Multiple tunes clash into my head.
Which is which?
I take a step,
I don't know what is going on.
I move.
Where am I heading?
I keep my eyes at the student on the podium.
The one who is the parent of the band.
She conducts and I stare,
With my feet still in the rhythm.
My fingers move,
And my head feels light.
The smell of popcorn floods me,
Mixed with the smell of sweaty football players.
You don't need to know what's going on,
Muscle memory will take you the right way.
I snapped out of my daze and kept marching,
Thankful that muscle memory didn't let me down.
The last note was held,
And we all stopped in unison.
My second performance.
