Were-Geek

( 1.)

"Watch the crescendo. Saxes and trumpets, louder with the melody! Again!" Mr. Neeson moved across the field and I looked longingly at the rows of water bottles on the edge of the marching area. "One more time!" he said and was answered with a multitude of groans. He grinned and brought the whistle to his mouth, blowing one long and three short. Then we started up again. I payed attention to my legs, lifting them high and pointing my toes despite the ache spreading over my entire body. I focused on the pain to propell my music forward, dramatising the crescendo and bringing out the melody.

Finally the song ended and I stood at attention, chest heaving but making absolutely no noise as the sweat dripped into my eyes. After what felt like forever the whistle sounded and I took a gigantic breath as groans and moans filled the air. I immediately moved forward toward the lines of water, scooping up my giant transparant red water thermos. My friend Mia joined me and picked up her own bottle from beside mine, chugging it like a man. Getting as much into her before Neeson called the band into parade formation to march down the hill to put our instruments away and go home.

I quickly mirrored her and guzzled the water. Then the whistle sounded and it was a mad rush to get in formation, flags in front, saxes around the middle. The whistle again and then we were marching toward cold water and air conditioning. I was grateful for that. Don't get me wrong I love band camp and really, band everything. I planned on going to callege and majoring in music therapy. I believed in the healing effects of music and the miracles it could perform for people of all ages.

We arrived and after a speech of how great we were doing and what more he expected Neeson released us from attention and we rushed toward the double doors of the school, a blast of a.c. blowing our hair back and drying the sweat on our necks. The smell of cleaning chemicals assaulted my nostrils, the janitors getting ready for shool to start next week.

I followed the crowd of sweaty teenagers and shiny instruments to the band room doors. Mia, once again, joined my side. "Oh my god, El, I came this close to getting tuba smacked." She held out her fingers, about an inch apart and looked at me with wide eyes. I nodded with understanding. We had all come that close one time or another.

We made into the band room and then into the instrument room where I put my sax away and pulled my cell phone out of my bag. A text from my mom awaited me, "Had to go to walmart for dog food and cat litter. Took longer than I thought. Will be late." I read it twice and replied a quick, "okay" and stuffed it into my pocket. Then I said see ya to everyone and went to wait outside on the curb. I sat down, putting my bag at my side. I cosidered reading while I waited but I was still too hyped up to read. I stood up and began pacing, humming the last song we had played, now stuck in my head as it always was. I took my phone out of my pocket and went to the music app, putting it on one of my favorite songs, Repentance by Fear Factory. I sang along under my breath and paced, waving to friends who drove by.

"Need a ride," The field commander questioned as he drove past. I shook my head,

"No, thanks though" I said and he nodded, looking back at the road and driving on. I smiled, feeling the comradery I had with everyone in the band. Any one of them would give me a ride. Maybe I should go home that way. Save my mom the gas money. But no, I was sort of enjoying the music and pacing, it always helped my thinking and it wasn't failing me now. I tightened my ponytail and pulled it over my shoulder, I frowned at the dampness of it and the image of a cool shower filled my head. I could not wait to get home.

I smiled at a clarinet player that I couldn't remember the name too and then the parking lot was empty. Even Neeson had gone home already. I sighed and went toward the curb. The air seemed deathly quiet after the chaos of band. Some birds tweeted in the trees and the sky was beginning to darken, casting a creepy shadow over the baseball field. Not for the first time did I wonder why Neeson had to keep practice to nine.