-Junior-

“Will members of the chorus please make their way to the broadcasting booth for the performance of our national anthem.”

A dozen or so of us stand up in the bleachers and make our way to the broadcasting booth. All of us squeeze into the cramped box overlooking the field and direct our voices at the mesh of the announcer’s microphone. I sing over Sylvia’s left shoulder.

Back in my seat with the band, I watch as Sylvia, exposed in her sheer, spandex uniform, rushes down the bleachers to reunite with the rest of her section. A band-parent quickly puts a thick blanket over her shoulders.

It was cold that night, I remember.

Mr. McDowell dismisses us late, past eleven. I didn’t even want to be in band this year, not after last season. At the start, it had almost felt impossible. However, there were people in band who I knew I couldn’t let down, no matter how much it hurt to come back. And, as I came to realize after last summer, more time to myself was the last thing I needed.

Post-game plans fell apart, so I made my way back to my car. In clear view of where I parked just down the road, however, I stop in place on the sidewalk.

The streetlight makes it easy to see there’s someone waiting for me up there, leaning against the passenger side door.

My throat tightens, my hands start to shake… Just his outline is enough to send me back to the best and the worst year of my life.

Ken looks up at me from his phone.