Canada Day is my favourite day of the year. Do you know why? Well, only five other people know why. And now, reader, so will you. It is July the first and I am with the band, as always.
For those of you who have read JustAFlutePlaya's stories, I am Max and I haven't actually kissed Rebekka...yet. No promises!
We've done two parades and a field show today in Banff and Canmore. Almost everyone just wants to go home. We've finished our field show. I remember it so vividly. We walk off the field, and we gather in to Vanessa, our band director. She gives us feedback, then sends us off to see the field show of the band that everyone from our band wants to (and might) be in: the Stampede Showband. Of course, like always, they do it perfectly. They were, after all, a four-time world champion marching band. They hit their dots accurately, the colourguard never dropped their flags, the drumline kept perfect time, but the most amazing thing about them is their music. They are not a big marching band, they only have about 120 people, but their peak volume is just mind blowing. I remember their field show by heart. I get up off the ground, brushing off my black marching pants as I start walking towards the school buses that got us here. I was preparing myself for a long, boring ride home. But little did I know at the time that the ride would be the most exciting in my life, and that I'd be wishing it were longer. I step onto the bus, finding my trumpet case. I am experienced in putting away my trumpet, and the whole process only takes four seconds. I have no friends on this bus, they're all on the other one. I start changing out of my band uniform, and into my clothes. I take off the jacket, and put that away in my garment bag. I then take off my pants and notice my heavily muscled yet skinny legs. I quickly change into my sweatpants, being modest about how fit I was becoming. I take off the black band undershirt, looking down at my stomach. It wasn't exactly notable, and that's only because I have no real weight to work with. I sigh quietly, embarrassed at how little I weighed for my height. I had just finished grade 8, and I was 5'11". I weighed under 120 pounds. I thought I had it bad. I snapped out of my stupor, catching a number of girls and one or two guys jealously checking out my biceps and triceps. You want to have arms like mine, do you? Well, here's my secret: join a marching band and practice like you perform. It was only my first year of marching band, and I had more shoulder muscle than some tubas. The only two people I could think of with a sturdier bust than me are Evangeline Ballantyne and Karl Lacumbo. They are the section leaders of tubas and euphoniums, respectively. I made a promise to myself: to try and fool some people into thinking that I am the section leader of the trumpets. No offense to Jane and "Jemima" (Jeremy), who are the real section leaders of the trumpets. So far, it works. But I had another goal. In my school, and at band, there are dozens of girls who want me for my muscle. But what I want is a nice, honest girl who wants to be with me for who I am. Oops, I'm doing it again. I'm just standing around, shirtless. I sit down, putting on a nice t-shirt. I look around, trying to make a new friend. Then, in the seat in front of me, I see the most beautiful girl in the world. She has short blond hair, the same colour as mine. She looks as tall as me too, and, impossibly, skinnier than me. Out of the corner of my eye, I also see a girl with longer, red-dyed hair. Her friend, I think to myself. I know what I need to do. I need to introduce myself to this blond-haired girl. Before I could form a sentence, she turns around to look at me. Our eyes meet. She has the bluest eyes of any I've ever seen before. As I look into her eyes, I see an ocean. I also see, somehow, that she wants to get to know me. I keep on looking at those blue eyes, and say "M-my name is..." but her eyes are drawing me in. After a few seconds, she wrinkles her eyebrows and says in a sweet, soft voice, "I'm guessing you actually do have a name?" And I don't hear myself, but feel myself say in a stuttering voice, "Max". She is the only person that I know who can make my usually confident voice tremor. She smiles and says "My name is Rebekka. Two K's, no H", and she offers her hand to me. It is pleasantly cool, although outside, the temperature is in the thirties. She smiles even sweeter. "Y-your hands are really warm" she says, and I can tell that she is starting to feel what I feel. The world around us is far away. I will never know why, but she puts her hand up to the hair on my forehead, and tells me how soft it is. I reach hers, and my fingers go through her hair. It's as soft and cool as grass in May. I move my face closer to hers, and put my arm around her shoulder. She puts her smooth face up to my cheek, and I feel her heartbeat. Somehow, in that period of time, we got into the same seat, and we are in each other's arms, feeling each other's hair. Her face is against mine, and if it weren't for the fact that we just met, I might have kissed her. Through the window, there are fireworks, almost as exciting as the fireworks inside me. She tells me she's cold, and I gladly let her hold onto my arms, which are gently around her stomach. I keep my my cheek against hers, and she whispers thank you. I feel her heartbeat slow just a bit, and feel mine match hers. She is breathing more slowly now, and so am I. She falls asleep, and I look at her smiling face. I fall asleep too.
