25 or 6 to 4 {EDITING}

Prologue

I sat as still as a stone on my seat at the back of the band room. My palms held fast to the trombone that always stood between my legs. My eyes remained fixed on the nineteen seniors that sat at the front of the room.

I could feel the tugging sensation in the pit of my stomach, just itching to let the tears flow from my eyes. I refused. I was not going to show weakness. It was not a good time. Not this time.

I thought back to the end of last year. I had no idea what I was getting into. You're going to have an adventure with this instrument, my band director had said. If you're planning on joining the marching band, you'll soon find that it sometimes has a mind of its own.

Trombone - mind of its own. How naive I was. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever given a thought to the mysteries of the band, much less even suspected that there was anything to hide. What could they be hiding? They march, and they play music. What more could there be to the marching band?

I remember those times; trying out the instruments. I could never stay on any single instrument longer than two months without getting so frustrated and wanting to quit. First the clarinet, then the saxophone, the french horn, and then the tuba. I couldn't get myself to play with the band; I was too scared of failure.

And then my director put the trombone in my hands. Ah, the trombone. The one instrument I had been avoiding for the longest time. You could just imagine the joy I felt when she put the thin instrument in my hands and asked me to play - The surprise I had felt when I finally realized I had the confidence to play the thing.

The past three months was all a blur to me. When did I first accept this instrument? When did I start to want to play it? When did I start to feel comfortable with the section? I could barely remember the answers to any of these questions. I extended my fingers, almost stroking the side of the trombone in front of me. I thought back to all that I had gone through with the instrument. I had cried over it, I had sweat over it, I had bled over it (no kidding), and I had even lost a part of my body because of the thing.

I closed my eyes and let the memories flow back to me...