It was there, between the 40 and 45 yard line.
Everyone moved at the same time, watching the drum majors. The last set of our last performance. Five months had gone by way too fast. We were determined to win state finals.
Horns moved up to the press box.
Even though I was concentrating with all of my might, memories of the whole season came flooding in.
Left foot out.
I remembered sunburns, blistered feet and hands, and muscle injuries. The horrible heat, sweat, and the thirst for a drink. I could vividly remember the screaming and yelling of an angry section leader and the mumbling of curse words under our breaths when the director told us to reset.
Left foot in.
I thought of when we would tell dirty jokes at set, trying to make the person playing the soli laugh. The fun section parties and the drama. I remembered how funny it was when Garcia would yell at Bono because of his ¨stupid face.¨ I thought of the new friends I made, the sighs of relief when we were allowed a water break. The pranks we would pull , and the smiles and encouragement we gave each other.
Horn down.
The times I fell, and the time I broke my section leader's instrument. The times I was hit with a flag, and the times I hit someone with my slide. The time someone cried because they twisted their ankle, and the time someone stormed off the field.
Head down.
Yet, despite all of that, everyone stuck together like a giant family. Everyone told you ''Good job!'' even if you didn't do things completely correct. They knew you tried your hardest. We all wanted to do our best. Even if we got last place, we would not regret our efforts.
End of show.
And for once, through my few years of life, I felt as if I mattered. I felt as if I was part of something big. I was needed here.
There, between the 40 and 45 yard line.