As I turned from my mode of transport, I looked up at the building standing dauntlessly before me. It read “Cafetorium” in bold letters on the brick wall. I wandered up to the curiously titled lunchroom with my baritone held tightly in my arms. Upon walking inside, I discovered the bottom tier of the tile floored room to be completely full of teenagers, ranging in both age and size. While the chaos ensued, a bulky man and his frosty haired companion stood on the stage in front of the students, waiting patiently for everything to settle down. The taller man, known as Bowman, cleared his throat into the mic. He, having caught all of our attention, promptly spun off a list of who the sections were to be conducted by and where they were to gather. His voice rang clear as he called my group, “Baritones, Trumpets, Tubas, and Mellophones, you all will stay here in the cafeteria.” 


  As the room cleared up, I exhaled in relief. The number of new faces had cut down significantly, but now we were starting sectionals. Our instructor, Laurence Clark, separated us by section and partials, and I was placed into the middle part, the seconds. My companions on either side were two strangers, as the rest of my class was sorted into the third part. One, a baby faced boy with a massive set of lips, and the other, a silent girl with curly hair. We began our little gathering with warm ups, taking it slow. The conductor kept telling all of the baritones to keep their arms off  of their bodies, for he knew exactly what it was like to carry the thirteen pound instrument and he didn’t want to hear them complaining. After warming up for about fifteen to twenty minutes, we took a break. We were allowed to go to the restroom and to get water. 


  I meandered over to one of the many water fountains, feeling as though I was getting the hang of this whole ‘marching band’ ordeal. I waited in line for quite some time before getting my water, and as soon as I got a drink, we were called back by the stern Mister Clark. Crossing over the tiers, I smirked. This was easy. I would have no trouble whatsoever.


  “Alright. Arc it up, kids. We have to get into this music.” Mister Clark was very clear that we were not fooling around anymore. I grabbed my hunk of metal and inserted my mouthpiece, feeling a bit uneasy. We all gathered in a half circle, I back between my unknown neighbors. The chubby-faced boy, whom I had come to know as Matt, was ecstatic at the idea of playing. He was rapidly fingering silent notes on his instrument and nodding his head to an imaginary beat. I was very intrigued by this, and I did not notice the instructors hands go up to signal the beginning of our music. 


  “Hey! Get it together, guys! We have a lot of work to do.” I jolted out of my daze at the adult’s firm tone, and I quickly lifted my arms and put my instrument to my mouth. We played for a while, going over a few parts at the time. Never once did our horns go down. I had never stood and held this instrument for such a long period of time, and my body was growing tired. I was even feeling a bit nauseous. When my nausea became urgent, I put my horn down, attempting to signal the man in charge.

  “H-Hey!.. Can I… Go to th-…” My voice was raised at first, but it quickly grew quiet. My vision went black, though I could still hear all that was going on around me. 


  “Is this normal for her?” Mr. Clark’s voice was loud in my head, but I could not respond.


  “I think she may be dead.” I heard the boy, Matt, next to me mutter to the boyish girl next to him.


  “Katie, go get Mister Bow and a nurse.” Someone commanded the puppy-faced drum major.


  Next thing I knew, I was being picked up and whisked away. I gained my vision after what felt like eons, my head ringing. It felt as though I had just been hit in the head with a bat. One of the band directors, Jon Bowman, shook his head and chuckled at my dispense.


  “Rough first day, huh?” He said with a grin. All that I could do was nod and stare at him, and awestruck look set on my face. He told me that I should keep in mind that locking my knees is a poor choice, and that I should always take a break if I felt that I was pushing myself too hard. I can’t say that I didn’t take his words to heart. 


  Ten minutes after I had been dealt with, I was put back into the fray. Luckily, it was in the middle of a quick break. The sophomore whom I had been standing next to walked up to me, a stupid grin on his face.


  “Was that a nice nap?” He snorted, mocking me in a brotherly way.


  I nodded and told him that, “Oh yes. It was a lovely nap. I haven't slept so well in weeks!” 


  A tall blonde sophomore, that went by the name of Mason, sauntered up to me, giving me nothing but a thumbs up.


  More students began to gather around me, all of them laughing at my little snooze. I didn’t feel embarrassed or overwhelmed, but I did feel as though I had made a connection with these people through nothing but a little fainting episode. I checked the time, which read 10:30 a.m., grinning inwardly. My day no longer felt as though it would last forever. 


~
This actually happened, is what's sad. xD I asked my band director about it later, and he told me that he was sure that I was /not/ going to make it. I wrote this as a personal narrative essay for my English 101 class. So yea. Here it is.

Three years later, and I'm still here, Bow-Boy. 

A few names were tweaked, just to keep people's privacy intact. It's the little things, y'know?