Yesterday* was an interesting day. It was senior skip day, so I stayed at home like the lazy bastard I am and only left for a couple hours for band practice.
I woke up in something of a baffling mood. I can’t accurately describe it, but sehnsucht seems to come closest (thanks to Rammstein for teaching me that word).
I thought nothing of it – it’s probably connected to whatever I was dreaming about that night. So, I logged onto Facebook, and saw a link by one of my school’s color guard members (color guard as in marching band and winter guard, not as in ROTC kids stomping across the gym with an American and Colorado flag) to one of Legacy’s winter guard shows, Dead or Alive. Legacy’s are among the best marching bands and color guards in the state (after Rampart’s, of course), so I figured I’d watch.
Halfway through watching, I was hit by a massive wave of nostalgia for marching band. This feeling of holy crap, a whole era of my life ended half a year ago and I barely even noticed, combined with the discovery the same night of my dad’s blog, no, online diary, especially an entry involving the death of my childhood companion, Daisy, set the stage for the day’s normally-trivial events to bring me to tears. They were flowing, fast and free, though silent. This, uh, “bawling fit” lasted a good 2 hours, on and off. I can’t remember the last time I’d cried before that. It’d been at least 5 years. To be honest, it felt really damn good (catharsis is the word my English teachers would love to see).
I was in band all 4 years of high school, and now that I’m graduating I can’t be a part of that anymore. Sure, I could join a college marching band, but that’s not the same. It’s more for show than competition. Then there’s Drum Corps. But that’s on the other end of the spectrum. It’s too competitive, too focused. High school’s struck the right chords with me, but I can never experience that again.
It’s odd that it would take so long – nearly 6 months – for the transience of that part of my life to have a significant effect on me. Every year, on the bus ride home from state, nearly all the senior girls and about half of the senior guys cried. I always thought they were silly; I won’t be one of them, I thought to myself. And I wasn’t, at least not on that day. It was just another last-performance-of-the-season to me. Sure, there’s still some emotion involved with realizing that the show you spent what felt like half your summer on, the show you devoted an ungodly number of Saturdays to, the show you poured your sweat, blood, and soul into, will never be performed again.
Some shows, like Hypar Effect, get recycled once in a while, but will never have the same vision, interpretation. They’ll never have the same pieces – marchers, guard, front ensemble, battery, director(s), coaches, and other staff – they’ll never have you again. Or, rather, you will never have the show.
*Yesterday being the day before I started writing this post, which was written on 2 separate days, about a week apart.
Looks like you are a true professional. Did ya study about the theme? lawl