Waiting for Results

We had been working for weeks. A full two weeks before school was back in session. An hour before school started for the day. We practiced whether it was 100 degrees, or, like it was now, 45 degrees. We had already been to two contests. We won them both almost easily. That is, if you could call waking up before the sun, hours of practice every day, getting yelled at for being out of place, pushups for talking (my arms were much stronger than they had been at the beginning of the year), and every Friday night and holiday given up “easy”.

Our show had been fantastic. We had done our absolute best. Not one person got off the field saying they could have given an extra 2%. It was 100% effort from every single one of us. We felt elated. We really could win it all.

Still, a tiny bit of doubt had crept in our minds. We weren’t the biggest band at the contest. We didn’t have all of those flashy props. We were the smallest school in our division, but we were good. And there was Collinsville, a school with no good sports team to speak for, so band got all the attention and money. And they were also good. Really good. They had won this contest for the last 8 years.

We had performed before them, and been able to listen to their run. We sat there in the stands, every one of us willing a flag to drop. Someone trip! Come on! Step off on the wrong foot! We just needed one person to mess up. That is how even we were.

 A collective sigh. They were perfect. We could only hope ours had been just a bit more perfect.

It was now time for us to line up on the field, and wait for the results. We didn’t even pay attention to the bottom eight schools. We knew we were in the top two. Most of us had abandoned parade rest, we were so nervous. Third place had been announced, and the silence before second place was deafening. It seemed to last for hours. Fingers were crossed. Some prayers were being said aloud. Some looked green, sick from the anticipation.

Finally, the announcer began. “And in second place…”

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to die,” gasped a flute player in the row behind me.

“…..Carl Albert High School.”

Every other band had cheered in excitement when they heard their name called. Some happy just to be in the finals. We did not cheer. Our heads hung in defeat.

We had lost. To Collinsville. By one one hundredth of a point. 

 

This was written for the Dare to share: Loss prompt from The Lightning and The Lightning Bug.

It is, unfortunately, a true story :)