, clothes that don’t allow you to move past a certain amount, to the sound of band moms coming around with water and tape. Body warm up is the coolest thing to ever watch. The feel of muscle when you forward march, but while you are forward marching doing 90 degree terms with upper and lower body until you’re backwards marching. Going on until you are back to forward march, and doing this all in across the floors, line by line you see the band goes; each member doing the same exercise. Just to see a band moving together is like nothing else, not being able to tell who is a freshman or who is a senior is just mind blowing to see. The sound of shoe brushing against the grass, the swish of the pant legs against each other. The smell of grass and morning air is all around you, with the tint of fear for what is about to happen. After body warm up is the musical warm up, splitting up into woodwinds, percussion and brass; instruments being warmed up is like a horror movie starting. Playing your music by memory and marking time is a challenge all on its own. However by now it’s nothing you can’t handle.

Five minutes before your performance you’re heading over to the field, the sound of shoes walking at the same time, tap of the drum to tell you “left, left, left.” Once to the field, the band says a prayer passed down from senior class to senior class, “Dear Green Mountain, Today we see those who have come before us. Today we see those who have not yet come to be. Today we see those who stand with us in battle that goes on through life. We ask for a field that is fair and the courage to do and to dare. If we should win, let it be by the code with our faith and our honor held high. If we should lose, let us stand by the side of the road and cheer in the winners go by. So that we may stand in a place where tradition and honor live forever.” Then breaking off into sections to do your own rituals. Lining back up, echoes of movement are around you, butterflies in your stomach and the rush of breathing. Marching onto the field you hear the crowd screaming and cheering, weather for you or for the other school you are unsure of. Your drums majors yelling “I AM NOT AFRIAD” and you repeating, “I AM NOT AFRIAD!” Then you’re off into your starting set with the grass brushing under your feet. Dead silence breaks out, nothing but your own heartbeat in your ears, waiting and waiting for your cue to begin. The announcers announce your drum majors, your instructors and your school; knowing that in a few short heartbeats your cue will be given. “Presenting from Lakewood, Colorado Welcome Green Mountain’s Marching Rams….”

Finally it comes and the sound breaks out like something just dropped. The sound of body’s moving, grass crunching under your feet, brass instruments playing, woodwinds, the drums keeping your beat. Watching your drum majors to keep tempo and place. You go and go without stopping for seven and half minutes and at last your hold your last note and snap your instrument down and breathing comes easier now. Finally, looking at the crowd, and hearing the cheers, claps and screams for you, a smile comes to your face; you see your cue to turn and exit. You march off the field feeling lighter and happier knowing that you have accomplished what you needed to for the morning. Walking back to the bus there is talk everywhere, sounds of high fives, joy is everywhere. After getting out of uniform, finding out that you just have to go through all the tension again in a few short hours you make the best of the time you have with friends.

After the final show, you head back on the bus, sing a song for the bus driver “Three cheers for the bus driver, bus driver, bus driver, three cheers for the bus driver, bus driver man/lady. S/he smokes and s/he cusses and wrecks all the buses, three cheers for the bus driver, bus driver man/lady, “HIP HIP HERRAY! HIP HIP HERRAY!” and unload yourself from the bus. Return your uniform, grab your hatbox and instruments and put it all away. Discovering that marching band is not just an activity, it’s more like a family not just a group of friends or a group of people. You’re not regretting the blood, sweat, and tears you have shed. Say goodbye to friends and getting ready to go home when someone says party at Denny’s and you head over there instead of home. So after a long day, all your ready to do is relax, but instead you go out and eat food and talk about the day and taking 2nd place overall and celebrating the days accomplishments. Marching band is not something you just “do” it’s something you become a part of, weaved into. Once weaved into, it’s hard to get out or leave it.