Chapter 1: Occasion that Awakened the Poetic

The toddler tapped the turtle again marking the moment I’d been dreading. My deal with my mother required me to join the band at the beginning of the year because she had been a part of it. She had been a self-identifier from what I could tell. She had derived a lot of her sense of self in high school from the band. I had little interest in it. Her interest was made even more idiotic by my status as a cheerleader. I could participate in the formal concerts, but would be completely unable to participate in the football games and parades that were the primary duties of band members. I didn’t really desire to please her, but I’d made the deal, and I would always keep my word.

I loved music, but what I knew of the marching band, it played mostly 60’s pop, I wasn’t certain the playlist had changed since my mother was in the band. This was of course below my interest. While my musical talents included the flute and piano, I had chosen the drums because I wasn’t looking to work. I had a more than passing sense of rhythm. So, it wasn’t that much of a leap.

When I had informed my mother of the choice at the now mandatory weekly dinner my deal with Robert required, she tried yelling at me. I always found it funny when she yelled at me. It was as if she thought raising her voice periodically was a substitute for actually giving a damn.

She was convinced I should play the flute or try some knew instrument. Her reasoning was beyond me on this issue. Oddly my stepfather came to my aid and pointed out the stigma of being a male flautist in high school. He also pointed at my cheerleader status and that the combination of the two would be near social suicide.

She apologized almost immediately. This was out of character for her because she hated to be wrong; she often stewed for days before admitting she was wrong. My stepfather deserved some degree of respect, I had to admit.

The previous year, the former band teacher had made the mistake of being photographed screwing former school head Maria and had been promptly fired. Well, promptly fired after I taped photographs of them screwing on just about every wall in the school. It was probably wrong of me to do, but I tend to be overprotective of my friends. A temporary replacement had been called out of retirement to serve out the remainder of the year.

There were rumors that the new teacher was young, as in fresh out of school, but none of my crew had a music class earlier than I, and so I had no knowledge of who would be teaching. While Beth and the cheerleaders were pretty much the hub for all the information in the school now, I did not have time to ask about the new teacher. Scott had joined the band as well, choosing the trombone as his weapon of choice. I had no understanding of his reasons for joining and feared I would not like the answer when if I asked.

Band was the last period of the day, literally from 1330 to the 1430 hundred turtle tapping. I slung my pack over my shoulder and began my journey. As I walked from the advanced biology down the hall to the band room, Scott joined me from his English class. He never seemed to walk, only strut.

He grinned as he quizzed, “You ready, bro? I hear the new teacher’s hot.” I raised my finger and twirled it indicating he needed to get to his point. It was the only response I would offer he knew. “C’mon even a guy like youse gotta love a little eye candy.”

He chuckled. I didn’t know what kind of guy he thought I was. Not that it really concerned me, though I supposed I might need to gain a “beard” or at least attempt to converse with one of my female classmates besides Alex, Beth, and the squad. After precious seconds I could no longer resist, “What kind of guy am I today?”

“You know, one of them ner ... Intel-ect-u-als not concerned about girls at all.”

Internally, I groaned at his pronunciation of intellectuals. My other chuckled at his offering and with a hint of razor-edge asked, “Should we tell him how much his mother misses our cock or better yet how she pines for his?” I hushed it, though I felt myself smile.

The door to the band room was across from a set of glass doors which led to the street most of the seniors parked on. I opened the door and held it as Scott walked through. There was a short hallway with another door on the one end and on the right were two storage areas, Scott ducked into one and came back with the trombone case.

“This is a horrible idea.” My other stated. I had a suspicion it was correct, especially when Scott tried to balance the case on his head for a moment.

I went on to the other door and opened it. I had pair of 2bs and some marching sticks in my pack. On a whim, I had also thrown my flute in that morning. Scott gave me a disgruntled sigh for ignoring his antics before ambling through the door. He was never happy when he wasn’t the center of attention.

As I stepped through myself, I felt my stomach try to turn. It was all I could do to not vomit up the tater tots I had eaten at lunch. The carpet was orange. Blaze Orange from one end to the other, the walls were a nauseating shade of canary yellow.

My other offered in a disgusted tone, “if you douse the room in gasoline and let it burn they would give you a medal.” Once again it seemed correct. I realized I was agreeing with it far too much.

There was a glass door out to a fire escape in one corner, another door to the auditorium across from that. In the near left corner, there was a TV and a series of cabinets. Immediately to my right was an office. The office had blinds drawn over the window and the door. The center of the room was littered with folding chairs with black metal music stands in front; a lectern and another folding chair were at the front. There were drums set up at the back; 3 bass drums, 3 snares, a set of quad toms, a timpani, and edged to the wall a table with a variety of smaller instruments. Immediately to my left was a piano and directly across on the far wall was a set of risers.

The crowd followed us in and filed to seats as if assigned. There were maybe 30 total. Scott slipped into the crowd and surged with them. It always amazed me when he did that. No matter how large the group he just blended effortlessly.

When the milling about was complete, he was sitting in what must be the first chair for trombones. I groaned aloud at that. If I had been a theist, I would have prayed he wasn’t the best man in the trombone section. A chubby girl with glasses looked as if she would kill him if he didn’t switch chairs. I honestly couldn’t blame her, she was probably first chair the previous year. She had probably worked quite hard to earn that chair or at least nailed the band teacher, either way she had a right to be pissed.

Scott seemed oblivious, but I could never tell if he was acting or not. I had my doubts about his understanding of the chairs and hoped it was either corrected or no one cared enough to make a fuss. The last thing I needed was an additional lair of school politics or a barney about rank in a band I really didn’t want to be a member of. I meandered towards the back of the room. Four others stood at the back, my fellow percussionists it would seem. I was capable of playing any of the instruments at the back. I wouldn’t be part of the marching component so it really didn’t matter which instrument was assigned to me.

I scanned the room. Mostly the students were pomegranates. I’m sure they would be tasty if I put the effort into dealing with them, but I had little desire to do so due to the complications involved. I wasn’t fond of stained fingers. There were thankfully no dragons or any of Beth’s newest blonde list, so at least it would be quiet. Besides Scott, the only person I recognized was a familiar petite black head. My sweet Lis played the flute. More than one in my experience.

I had a strong degree of protective instinct towards her. Since, like me and Scott she wouldn’t be able to participate in most of the bands activities her attendance was confusing. She might be a good choice for the “beard” I wasn’t likely to ever love her, but it likely wouldn’t be complicated. She was in love with me and so I believed she would be willing to date me.

No, I don’t want to be the kind of guy who would use a girl like that.

When she walked in, the room gasped. She was in her twenties, a few inches shorter than me and blonde. Her hair had a hint of natural curl and had a tendency to flip across her right eye as she walked. She had full, prominent breasts. Her ass was perfectly shaped. She was unbelievably hot. If I could see it, anyone could. She exuded sensuality. She was dressed in a very formal looking purple business suit with skirt. Her voice sounded vaguely noble, “Hello, Class, My name is Amanda Crane. You may refer to me as Ms. Crane. Now, as you all know the last band teacher left in a bit of a rush.”

She paused for the coughing cry of “Maria’s a slut.” I swear I didn’t even laugh much.

She continued, “Due to this I don’t have a proper ranking of your skills so my plan for today is to test your individual skills. Tomorrow, I will assign chairs and we can move on to practicing for Friday. Those of you who are a part of the marching band will meet at the football field after school tomorrow as well as every Tuesday and Thursday from here on out. Please arrange yourself by instruments if you haven’t already done so.”

She pointed at one girl in the trumpets and handed her a selection of sheet music to pass around. She moved from each group, listening to each member butcher the song in new and unique ways.

I made my mistake early on. My error was to correct my sweet Lis’s fingering as she prepped for her test within the earshot of our newest teacher. This earned me a quizzical look and a “We need to speak after class.”

She played quite well when her turn came, using the corrected fingering I might add. When Scott’s turn came, he demonstrated how to play the trombone as if you have no hands and your lips are glued to your elbow. Suffice it to say, the next day he would not be sitting in the first chair. Percussion was last and I demonstrated my skill with each drum laid out and the timpani.

About that point the toddler tapped the turtle and everyone rushed for their gear. Lis headed for the auditorium, Scott ran for the door. I slung my pack over my shoulder with intent to follow Melissa.

Amanda put a hand on my shoulder, “Excuse me, young man I do believe I said I needed to speak with you after class.”

Lis turned to me and said, “Don’t worry, little devil. I’ll tell Beth you’re late presumed missing.”

“Thanks, Lis. I’ll need a ride from one of you if possible and I’ll be in for the try-outs as soon as I can.’ I turned to the blonde teacher, “What did you wish to speak about, Lady.” I was being disrespectful and I didn’t know why.