Summer’s end is nearly approaching and the renown “best four years of my life” are soon to begin. Being an anxious soon-to-be high school student, I am unaware of the challenges that lie ahead. School is not supposed to begin for another week and yet, I find myself standing at the foot of the doors. Doors with glass windows to give a preview of what lies behind them and a coat of gray-blue paint that is chipping away. As I squeeze through the crowded hallway filled with chatty parents and their anxious children, I reach another door that leads to the biggest classroom I have ever seen. As over one hundred people squeeze inside, I find myself starting to get slightly overwhelmed.

A roar of sound travels about the room and smiling faces appear everywhere. How are they so happy in all of this chaos? The first sight of people scrambling to get their last minute tasks completed and gathering any supplies before they introduce themselves to the crowd of people is nauseating. There are papers being handed out and multiple conversation being held. Every bit of information being said to me is going in one ear and out the other. My physical appearance seems normal to those I have met for the first time but on the inside, I feel frozen. Nerves seem to be taking control of my entirety. Body heat from all the frantic people along with nerves increases the perspiration on my forehead and palms. As I am stricken with panic I hear two soft yet enthusiastic voices say, “Hi, do you play clarinet? We’ll be your section leaders this season!”

My initial thoughts are, “what in the world is a section leader?”, “why are you talking to me?”, and again, “why are all you people so happy?”. Their names are Megan K. and Megan R. They grab my clammy hands and pull me over to an area closer to the door where my fellow apprehensive “newbies” were sitting in a circle. I notice the room begins to calm down as parents depart and groups throughout the room form. I apparently am in this group which makes sense since they play the same instrument as myself. Looking around the circle, I recognized a few people. Primarily those who attended my middle school. I noticed my nerves began to die down by that point. My section leaders begin to talk however, my focus went back to the wondrous room.

As my eyes were scanning every inch of the premises, I notice multiple doors that lead into sub-rooms. These are areas where instruments and what seems to be belongings of people are stored. Some small storage compartments and some large but, all of them contain a barred opening with a small lock on the left side to keep the contents safe. The floor is covered in dust, dirt, broken reeds, and scattered papers. It is not exactly a huge mess but it deserves a cleaning. On each door of the sub-rooms, an artsy poster is hung that says “welcome back band” and other little papers taped to the doors that say “woodwinds rock”, “go brass”, and “go percussion”. Racks of stands and stacked chairs are set in the back of the room, along with every percussion instrument imaginable. Middle school band is nothing compared to this. Guitars sit on a rack lining the wall nearest the main entry. Directly across the main door lies an office with a sign above that says “danger”. Not going to lie, that is a bit intimidating. However, a cheerful women with long black hair, a pink dress, and fabulous heels walks out of that exact office. Her persona at first glance definitely does not fit the sign. I move on to scanning the walls. Awards upon awards hang on one entire wall with pride, proving the success that the people in this room have had in the past. First place at this competition and a superior with distinction from others. Obviously, the band at Sandra Day O’Connor High School does pretty well. Underneath the wall of awards is a freshly cleaned white board. Written on the board with smooth handwriting is a list of information for the upcoming season. On the opposite wall lies a frame containing black fabric with different exotic titles. One says “We Wanna Rock” and another says “Scenes from a Psychotic Circus”. These are the different shows that have been performed throughout the years. I know because I remember at eighth grade band night I watched the band perform “Scenes of a Psychotic Circus”. That is when I fell in love with marching band. As I am sitting on the gray overused carpet, I realize what typically happens here. This is a room where people gather to play an instrument which means the carpet is full of sweat, spit, and dedication.

I sit, deep within my own thoughts when I come to the realization that this room will be a second home to me. Endless hours of dedication and hard work are necessary. It may be a struggle at first, but I know I can do it. As I come back out of my daze over the room, I hear my section leaders talking as they begin passing out sheets of music. I get handed mine and read the top. The piece is titled “Kaleidoscope”.