Of Love And Marching Band
Chapter One

“Ohmmm…”

“Cali?”

“Ohmmm…”

“Cali, what are you doing?”

I opened one eye and quietly answered, “I am finding my center. I am being one with nature.”

I didn’t have to be able to see Jeremiah Scott’s face to know what it looked like when I said that. Jeremiah and I had been friends for what seemed like forever - it helped that my dad and his dad had been old college buddies. Even though I was a year older than him, our parents saw fit to set us up with play dates almost daily while we were growing up.

“It’s more like you’re being one with the ancient music,” Jeremiah commented, looking around the room that I was sitting cross legged in, which also happened to be the music library. I sighed loudly and painstakingly opened my other eye.

“Miah, there are about seven thousand freshman outside that can’t understand the simple concept of a roll-step,” I complained, narrowing my eyes. “It is much easier for me to sit here and be one with the music that will never see the light of day than stand out there and have to watch the freshmen march in such a way that should be here with this music.”

“Ouch, that’s a bleak outlook,” Jeremiah replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, your dad is wondering where you are. I lied and said you were in the bathroom because you are, indeed, my best friend and I would love to see you outside the four walls of your bedroom sometime soon. However, that was also a half hour ago and I know he’s beginning to wonder.”

“Let him wonder,” I said, closing my eyes once again and returning to my former stance.

“Calysta Gamichi, get your ass off the carpet and out onto the grass right now,” Jeremiah said in a tone that would have kept even Hitler from invading Poland.

“Fine,” I grumped, holding my hand up so he could help me to my feet. “But I’m not going to like it.”

“You’re not supposed to like it,” Jeremiah shrugged, yanking me to my feet and steering me to the door before I could back out. “You’re the drum major.”

“And you’re the guard captain,” I countered. “Do you like it?”

“At least you don’t have to teach them to spin and toss,” Jeremiah grimaced, snatching his flag that was leaning against the door to the band room as we walked past.

“This is true,” I said. “My heart truly does go out to you.”

It was Freshman Orientation Week at good old Portland High School. I loved marching band, I really did! I just hated teaching. I know, I know. Why did I decide to be drum major, then. Well, besides the fact that my dad put a ton of pressure on me to go to the camps, watch the shows, read the books..actually, no, that’s the reason I became drum major.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I really did love being up in front of a crowd and know that I had such a profound impact on the show they were about to witness, but I just wished that freshmen would come with a chip implanted in their heads so they’d instantly know how to march. It’s not that we, my dad, Jeremiah, the section leaders, and I, hadn’t tried to get it through their heads. We’d demonstrated, explained, shown movies, whatever we thought would help. It didn’t help.

As we neared the field, I could see my dad sitting on the podium, his hand bracing his head. While it was probably obvious, my dad is also my band director. People threw a fit when I became drum major, but it was all in vain, because my dad wasn’t about to just pick me for show. No, there had been auditions, a panel of judges, and, in the end, the band picked the drum major.

“He really doesn’t look pleased,” I muttered under my breath to Jeremiah.

“Nope,” Jeremiah replied. “He really needs you to get out there. You take to the freshmen a whole hell of a lot better than he does and you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the guilt, Scott,” I replied, kicking Jeremiah square in the butt before he took off in a perfect jazz run to the freshmen guard members on the other side of the field. As I headed over to my dad I could hear him say, “And that, my friends, is how you jazz run. Now if only you could tackle the concept.”

I stifled a laugh due to the fact that I was nearing my father and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “So, uh, how are things going?” I was greeted with a glare that, had Jeremiah’s earlier voice somehow managed to slip by Hitler, would have stopped the Nazis.

“Sorry I asked.” I turned around and gazed onto the field. I could see all of the section leaders working with their said sections, trying to get the newbies to grasp the concept of marching. On the other side of the field I could see drums, horns, flutes, and flags littering the sidelines. My dad had hoped that they would be able to try playing while marching today, but it didn’t look as though they had gotten that far.

“I just don’t know what else to do, Cal,” my dad was saying, stepping down from off the podium and picking up his water bottle. “I tried to get - ”

“Oh, duh!” I exclaimed, a grin spreading across my face. “Step Quack!”

“What?” my dad sighed, obviously not understanding.

“It was something we did at Drum Major Camp last summer,” I rushed, waving my hand to dismiss him. “We all had come from different marching backgrounds and a bunch of people didn’t understand the concept of crops style marching, so they made us do this exercise with the people from marching camp so we’d look more uniform doing our blocks and stuff.”

“It’s all yours,” my dad said, looking at the field. I probably could have told him that a trip to the nearest water park would have made them be able to march and he would have went along with it at this point.

I quickly climbed to the top of the podium and shouted, “Detail, atten-HUT!”

A loud, “HUT!” echoed back. A small sense of pride welled up inside of me. It was nice having that much power over a group of teenagers.

“All right, everyone,” I yelled, looking out at the freshmen and section leaders. “I have a plan and it might actually work. First, I need all of the freshmen to line up down the 30-yard-line facing the 50. Section leaders, please come up to the podium.”

As the freshmen tried to locate the 30-yard-line on the markerless field, the nine section leaders and Jeremiah ran up to the podium. I bent over and explained what I was going to have the freshmen do so that they could observe.

“Is that going to work?” Rachel Severson, trombone section leader and close friend of mine, asked.

“It taught just about the entire camp how to march,” I replied. “I hope it works or m dad is going to have a nervous breakdown.” I jerked my head toward my father who was sitting on a bench with his water bottle in one hand and the other rubbing his temples.

The section leaders nodded and I told them to stand along the sideline and if someone in their sections seemed confused, pull them out and explain what was going on. ‘Oh, please work,’ I thought to myself.

“Alright, what I’m about to ask you to do may seem a little bit unorthodox, but just bear with me, okay?” A few freshmen shouted out a yes, but the rest looked at each other warily. “Now, make pretend that there is a tube of toothpaste under your foot. What you need to do is step on that toothpaste until the entire contents of the tube is on the grass. So, slowly roll your foot along the tube, now.”

I watched a few freshmen looked from their section leader to me and back at their peers as though was crazy, but others did as I had said. Rachel and a few other section leaders ran out to explain my vague directions. After a couple seconds I continued.

“Now, slowly lift your right heel off of the ground and bring it forward. Plant your heel down like you did before with your left foot.” I paused to watch them follow my instructions. “Every time you bring your heel forward, I want you all to yell ‘quack,’ is that clear?” I got a few more of the “are-you-crazy?” looks, but others just yelled as I had instructed.

“So, no do the same with your right foot that you did with your left,” I continued. “Remember the toothpaste!” They did as I said and there were a few scattered duck calls from across the field.

“Speed it up,” I shouted, clapping my hands at a standard 120 tempo. Every time I clapped my hands, I heard a unison, “Quack!” from the field. When they reached he end of the field I yelled, “Detail, HALT!” and they did.

The section leaders and my dad clapped their hands at the freshmen. ‘Finally,’ I thought, but joined in the clapping as well.

“Alright, water break!” I yelled, rewarding them for their efforts.

I looked down at my dad, who was beaming at his horde of freshmen. Noticing my gaze, he grinned, folded his hands, and mouthed, “Thank you!”

Practice continued for another three grueling hours. It was well worth it, though, seeing as the freshmen were able to book it across the field and actually march. They got to the point near the end where they could play and march at the same time. It might have only been a concert Bb scale, but it was better than nothing. After practice let out around 6, Jeremiah, Rachel, and I decided that we had to go for some kind of edible sustenance.

“Hey, Dad?” I stuck my head into the door of his office where he was fishing for a new reed for a student.

“Once second, Cali,” he replied, looking at a handful of reeds and then handing one to the freshman. “There you are, Emily.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gamichi,” she said, hurrying out of the small office.

“What’s up, my amazingly talented and wonderful eldest daughter?” my dad asked, rushing up and engulfing my into a hug. “You should know that I have never loved you more than I do right at this very second.”

“Well, I’m glad to know that the past nearly eighteen years have been a waste, then,” I replied, rolling my eyes. While I know the real answer, the thought crosses my mind from time to time as to whether or not my dad loves the band more than his family. Then again, sometimes it felt like half the band was my family. To be quite frank, I have a lot of siblings. We vary from ages 8 all the way up to 18 and it’s a wonder none of us have killed the others off by now. The oldest are my brother Luke and I, both 18, twins, and percussionists. We’re followed up by Iris, 16, and Jason, 14, both of which are in marching band - guard and trumpet, respectively. Then, the only part of the Gamichi clan not yet in marching band would be Lara, 12 and starting flute, and Phil, the youngest at 8 and in the mandatory piano lessons that the six of us were forced to take. As I said, there are a lot of us, but we manage.

“Seriously, that was amazing what you did out there with those freshmen,” my dad sighed, finally letting go of me and shaking his head in relief. “I think we’re going to be okay this year.”

“Glad to hear it,” I replied. “So, listen. Is it okay if I go catch something to eat with Jeremiah and Rachel instead of eating at home?”

“Sure, but make sure you ask Luke and Jason if they want to go, too.”

“What? Oh, Dad, come on,” I whined.

“Or you can just come home and watch us eat ribs,” my dad said, pulling the “haha, you’re a vegetarian” card as he returned to his desk where he was sorting through receipts.

“Hey, I have a great idea, Dad! How about if I ask my brothers if they want to come with us?”

“Oh, Cali, that’s so thoughtful of you,” my dad replied with a smile. “Have fun.”

“What can I say? I’m a lover,” I commented as I walked out into the band room. I grabbed my purse out of my band locker tha already held my sticks as well as a few industrial size bottles of sunscreen and bug spray. The next twp weeks were filled with full band rehearsals that were held from 10am until 5pm, so I saw fit to be prepared.

“Jason and Luke, I’m going to get food. If you want to join, hurry up,” I announced to the band room which was basically only filled with my siblings and a few scattered freshmen.

“Count me in,” Jason said, literally throwing his trumpet case into the locker that he had claimed as his own.

“Me, too,” Luke agreed, waddling over to the percussion closet with a snare strapped to his chest.

“Well, let’s go, then,” I rushed them, spinning my keys around my finger. “I’m hungry.”

“Eh, chill out, lady,” Luke replied, shutting the closet door and pushing our freshman brother into the wall of lockers.

“Ouch, Luke, cut it out,” Jason replied, rubbing his shoulder.

“No time for mindless bickering,” I interrupted, leading them out of the band room and out to my car where Rachel and Jeremiah were already waiting for us. I had picked up both Jeremiah and Rachel before practice because they were on the way to the high school. Luke and Jason, however, had caught a ride with my dad, mainly because I had been running late due to loss of whistle - which can be a very frightening experience for a drum major, I should add.

“Are we all going to fit?” Jeremiah asked as he watched me and my brothers approach the car.

“Sure, why not,” I shrugged, happy knowing that I would have a roomy driver’s seat all to myself.

“Jason fits in the trunk,” Luke offered. “We discovered this a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but it hurt, though,” Jason put in, rubbing his head. “Cali, did you know you have a drum harness back there?”

“No idea,” I brushed his comment off. “You know, we could just put three in the back and two in the front like normal people.”

“Jeez, Cali, take all the fun away from the situation, why don’t you,” Rachel complained, jumping into the middle of the backseat since she stood at a short 5’1”, something Jeremiah (6’ even) and I (5’8”) would bring to her attention as often as possible.

“Shotty, thanks,” Jeremiah said, vaulting into the front passenger, leaving my brothers for the back.

“I’m older, I should drive,” Luke grumbled as he slid in next to Rachel.

“Good, Lord, Luke, only by, like, five minutes,” I rolled my eyes as I turned the key in the ignition. Instantly, the cd that was in my player started blaring “Jupiter” by Gustav Holst. I quickly spun the dial to turn it down.

“Are you joking?” Jason laughed.

“Epitome of band geek in the driver’s seat,” Luke added, ruffling my pony tail from behind.

“Don’t touch me, brat,” I replied, swatting his hand away.

“You know, you’re the only one that actually fell for everything dad tried to get us to go for,” Luke pointed out. “You have realized that, right?”

“And that’s why he loves me the most,” I grinned, making eye contact with him in my rear view mirror.

“It’s true, though,” Jason spoke up. “You loved piano lessons, you jumped at the chance for private percussion lessons - ”

“Which, I should add, landed me not only first chair and section leader but also drum major, unlike someone in the back seat,” I interrupted.

“You’ve signed up for every music class imaginable since middle school,” Luke continued, ignoring my comment.

“You’re section leader, drum major, band president, and you play every instrument imaginable,” Jason finished, ticking each thing off on a finger so I could see.

“I think she gets the hint, guys,” Jeremiah warned in that voice I mentioned. “They’re her interests, anyways. If it makes her happy, what’s the problem?”

“Thanks,” I muttered to Jeremiah as I pulled into the parking lot of Subway, not letting anyone talk me out of it. “Besides, y’all are just jealous, bitches.”

Luke laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”