Marching Band Horrors

It is freezing cold when I arrive at the field. The cool wind nips at my frozen face, my teeth chattering violently scraping every once in a while at my tongue making me cringe. In an attempt at keeping warm, I quickly rub my hands together, willing for friction to provide at least some heat. I mentally curse the directors for our much followed slogan “Think the same, look the same, be the same.” It almost seems ridiculous to have the tips of our gloves snipped off only to ensure everyone was identical.

A groan escapes from my stiff lips. Sometimes band could really drive me insane. As I continued my horrible trek through the wintry breeze, I already see my friend Anita hopping around excitedly. Well at least someone was having a grand time in this god awful weather. I grimaced as I watch her suddenly turn frantically around, waving her arms crazily. It seems as though she had spotted me. At the sight of her flashing me a bright, white smile and bounding towards me, I can’t help but beam with amusement. She was a weird one, but my best friend none the less. By the time she reaches me, I stop in my tracks, setting down my own out bag filled completely with books, music, and drill to the side of me next to the Saxophone section. Anita hardly appears to be breathless from her energetic gallop. She giggles at my numb, shaky appearance, handing me something from her bulging black purse.

“Here,” she sang happily, thrusting the item into my hand, my fingers frozen in place trying to fold over it to no avail. “A hand warmer for your thoughts.”

I stare at it gratefully, already beginning to feel the slight warmth radiate from it, spreading feeling back into my left hand. My right pulses with a sharp pain as if begging for a turn. I chuckle. “Thanks Drum Major Tamera,” I say, looking up to see her glistening stare. I remember how she still has her small purse with her and attempt to point at it. “What’s this? I don’t believe our valiant leader should be possessing such a plain container for her supplies,” I tease smugly, reaching to snatch it away. Easily, she dodges my sloppy movement, wagging a finger at me covered in complete white. She too wears a pair of gloves except hers remain completely covered since of course, she get the privilege of not having worthless sticks of fingers to conduct with. My own fingers are at the brink of falling off.

“Shut-up,” she says cheerily, giving me a gentle shove. As her hand shoves against my shoulder, another wave of nature’s fury whips me hard in the face making me exclaim with surprise. Anita remained unfazed by the attack, laughing at me.

“God this wind!” I yell, shaking my head angrily, sending wisps of hair flying wildly across my face. “I hate Texas. The weather, the heat, the cold, the sudden rain. I just hate everything,” I pout bitterly, kicking the ground for good measure. My friend only rolls her eyes, leaning over to take my bag of goodies and such.

“You always say that, Allison,” she points out boringly, slinging my bag across her shoulders. “Now c’mon, you’re not a Saxophone last time I checked.” With a light chuckle, she skips back over to where my own flute section lingered, giggling away at something as usual.


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