the end. (cont)

I hardly spoke for a very long time. I didn’t look Chris in the eye. I hugged people and I cried. And for a long time, I stood. I looked off into space. Miranda came over, got me talking. She was the only one who could get me to talk. She was the only one that broke through to me.

I wasn’t ready for this. There is no way to be ready for this. But I’m not ready for it to be over.

How did it happen? We’ve beat all of those bands before. I only watched one show, Scottsburg. It was bad. The theme was weak. The guard was not together. Their lines were bad. Their music was weak. They’re going to state.

We’re not.

We got 9th place. 9. out of 19. How? A band we had never heard of beat us. Bishop Chatard. I have no idea who they are. Come to find out, the band had 32 people. No marching drum line.

They beat us.

What happened?

It wasn’t us. We had one of our best shows ever. So what went wrong?

I can’t accept this. It isn’t real. It makes no sense. I just don’t understand. I can’t accept what I don’t understand.

Until I understand, I will continue on this way. I live in a daze. I’m constantly staring off. My mind isn’t in this world. The emotional stress is quickly breaking me down. I don’t eat much. My sleep is distraught with dreams. I live in a hazy world of a vague headache. My wrist is bad; the muscles are tightening, not letting me move it. Sometimes my fingers go numb. I won’t be surprised if I get sick. The stress is too much.

Tomorrow I’ll go to school (we had today off). I’ll hear people say they’re sorry, that they don’t understand. I’ll hear other band kids say we got screwed. Then I’ll go to our brand new band room…..and what? Will she show us the tape? What will she say to us? Will I understand why?

Will I ever know why?