I stood seven steps from the start line, hands sweaty and lips trembling. It seemed as if at any moment I would break the position of attention: feet at a forty-five degree angle, knees slightly bent, chin just above the horizon, and shoulders up, back, and down. Though I always dreamed of representing the Benicia High School Panther Band as their drum major, the lone figure in front of the block of blue and gold wearing a white British uniform and a brown bearskin hat, it never occurred to me that I was finally there. There was no way I could not be nervous; it was the last marching practice before my first competition in my career. Nevertheless, there was no escape.
I look down the long parking lot, the practice area that I’ve marched up