Minute 1 brings a warm September night with a slight breeze littered with the scent of black asphalt and standing water. Standing atop a blacktop parking lot are eighty-two people that look just like me, circled in a way where every face is exposed to everyone. The only visible feature shared is the passion in the depths of each pair of eyes.
Minute 2 slips away with the last note dissipating into the air as if it had never been there to begin with. The drum majors stand firm but slip signs of excitement and eagerness by the shifting of their feet and fidgeting of their gloves. There is a silence that screams louder than any fan could ever. My teacher stands in the center of our warm up circle and smiles. He is an older man with the stress of teaching showing through with his graying hair. He is happy with the work we have put in so far. “Play with intensity and purpose” he says before calling for line up formation.
Lines are formed and we all know what time it is. It’s time to perform. One last check of gloves and straightening of our uniforms and silence falls on our band again. I feel the fear and anxiety set in softly into my chest, then suddenly, it hits full force the second we pass through the gates. The stadium is filled with every spectator watching and judging as minute three is gone forever.
“The Stallion Battalion, you may now take the field for the final performance,” boomed out from the stadium speakers. Two clicks from the lead snare drum later and our time had begun, but we had no idea the silence we were about to face. Standing at attention under the night lights something was wrong as minute four passed by.
The wind blows in from the south and rustles the leaves in the trees and the younger students shiver. The moments tick by like the beats of a metronome. No one knows anything, but we all are thinking the same concept. Power failure. The breeze blows harder and makes the sweat on our backs turn to ice. “Do not move at attention!” Three months of practices and discipline screaming in my head. I stood firm at attention, afraid and unaware of what was happening on the sidelines. My mind finds the only escape from my anxiety by flashing back to all the long hours practicing the same music over and over. Minute five: all the chipped reeds and used up tubes of sunscreen under the blazing sun burning our bodies as we burned the music and movements into our memories. Minute six: the constant long nights only followed by earlier mornings keeping up with classes and other obligations. Minute seven: all the days stuck humming the same tune only to hear it in our dreams when our heads hit the pillow from exhaustion.
Suddenly, there is a loud pop from our keyboard's speakers and I am jarred back to reality. Standing on the 45 yard line, 6 steps in front of home hash, about to march my first marching show with the Stallion Battalion Marching Band from Oologah, Oklahoma. The power is back on. The drum majors give us the tempo with determination in their eyes to recover the points lost from the time delay. Minute eight comes to a close with the step off.
The minutes passed by, as well as our show. Music, flags, visuals of our show falling into perfect harmony on the marching field. Each song played with perfection and each step leads us one closer to the end. In the final moment of our show “Mission: Unknown,” the world seemed to stop before my eyes. I felt the last breath leave my lungs through my clarinet to produce the final note. Minute sixteen evaporated with the last of our sound into memory. We exited the field with all of our equipment but we left a small piece of each one of us with that show.
Minute seventeen was all about celebrating with hugs and laughs. With adrenalin still coursing through my body and my breathing rapid, I stopped in the middle of this utter celebratory chaos and smiled. My anxiety of performing was now gone with my first note. I felt this indescribable amount of pride to be able to perform something of such art and beauty, even if it did not seem that it stayed for long. Music is supposed to end at the last note, but it never truly leaves. I am a musician trying to fill the never-ending silence with music instead of letting the silence produce the anxiety. I left everything I had to give that night on that field, but I took something greater than could ever be taught. I found my escape from my anxiety and what I was willing to give my entire life to study and learn.
Looking back now, I still call that my best performance. There was something about the lights, smells and sounds that I will never forget. We won that night. Although to us on the field, it wasn’t about winning when we stepped off that night. We all had the same goal not to win, but to prove that no matter what happened, we will always be able to get back up and perform. That night showed me that no matter what, there was always going to be different “power failures” in my life. But it taught me that there is always going to be a moment when the power comes back on, and that I have the chance to prove I can still conquer my anxiety and “preform” with all that I have to give.
