After sixth period, similar to my daily routine in middle school, I walked to the band room for my first practice. The locker room was already crowded with kids setting up their instruments. I grabbed the case from the big locker and began to assemble the instrument.

Two other people had joined the section when I entered the band room. One was a tall boy (I later learned that his name was Andrew) that was always wearing a red Chicago Bulls cap. He had a silver trombone, which was really cool, and he had started playing about two weeks before I did. He used to play the saxophone, but the neckstrap was getting irritating, so he wanted to try something new for this season. The other was a very, very short girl (she was the shortest in the section next to Zoe) named Andrea who wore glasses and sometimes played the bass trombone. The other guy I had met during third period was named Jayden. I also had first and second period with him, so I had seen him before. He was known for always wearing an unbuttoned, short-sleeved, blue flannel shirt on top of a T-shirt, usually gray. He was one of those people who never seemed to enjoy anything and was constantly complaining about something.

While Jessica was in the locker, I also met Zoe, the shortest in the section and another freshman. Why literally half the section is freshman, I do not know. She also wore glasses (Andrew, Dylan, and I are the only ones who don't), and I kept mistaking her with Andrea.

When everyone had put their instruments together, Kayla stood up and announced that we were going outside to march. "Section leaders," she commanded, "help the freshman with how to stand."

"Who's the section leader?" I asked Zoe.

"It's Dylan," she answered, pointing to the guy that was sitting next to Caiden. I nodded.

When we got outside and most of the band was getting into two lines, Dylan turned to us and announced, "Okay, just in case you guys were wondering, I'm not the section leader." He pointed to the shorter girl. "She is."

Andrea shook her head. "Shut up, Dylan."

The first thing I learned about the trombone section: they are very inappropriate. Most of what they say is either an inappropriate joke or contains profanity. I used to be bothered by it, but I learned to just ignore it after the first few weeks.

First, Andrea set us into two lines. The left side included, from front to back, Zoe, Andrew, Jayden, and me. Andrea, Dylan, Caiden, and Jessica stood in the right line. Dylan then helped her explain how to march, how to mark time, when to step off, what parade rest was, how to stand at attention, switching to the second attention, and how to snap the horn up. I listened, but I wasn't thinking it was necessary, since I still thought I would be quitting the instrument soon.

I heard a whistle sound abou five minutes later, and the entire band grew quiet and fell into their two straight lines. "Band parade rest!" David commanded. I picked up the slide and the bar above it in my right hand, holding them like a grocery bag at the right side of my waist, let the tuning slide rest in my right hand in front of my shoulder, and spread my feet shoulder-length apart with my toes facing forward. I had two counts to do this.

"Band atten-hut!" As one of the snare drums beat their drum once, I snapped to attention; I brought my left foot in to touch and line up with my right, brought my right hand down to the bar that held the trombone like I was about to play, and switched my left hand from holding the bars to gripping one side of the slide that sat underneath the movable bar.

"Mark time hut!" The snare drums beat their instruments for one measure to set the rhythm as the band members lifted their left heel first, and then their right, getting ready to step off. David yelled, "Forward...march!" and we all marked time for one last measure before stepping off with our left foot.

As we marched down the slope that lead from the music building to the quad areas, Andrea and the juniors (there are no sophomores in the section this year) were constantly looking behind them and giving us reminders to keep our elbows up or to get back in step. In the background, I could hear the voices of the entire band in my ear: "Left. Left. Left." It threw me off for the first few measures, but after a while, it grew to become less of a distraction, but more of a beacon, guiding the muscles of my brain to step in time with the beat. Eventually, I found myself chanting along with them.

"Left. Left. Left" - cue the drum solo - "Left. Left. Left" - and repeat - "Left. Left. Left."

"Band hault!"

I was not prepared, but those who were took one last step with their right foot, brought their left foot in to line up with their right, and stopped marching. Caught off-guard, I crashed into Jayden. He stumbled, trying not to fall to his knees. He glared back at me. "Sorry," I muttered.

The drum majors went over the move that we were about to do, going down the line, telling each of us what to do. For this march, every other line would preform two pivots (these took two counts each to do; step out with your left foot one beat, turn on your toes for one beat, and repeat), and every other line behind the first would march from their two lines to the spaces in between the two people pivoting in front of them. Jessica and I were in the line that pivoted. It was a bit confusing to learn at first, but it didn't take me very long to get it down.

However, right after we got that down, a few people who were late joined us, throwing off the lines behind them. Meaning that we had to switch from pivoting to marching in between the people in front of us. Not to say that it was a difficult move, but it was still a bit annoying.

The next move was to rotate the four lines we had formed to face the locker rooms that were located in front of the blacktop we were practicing on. We had eight counts to do this before we had to pivot again once we were facing the correct way.

Once we had learned this series of moves, we had to go back into the two lines to do it again. This time, apparently they had messed up the sequence, so we had to switch back to pivoting again. At this point, I was about ready to scream, "Make up your mind!" to the drum majors. I never did, but there were countless times after that first practice when I wanted to yell at the drum majors again.

When we had finished going over that sequence and had gone over how to march forward toe-first, we spent the rest of practice learning how to measure our steps without looking and an about face. For me, this was a time of me not having any clue whatsoever what was going on. Either I didn't know we were doing two eight counts, I didn't know the brass and woodwinds were splitting up, or I just flat out had no idea how long to count. I probably made the saxophones really mad when I kept bumping into them when I was marching with my eyes closed.

As we lined up again to return to the band room, I had a small talk with myself. Why was I doing this again? Why was I marching and turning with a piece of metal trying to count and measure my steps just for visuals? Why had I wanted to do this again?

Who was I kidding? This is way too much to take in. I can't even play an instrument. How do I expect myself to be able to remember what to do and be able to play at the same time?

The drums began to play, and I found myself chanting "left" over and over again. If there was one thing I had learned from today, it was not to keep in step by the snare drums, but to always remember that when the cymbals clash, that was my cue to step with my right foot. I would later learn otherwise that left always goes first (this wasn't ROTC, after all), but I still use that strategy today nonetheless.

We took the longer way back to the band room. I didn't know why at the time, but David wanted the drums to practice their other cadences. That was the first time that I realized why exactly everyone started laughing when I told them that I was trying out the trombone.

One of the cadences, which I had later learned was called Thunderbolt, was being played as we walked down the halls of the school. Andrea, Dylan, and Caiden because to bounce their trombones and their fists for six counts, and then lean down and shake for two counts. Andrea turned behind to us and started laughing. "Come on," she urged. Confused, I began to copy her. It was very weird, and I found myself laughing when one of the bass drums shot us a weird look.

I rode home that afternoon, still a bit jumbled over everything I had witnessed that day, from not only the practice after school, but also the band room before school and during third period. That must have been the moment when I decided I would not survive a month in marching band. But when my mom asked me how it went, of all the things I could've told her, I immediately burst out laughing just thinking about that one drum cadence.