Personal Narrative-Marching Field

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“Do you realize that we never have to do another box drill? We’re so close to the end…” The words make me pause in the middle of stretching my left leg, and I straighten up. Somehow, I hadn’t realized that yet. But it’s true; in an hour my career in marching band will be over, completed, finished. No more Monday night practices starting after sunset, no more Tuesday mornings back on the field before sunrise. No more desperate prayers that my frozen fingers won’t drop my flute. No more wearing my pinching drill master shoes. Only one hour left to determine this season. A shiver of nervous excitement runs down my stiff back as our lines begin to move. Arms clamped tightly around my stomach as if to hold my nerves in, I follow. My feet stumble …show more content…
Butterflies awaken in my stomach as I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Thin strains of music float out to us, carrying the thrill of a final movement with it. We file out into the open stadium, careful to face away from the field, and the freshmen blink in the light; I remember the overwhelming awe. Ford Field has so much blue everywhere, so many seats, so many spectators. Walking out onto the field for the first time, it suddenly hits you how much is riding on this one show, and how many people will see if you fall, if you mess up, if you fail. “Focus on your show,” our director whispers as he passes down the line. “Don’t watch. Focus on your show.” A final chord, a bump note, thunderous applause - and it’s our turn. Our turn. It’s time. This is what we’ve been working toward for so many weeks. All the sweat, shivers, and sore muscles were for this. All the practices, all the sectionals, all the exasperation were for this. We’re here. “Three things,” he holds up three fingers, grinning. This is a tradition, and I can’t help but think that I’m going to miss this next year. “Stay focused,” and one finger goes down. “Have fun,” two. “Love you guys.” He raises his closed fist, and we disperse to opening
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