A bead of nervous sweat dripped down my face as the dance team exited the field.
"Alright everyone, it's that time!" the drum major yelled, her voice almost drowning in the sea of cheers and chatter coming from the audience in the stands. All of a sudden, my blue uniform was an oven, bearing its heat upon my rigid body. And then, the drumline boomed with noise, bringing me back to the crowd, whose roars scrambled with the thoughts in my brain.
Left. Left. Left, right, left. Line. My- no, our feet rolled over the turf, as if we were one, in perfect time with the booming drums. Left. Left. Left, right, left. Line. The wave of teenagers washed over the field in a line, instruments in hand. Left. Left. Left, right, left. Line. Somehow, we were at the fifty yard line now. We paused momentarily before marching into our starting position. The drums halted, the audience was watching, the drum major mounted upon her podium. We watched her closely as her hands sliced through the air. We brought our instruments to our lips, the cold metal piercing against the intense heat circulating through me.
And then there was music. We were creating the music, music that floated through the stands, stands that were filled with spectators, spectators that cheered over the music. The music danced and flowed with the chatter of the crowd, amalgamating into an indiscernible tangle of noise and energy, buzzing within each individual heart and soul, within the crowd, within the cheer team, within the football team, within the dance team, and within the marching band ourselves.
Our feet instinctively took us where we needed to be, when we needed to be there. We moved as one, the music guiding us through our steps. Sweat, heat, and passion – the air on the field, circulating within our hearts. We march with the music, which we play purely from memory and soul.
Before we knew it, the music stopped. We marched off of the field, still standing attentively, a wave of relief and fatigue washed over the younger and weaker of us. The cheers and yells of the crowd burned in my ears with excitement.
My sweaty palms glued themselves to my cheap white gloves, my heart pounded against my ribcage. My eyes searched over my bandmates in search of my friend. I pinpointed her within the crowd, and we filed into the bleachers. We sat next to each other, smiling and laughing about our mess-ups and our nerves, as the cool night air carried our conversation to one another.
Music is constant. Music connects us. Music is the pride circulating in our minds, the passion beating in our hearts, and the warm love that keeps us safely together.
