waiting in the air locks
When finally our long train of buses, trailors, and fans with all of their windows soaped with catchy phrases proclaiming their support of us, caught sight of Indianapolis, all eyes scanned the horizon. We were looking for our destination, something some of us had looked forward to our entire lives. When someone saw the white dome, they called out, and all heads turned. No one slept now, and everyone turned off their music. Before we knew it, our bus was stopped right in front of that dome. If you were quiet and listened, you could hear all of the kids murmuring. we’re finally here. I can’t believe we actually made it! We’re going to march in THERE! So where are the doors? It’s just now sinking in…this is STATE. This is going to be my last show ever….and I get to be in the dome. It’s not cold in the dome! So where are we, guys? DA DOME!
It was so cold when we got off the buses. I chose to change outside, by the bus, like I had all year. Some change on the bus, some hang their clothes on the windows outside. The only problem was the cold, and all of the people walking by to get into the dome. I’m sure I flashed a good 20 people! We were all milling around with our instruments and hats in hand, our gloves taped and our jackets jipped, buttoned, and snapped with our sashes perfect, and we hugged whoever we could. Dee, our bus driver whose husband died last spring, gave every kid she could find a kiss. Finally Mrs. Palmer called us to line up, and the fans walking by paused to watch us. We marched around the dome, down the road, under the overpass, and finally stopped behind some huge doors. One of our instructors knocked on the small door. It opened, and a man peeped out, then closed it again. As the huge door (kinda like a big garage door) rolled upwards, I felt like I was in the wizard of oz, begging to be let into the city. We all crammed in, anxious to get out of the cold. Finally we got the entire band and pit and pit crew in, and the door sealed us in. Here we all stood together and chatted. Some of us were crying already. I would have chatted….but when I opened my mouth I found that my voice was gone. I looked at that door and wondered how my voice could betray me and stay out there in the city.
When it was time, we walked in to warmups. At state you get a physical warmup for 24 minutes, then a 24 minute instrumental warmup. We did our stretches, tried to mark time through our show (but it was a silent warmup, and half of us had no clue what we were doing), practiced our dancing, a really hard visual that we had added 2 days earlier, and then we all just talked.
Instrumental warmups was fun. Maybe because I realized as I began to play that this was the last time I would have to play these damn warmups, the last time I could jam to our show music, the last time to just play this show. We practiced our dancing again, and then Mrs. Palmer told us to just have fun. Then we started for those doors.
I can’t even remember how we wound up in the air locks. But I remember standing there, staring up at that huge blue door, and waiting. I was trying not to cry. Because that door was all that held me back from the best thing that I’ve ever done. A murmur rose through us as we were told that the doors would open. I had invisioned a huge door being thrown open with a whirl of wind, and us stepping out grandly. Instead, the doors slowly folded away. I waited, breathless, for the whoosh that I was supposed to feel. I didn’t. We slowly stepped out, and got our first look as we stood there and waited for our turn. The seniors had told us to slowly look up and up and up as we stood there. I looked at the crowd, and my eyes followed them until they met the ceiling. Then I looked up at the giant TV screens. Then up more, at all the cables along the white ceiling. At the very center, a huge flag hung down.
Next I stared at the field. The green astroturf that I would soon stand on. I knew it would feel GOOD. I looked at the colts helmet on the center of the field. I had a couple of show moves in mind, and hoped that they landed me on the helmet. To us, standing on that helmet would feel like a commoner standing on the red carpet of the queen.
We moved up to the goal line, and waited for the official to flag us onto the field. We he said we could go, Mrs. Palmer’s smile faded. She called up the drumline, and then us, and then we marched onto the field, just like always. We halted in a block on the center of the field, where a drum major called BREAK. Then we walked to our places and set ourselves in a complicated formation–made entirely of files and lines. I’m in the front, and setting it right is a responsibility that I shared. I turned to check my line, which was so straight I thought I’d cry (what DOESNT make me cry as I stand on the dome floor?). The senior that stood behind me looked…whole. Like a college student who was finally home for christmas. I turned back around and set myself. I set down my instrument on the ground, spread my feet shoulder width, dropped my arms to my sides, and tucked my chin to stair at the ground. I was glad, for the first time in my life, that I had on my hat. It blocked the crowd completely, and I didn’t have to think about all the people I loved in that crowd, and I didn’t have to cry.