I don't remember.
I wish I do.
I look back in a photograph of a performance, my last one. It was one of the most difficult parts, the one where the girl behind me (the girl whom didn't know that she will be the future band president) always yelled out to me.
She was the one who yelled encouragement after every water break. She would yell to me saying "Good job! Good improvement! Make sure that your steps are always the same size!" Or what not. She would make me smile even though that particular set made me feel like a stone was on my chest.
Everyone hated that set. Especially the flute. One day, we got yelled at over and over and over again. People missed their dot, people took the wrong step sizes, people weren't in time.
I was one of those people.
But looking back at this picture, I see that we nailed it. Looking back at the video, I see we did it the best we ever had. I was freaking proud. Proud of my section, and of myself.
It was arc. For the flutes, our arc stretched for about thirty yards across the left side of the football field. I was on the end, closest to the fifty yard line compared to the other twenty flutes that are marching. I was perfectly in line with the four people behind me, one being the future band president.
Looking back at this photo. I wish I remember what I was thinking. Maybe it was "don't screw up, don't screw up, don't screw it. YES, thank The Lord I didn't screw up."
Although I don't remember was I was thinking, I do know one thing now.
I miss every second of it.
So in 50 days, 13 hours, 45 minutes, and 32 seconds, I don't have to miss it anymore.
It's marching season soon.
And this time, I will remember everything.
