Marching Magic

Dut. Dut. Dadadut (two three four). Dut. Dut. Dadadut (two three four). Dut. Dut. Dadadut (two three four). The sharp sound of a snare drum echoes off the brick walls of the local high school as I march in formation. The weather is just warm enough to make marching a sweaty task, and I find myself longing for the cold of this morning, when I had to scrape the frost off the car's windshield and when my breath showed clearly in the air. Welcome to October in Southern Wisconsin- warm days, cold mornings, and night temperatures below freezing. This time of the year is known as autumn, fall, or otono, if you speak Spanish (please excuse the lack of a tilde, by the way). But it has another name too. Autumn is marching band season. And marching is exactly what I'm doing outside on this fine October day. As the sun climbs higher, as it nears the climax of its daily journey, what do we do? We march. Around the school. In the road. 

     I know what you're thinking- you're wondering why I was marching in a road when I should've been in school learning about the chemical structure of carbohydrates or taking a test on Spanish verbs. But to tell you the truth, I don't care about that right now. Right now I'm in the zone. I'm keeping my head high, roll stepping to the beat as if my life depends on it, using my eyes to look around me and make sure I'm in line, make sure I'm "covering down" and "dressing to the form" and all that. I'm remembering the music I so carefully memorized,  letting it flow through me and gather emotion. I'm watching my section leader's feet, making sure my left foot hits the ground at the same time hers does. There is so much to remember that it seems impossible. But for a moment, I've got it- for just a second, I glimpse a bit of what this is supposed to be. 

     And then it's all gone, with one shouted "halt!" from the director. We keep marching for a few steps, and then understand what's happening. Many of us stop, but some keep playing the next few notes, trying to hold on to that perfect feeling when the music, the beat, and your feet are all working together and the practices you've been having since June finally pay off. It sounds perfect to us, but not to the director- no, not to him at all.

     "First of all," he says, "your feet aren't in time. You've got to listen to the beat! And tubas, that can't be so slow. You're the tubas, for Pete's sake! You're the engine of this band- it has to be better!" To him, there are a million things wrong. But to a freshman like me, it's perfect- pure marching magic, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 
Thanks for listening,
Maggs