Separate Ways

I was yelling the count for color guard warm-up, since my phone couldn't play the music loud enough.

“Alya?”

“Yes?” I asked as the twirling came to a screeching halt.

“This isn’t working,” Jessica informed me.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we need music,” Natalie whined. I sighed, putting the hand that wasn’t clutching my flag on my hip.

“Well we tried my phone–”

“You could sing,” Rebecca chimed in.

“Sing?” I asked, buying time. All the girls simply nodded excitedly. Our warm-up song was usually “Just the Way You Are,” by Bruno Mars. I sighed again, before setting my flag down, calling the guard to attention.

“Five six. Fiiiive six. Five, six, seven, eight, oh her eyes, her eyes…” I kept the beat with my arm as if I was conducting while I sang. Me singing without the background music would surely cause the girls to mess up. They needed the beat to keep count, but the longer I sang the ladies nail every direction change, toss, and twirl.

“Five six, fiiive six, count with each other and go,” I said in the middle of the song, able to continue with the chorus as the girls began counting. I didn’t have to conduct anymore so I just showed the beat with my head as I finished up the song.

The warm-up ended with an incredibly high toss that only two of the six girls were able to catch, but I cheered regardless, finding I wasn’t the only one cheering. The band stood behind me, watching our warm-up, along with a few older, new faces. I realized the college students meant to mentor certain sections of the band were here. I flushed horribly as I picked up my flag and began speaking to the girls as if nothing had happened.

…

We all gathered as the college kids finished warming up their instruments and our band director, Mrs. Ignancy, obtained our attention to listen to them introduce themselves.

“I’m Morgan, I go to Central Michigan University,” a pretty brunette introduced herself, waving her clarinet at us.

“I’m Brandon, from Michigan Tech,” a boy with sandy brown hair and tanned skin said.

“I’m Kaitlyn from U of M,” a beautiful redhead with thick, wavy hair did a curtsy, holding her flute carefully.

“I’m Mark, I go to University of Cincinnati–” He barely made it through his college name before the crowd began to boo. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at my peers, embarrassed. Two girls from color guard started to join in the jeers.

“Absolutely not,” I snapped at the freshman, silencing them. The whole crowd quieted and I looked back up at Mark, meeting his gaze. My face flushed and I just tried to give him a friendly smile, which he responded with a slight, grateful nod. Everyone else was from a university in Michigan, why did Mark come all the way up here from Ohio to mentor a bunch of country kids?

“Alright, thank you section leaders, now if everyone will refer to the schedule…” Mrs. Ignancy directed us.

The section leaders broke off to stand with their instrument groups. I tried to give my girls a reassuring smile as once again we didn’t get a college mentor, and our coach was unable to attend band camp due to her job.

I waved for the guard to pay attention to the paper schedule we were all clutching as we took a seat on the grass with the rest of the band. I caught Mark’s eye once again, but I looked away too quickly to know if it was intentional. I suppose I was being awfully bossy over here, I couldn’t blame him for being curious.

Kaitlyn gained his attention as Mrs. Ignancy got distracted by a typo and spoke in hushed tones to the drum majors.

“What year are you?” Kaitlyn asked, setting her flute aside.

“First year,” Mark replied.

“Aren’t you, like, the trumpet prodigy from Milford High School?” Kaitlyn asked, almost mockingly. Mark just shrugged as Mrs. Ignancy continued reading through the schedule.

...

By lunch it seemed the freshmen were ready to quit and I was giving the girls my yearly pep talk.

“Remember, if I can go from a clarinet player faking her performances, to color guard captain, we can get through this hellscape of a summer.” I was just praising the universe that Alma College had AC.

I took my place next to my best friend, Mak, who played bass drum during marching band.

“Some of these college boys are freaking cute, eh?” she asked, jabbing me with her elbow. I shrugged.

“Just because I’m eighteen doesn’t mean I’m interested.”

“You faked your performances playing clarinet?” Mark asked as he sat next to one of his trumpet players near me. I grinned, eyeing my tray.

“Yes, when marching season ended and concert band started, I switched to trumpet,” I enlightened him. Mark raised an eyebrow.

“Did you fake that too?” he asked, scooting a little closer to me. I shook my head, stabbing at the buttered noodles.

“I’m actually pretty decent at the trumpet… but nothing compared to you I hear?”

“Oh no.”

“A prodigy?” I teased.

“It’s Ohio, it doesn't take much to be anything down there.”

“Oh, you hate Ohio too?” I asked quietly. Mark looked both ways.

“I gotta if I’m going to survive the week,” he replied in a hushed tone. I grinned, taking a bite of my food.

...

The color guard girls were walking quickly ahead of me as I meandered to evening rehearsal on the field. It was marching in the morning, playing in the afternoon, and more marching at sunset. I stopped in my tracks as I heard all the other instruments warming up in their separate groups, except the trumpets. I turned on my heels, finding everyone lounging in the grass, chatting easily.

“What’s up guys?” I asked, stepping toward them, not finding Mark.

“Oh, y’know, chillin’,” Jaime responded.

“Where’s Mark?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” Allison filled me in.

“Okay, well you know the drill, stand up, let’s do some scales,” I instructed, looking over at my girls who had already started doing different twirls and tosses. “Okay, one, two, three,” I snapped the tempo and the trumpets began their simple scales.

They continued even as Mrs. Ignancy came up to me as I loosely conducted a tempo for them.

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Igancy asked.

“Mark had to use the bathroom real quick, so I told him I’d get the trumpets warmed up,” I replied quickly as I watched Mark fast-walking across the football field.

“I am so sorry–”

“It’s okay, you just had to pee,” I said firmly as Mrs. Ignancy turned to face Mark. I widened my eyes and tilted my head for him to go with it.

“Yeah,” Mark said coolly.

“Try to plan your bathroom trips accordingly Mr. Fischer.” Mrs. Igancy pulled her hands behind her back and joined the drum majors at the sidelines.

“Thank you,” Mark sighed heavily.

“It’s all good, you just owe me your dessert at dinner.” I picked up my flags and started toward the guard.

…

I jolted forward as Mak came out of the bathroom with her toothbrush.

“Shit, what time is it?” I asked, rubbing the goop from my eyes.

“Chill, we’ve got plenty of time,” Mak soothed me, pulling her thick blonde hair into a messy bun.

“No, I missed my run,” I groaned, falling back into my bed.

“Oh yeah, you and your incessant running, don’t we do enough marching in a day for you?” Mak slipped on her socks. I shook my head.

“It absolutely is not.” I slid out of my bed, hiding in the bathroom.

It was eighty eight degrees at eight a.m. my classmates looked at one another nervously as we stood at attention, ready to run through our Journey show. The first song was “Anyway You Want It.” I held my green and silver flag in the air, side eyeing Rebecca, a freshman who hadn’t taken the long day yesterday very well. She was late for breakfast and barely ate anything.

I focused on the metronome Mrs. Ignancy had started, cuing the drum majors to begin.

Rebecca missed her count again, almost running into a bass drummer. I counted her mistakes as we made it through the first song, the only one we had all our spots memorized.

“Run it again,” Mrs. Ignancy yelled. The band reset to our beginning spots. I realized Rebecca was making the same mistakes, because her count was off for the whole song. I abandoned my own flag, flinging it to the side lines, and started clapping the tempo, counting aloud for the guard as a whole.

I had to yell, since I was trying to be heard over the whole band, thankfully I didn’t mess up anyone else by doing this. In fact the drumline followed their path correctly, allowing Rebecca more than enough space to do her toss in the middle of a step.

“Very nice, next song,” Mrs. Ignany instructed. I grabbed my flag for the performance, knowing that the band only had half those spots memorized, so we would stand in place halfway through the song to finish playing and twirling. Rebecca should be fine.

I was, of course, incorrect.

…

At dinner, I decided to grab a sub sandwich to-go and power walk back out to the football field to run some laps. Running was quite the crutch for me. My body felt like it was full of knots, my brain stuffed with sand. Placing my earbud and feeling the synthetic rubber under my Nikes was absolute freedom. The music blasted away the pain in my legs, the ache in my limbs numbed me from the constant flow of memories. The hateful and disgusting words my parents would scream at each other. A man and woman who loved each other, who had made children together, should not say the things I’ve heard them say, throw the objects I’ve felt smash against the walls.

Lap eight I finally slowed my pace, that sandwich I swiped sounded real tasty, but as I approached my duffel bag, I found Mark sitting by my things. He held a piece of chocolate pie.

“I’m here to pay my debts,” he said meekly, raising the plate.

“Good man.” I took a seat next to him, digging through my duffel for the turkey and cheese.

“Marching wasn’t enough for you today?” Mark asked, bumping my shoulder with his as I took my first massive bite from my sandwich. I smiled, shaking my head.

“Not when we only know a set and a half,” I responded, swallowing the bite that wasn’t quite chewed.

“You’re a natural born leader, you know that?”

I shrugged.

“I’m serious. The way you helped that girl out without singling her out.”

He must know I’m a senior. He must know I’m the color guard captain. As I looked up at him, he seemed young, even for a freshman.

“When’s your birthday?” I asked, taking the pie from him.

“June twenty eighth.”

I grinned, looking up at the sky.

“Ninety four?” I asked, knowing it must be.

“Yes,” he answered, puzzled.

“I am nineteen days older than you,” I informed him, taking a generous bite of the pie.

“What?” Mark leaned away from me, staring at me doubtfully.

“I had to take a second year of kindergarten because I didn’t know how to read or write,” I responded honestly. No use lying to the guy, after this week we’ll go our separate ways and he’ll keep being a prodigy, or whatever, and I’ll go back to avoiding my household at all costs.

“Well, I already knew you were older than me.” Mark uncrossed his legs, bringing his knees up to rest his arms on them.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I kind of Facebook stalked you… a little.”

I crashed into his shoulder with mine, choking on a piece of pie from the cackle trying to escape me.

“You could have friended me at least!” I teased, finishing the pie, and setting the plate aside.

“Noted.” Mark flushed.

We settled into a natural silence as the sun sank low in the sky. Evening rehearsal started soon.

“Do you have any idea where you’ll go to college?” Mark asked. I shrugged, laying back in the grass.

“Well, Northern Michigan University would be ideal.”

“But?” Mark asked, looking down at me. I sat back up, his gaze following mine.

“But I don’t even know if I need college. I want to be a writer and I’m really only going to college to find a back up career or at least get the hell out of my hometown.”

“A writer, huh?”

“Yeah, my mom has already filled me in on how ‘fucking stupid’ that is,” I cut across him, making a move to stand. Mark just placed a hand gently on my shoulder, stopping me.

“No, I think that’s awesome, and I think it’s really insightful that you’re already thinking ahead like that. Do you need college? Do you really want a back-up career?” Mark didn’t take his hand back off my shoulder. I looked into his deep brown eyes with my muddy green ones, blinking slowly. I shrugged, causing his hand to fall away from me.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience. What are you planning to study?” I picked at the grass.

“Medicine.”

“And what do you really want to do?” I asked, but Mark never got to respond, because I could hear the band kids approaching. I didn’t have my flags and Mark didn’t have his trumpet.

…

I always thrived during skit night. Every year I was the one to come up with the skit, this year was no exception. There were seven color guard members, no college section leader, which would have come in handy for my idea, but we made do.

I stood center stage.

“I am Snow Brown,” I said in a booming voice. “And I am constipated,” I shouted to the audience as all the color guard girls stood behind, pretending to busy themselves with household chores. I paused for the laughter to subside.

“Can anyone help me with my problem?” I asked, searching the crowd, accidentally lingering on Mark’s gaze. He flashed me a thumbs up before I turned to my seven dwarfs.

“Friends, Snow Brown has a problem,” pause for more laughter. “How can I poop?” I zeroed in on the girl playing a character named Uh-huh. “Uh-huh do you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really how? Please enlighten me!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh right, that’s your solution for everything. How about you Bend and Snap, do you know what I can do to help my poor pooper?” The arm gestures were getting a little ridiculous, but they seemed effective.

“Of course I know how to help,” Bend and Snap replied.

“Please. Indulge me,” I responded darkly. Bend and Snap sauntered to center stage in front of me, facing the crowd.

“Ya see, all you hafta do is… bend,” she bent forward keeping her legs straightened. “And snap,” followed by of course snapping her posture back up, but instead of drawing attention to her breasts, I had her give the crowd spirit fingers.

“Yeah,” I drawled. “I’ll give that a try later.” My attention was drawn to tiny laughter from behind me and Bend and Snap.

“Giggles! Do you know I can drop a deuce?”

“Alya,” Ignancy warned.

“Sorry,” I apologized to Giggles. “Do you know how I can pass a healthy, solid bowel movement?” I asked, but I was only met with incessant giggles.

“Giggles, I don’t think that’ll help much.” I looked down at my belly disappointed, rubbing it gently, letting out a groan. Ask approached me gleefully, tapping me on the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ask! I need to use the bathroom, number two if you know what I mean, could you help me out?”

“What is number two?”

“It means I have to poop, now do you have a solution?”

“Ohhhhh, why can’t you poop?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t need y’all’s help.”

“Why do you need our help?”

“Because I can’t poop!”

“Why can’t you poop?”

“Go sit down,” I howled, sending Ask away and eyeing Nimrod.

“Nimrod! I know you won’t have any solutions-”

“Yes, I like purple, but only sometimes.”

I paused, waiting for the laughter to die down. “Right, can you ask Invisible if they have any solutions, seeing as you’re the only one who can see them.”

“Sure, but we’re not speaking because they wore purple today.”

“Uh-huh,” I responded, bored.

“Uh-huh!” Uh-huh responded excitedly.

“They don’t have a single solution for your problem, but you could try getting rid of everything that even resembles the color purple.”

Finally I turned to the last person who had been in their own world the whole production.

“What about you Whisper, do you have any ideas?” I started my way toward Whisper as she looked lost in thought for a moment. A grin split her face as she stood and whispered the solution in my ear.

“That’s genius!” I yelled, running off stage.

…

“I can already tell you’re a fantastic writer,” Mark told me as the band members chatted with one another after the last skit. I shrugged, but couldn’t help the grin.

“It wasn’t even that good.” I started stacking chairs, needing something to do with my hands. “I mean the drumline had a hilarious skit, short, sweet, and to the point. I mean I would never come up with a man just playing some bongos while another man lay in an awkward position in a chair screeching as the audience throws toilet paper at him. Only for the dude on the bongos to get angry, slam one final note before delivering the world’s most perfect line,” I paused for dramatic effect. “‘I just wanna play my bongos… with my dolphin.’” I shook my head, continuing with the chairs.

Mark held the stack of chairs down, forcing me to meet his eye.

“Sure comedy is a route anyone can take, but you're a storyteller. You create plots and twists, craft characters we get addicted to. You are talented.” Mark’s gaze seared into mine.

“Jeez you two, get a room,” Mak yelled from across the room.

…

I walked with Mak at her slow pace to breakfast. She was telling me about the blisters she was getting on her back from her harness, though I had gotten to know those blisters quite well. I had to apply the cream to the spots where Mak couldn’t reach.

“What’s wrong with your boyfriend?” Mak asked as we entered the cafeteria.

“Boyfriend?” I glanced where Mak was looking and found Mark, hunched over his breakfast, playing with his food. I held up my middle finger as I walked away from Mak.

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly, slipping onto the bench next to him. Mark straightened, flipping his scrambled eggs around his tray with his fork.

“It’s stupid.” He shrugged

“Try me,” I challenged. Mark met my gaze for a split second, before looking back down at his ruined breakfast.

“What if I’m not ready for college?” he answered in a small voice. I looked at him dumbfounded.

“Why would you think you’re not?” I asked, trying to remember if I saw him falter once this week. “Is this because you were late to one rehearsal?”

Mark shook his head. “No, no I just went back to my room and accidentally took a nap. This is about how I took an offer to teach a bunch of high schoolers how to efficiently play trumpet, just so I could relive my own band camp days.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, a little surprised. “So, you graduated high school, like a couple months ago, and you’re feeling a little freaked for college, so what? There’s nothing abnormal about that. But once you get to college I’m sure you’ll thrive.”

Mark didn’t say anything or look up at me.

“Mark,” I touched his arm gently, prodding him to look at me. “You’re being very hard on yourself for very little reason. Band camp is a fun ass place to be, and you’re a seriously talented trumpet player, so what if you wanted to hang with your people a little longer before you become a college man.”

Mark shrugged once more, getting up from the table as the cafeteria slowly emptied out. We didn’t speak again for the rest of the day.

…

Mark found me at the track after dark. I should have totally been busted, I was in trouble. I broke curfew and left the dorms without adult supervision, but Mark wasn’t there to bust me. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes on his feet. I jogged over to him, crossing my arms. It was the last night of band camp.

“I want to be a youtuber,” Mark informed me levelly.

“What kind of youtuber? Movie commentary? DIY? Beauty guru?”

“I have a gaming channel. I’ve recorded a few videos, but I haven’t posted them yet.” Mark took a seat in the grass, looking up at the stars.

“You can’t live vicariously through me, Mark. I’ll probably go to college and I’ll hate it too, but as long as you keep making videos, and posting them, and I keep writing then we’ll be okay.”

“It can’t be that easy? What if I fail?”

“So that’s why you’re going to college, right? But what if you succeed, Mark? College will still be waiting for you if you ever find a passion for medicine.”

Mark stayed silent, looking at the grass in front of him.

“I’m assuming you want to be a doctor? Why is that? Do you have this need to save lives, or this craving to use all of your brain power all the time?” I asked, grabbing his forearm, in hopes he’d look at me. Mark shrugged, meeting my gaze.

“I don’t know, I just… My mom moved here from Korea when she met my father. And well he’s dead, so I just want to make my mom proud.” Mark ripped his gaze from me, once again staring into the grass.

“And you think she wouldn’t be proud of a youtuber?” I asked. Mark nodded half-heartedly.

“How could she?” he asked in a hushed tone, as if he might be afraid of the answer.

“Because you’d be doing something that makes you happy. If you’re anything like me when I’m at a keyboard, behind a camera you are the most authentic version of yourself. Now, I don’t know your mother, but I bet she’d rather see you happy than successful. But I’d also bet as a youtuber, you could be both. Youtube just takes a little time, but I hear so does medical school.” I grinned, leaning into Mark. He shared my smile as I rested my head on his shoulder. His head fell gently onto mine.

“So, you think we can be friends?” Mark asked.

“Of course, Mark. I wouldn't want it any other way.”