Just Rigby - A Marching Band Story

The Announcement

***

The band room buzzes like a beehive. People are finding seats in their sections. The woodwinds take their places up front. The brass files in behind. The drum line occupies the space behind everyone. They've set up their drums on stationary stands so they don't have to wear harnesses inside.

Some folks are playing. I can make out A Hard Day's Night, Yesterday, and of course, Eleanor Rigby. I guess they are making one last attempt to get the show music memorized before Mr. Z goes section by section and checks to see if everyone has memorized their parts.

I walk sideways to my spot at the end of the trumpet row. I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope. If I lose my balance I might stumble and land in someone's lap.

Third trumpet. It's lonely down here by the baritones and trombones. I like it, though. No pressure to perform. Sometimes I wonder if I disappeared would anyone even notice? Don't get me wrong, I love contributing my part. In fact, I'm not sure I could physically ever handle playing way up in the first trumpets during a concert or half-time show. I think my anxiety would get the best of me.

Taura and all the first trumpets are all the way at the other end of the trumpet row. Quentin and Jason are down there playing Paper-Rock-Scissors. Kayla is actually emptying her spit valve at this very moment. I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it with my own two eyes. I look past her and notice that Taura is staring at me with a somewhat menacing look on her face.

Whoa! Wasn't expecting that!

I look away instinctively and realize that I probably look like the biggest doof in the world. I slowly turn back and make a casual gesture with my arms as if I'm stretching. Maybe I can sneak a peek and see if Taura is giving me the stank eye. I just want to make sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing.

Sure enough, if eyes were guns and stares were bullets, Taura would be committing a world-class drive-by right now.

Crap.

I look down quickly, fidgeting with my valves and tuning slides. I left my trumpet case in my trunk, so I pull out a mini bottle of valve oil that I keep in my handy belt pack and start reading the label. Hmm. It says "Mineral Oil." Good to know.

Aaaand, there's nothing else to read.

A slight panic settles in on me. My heart starts racing. She gets under my skin. I just want to go home. I want to be on my roof, in the moonlight, listening to Beethoven and texting Chew. I want to be home at the piano sitting next to Mom playing Hey Jude. I want to be anywhere but here.

Mom. Why now?

A low rumble from outside signals the possibility of another summer storm. Thunder. It sounds angry, like random rolls on the timpani. It's unpredictable. Slowly, one by one, drop by drop, rain starts falling. The roof is metal, so it's loud. It builds in intensity and I close my eyes. I'm trying my best not to freak out in front of everyone. I fight back tears, but as the sound of rain crescendos, so does the pain.

Of all the times I could break down, why does it have to be here and now? I'm surrounded by a ton of people when all I really want is to be by myself. I need space. The room is closing in one me. And Taura is at the end of the row killing me softly with her gaze of doom. At least she looks halfway funny with her black eyes from the water bottle incident.

I try to hide in the humor, but even thinking about Taura's black eyes aren't pushing back my emotions. It isn't working. I pick up my folder and flip through my music, but I don't really see anything. My eyes are watering and everything is blurry. I can literally hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I can't breathe. I need fresh air. I need to leave.