“Band, ten-hut!” exclaimed Karlee, calling the band to attention.
It was the last time for a lot of things, but it was the last time I’d be marching down the track to the stands. It was the last time I’d hear that call for attention before a game. It was the final day of being a section leader. It was the end.
It was so loud, yet I couldn’t hear a single thing. No faint taps of drumsticks, passing conversations from the crowd, not even the sound of my own steps. I was stuck in my head as I looked at my band for one of the last times. My gaze shifted to Carter, my beloved underclassman and co-section leader, whom I want to pass the reins onto after I graduate. I saw that look in his eyes that matched my own, it was almost as if the knot in my chest was just as bad as his. It was only a few seconds, but I looked away because that’s when the tears started.
My eyes burned with emotion, I couldn’t even pinpoint what I was feeling. There was something so sad about this moment, yet it felt so fulfilling. I wasn’t ever ready for change, I wasn’t ready for it to be my turn. But I knew it was inevitable.
As we marched in unison, it felt like time had slowed nearly to a stop as we approached the front of the stands. Before I knew it, the roll-off for the national anthem rang out, and I felt the volume of the snare drum rattling against my ribs. It was the same routine as every other game, playing the national anthem, following it up with loyalty, and then making our way to the end zone where we would play. It felt like every other game to everyone else, and in reality, it was like every other game. But I felt like I was losing a part of myself as I played those same songs I’d played only two weeks prior.
It seemed only a moment’s notice before halftime came around. I walked in close tracks behind Karlee, Carter, and Mateyka. It was like I was walking with my family one last time before going to college,— at least that’s what it felt like.
The halftime show felt like a blur in a way. I couldn’t even remember anything about it at the time. I stepped off the field. I only remember messing up once or twice, but it wasn’t anything too noticeable other than something I would notice.
We actually did it, for the first time, we finally performed the entire halftime show, and with few mistakes at that. It felt perfect, but what I was feeling wasn’t. It was far from perfect, I felt so empty in a way, like I was missing something. But that something wasn’t anything I could attain.
It was the longing to do it all again one last time.
Alec E. Damien is a seventeen-year-old student author and performer of the fine arts, Born in Mount Vernon, Illinois. He is working to get his high school diploma, as he plans to attend college to pursue a career in music production and writing. Once he had started writing in his early years of elementary school his writing career has only continued to evolve over the years. Further into his high school years, and now as a senior student at Mount Vernon Township High School, he plays a vital role in the art and music department, including being a part of the school marching band and symphonic band as a senior trumpet section leader and first chair. Being new to the writing scene, Damien plans to dive into genres of writing such as; Dramatic narratives, Horror, Thrillers, and Fictional narratives.
