In case you missed Part 1, catch up here: http://www.hercampus.com/schoo…
Now, in light of conference play beginning this weekend, read on for the conclusion of my foray into TBDBITL…
Upon our return to the band center that night, we were outside for almost an hour after the time they quoted and we all knew why: they were still making the hard decisions of who would be in the band. Hundreds of well-dressed college students attempted to keep themselves busy to keep the stress from affecting them. It was scary to know that even as we stood there, we could be getting cut from the band or being assigned a row and number. Finally, the door opened. We quietly filed upstairs; the moment the doors were opened it had become dead silent. We all knew what was coming and most of us were afraid to face it. Even as I told myself that I was okay with whatever happened, I was scared of what came next. I had made it to my goal: I got through tryouts, but I still really wanted to make this band, like every other person around me. We waited in the rehearsal hall for a little while longer, some people making small talk, but not many. And then they walked in.
The band directors and squad leaders file in and it’s like someone’s hit the mute button. The air is heavy, oppressive, and eerily silent. A few words are said and then they start. They go from the beginning, Row A position 1 and proceed from there, saying for each position the row and number and then the name attached to it. For every row, there is a sister row, so if you aren’t called for the letter that you tried out for, that doesn’t mean that your chance is over. They read through the names and all those who don’t make it are asked to leave and wait in the trumpet room so that they can talk to those who did. Then, they finally come in and talk those who didn’t. They spout off anecdotes about how they didn’t make the band either their first time, it’s not the end, do athletic band, and many other things that the people in that room really don’t care about, especially given the circumstances. And then, they leave. Meanwhile, the people who do make the band leave with their sections and go to a victory dinner. They get up for 8:00 AM rehearsal the following morning and have the satisfaction of knowing that they made it into “The Best Damn Band In The Land.”
On a personal note, that was one of the hardest nights of my life. During summer sessions, I was closely competing with two other candidates–and all three of us knew it. I had multiple on-the-lines with one of them and all of us did our last one together. They called over band directors to watch us and we knew that there weren’t enough spots for the three of us to all make it. As they called out the names attached to the positions in my row and one of the girls I competed with was assigned to spot H-14, part of me knew it was over. There was still the other row to get through, but my hopes weren’t high. They finally finished and my name hadn’t been called. I knew it was over. I held myself together pretty well, past the point when I knew my name could no longer be called, through the meeting in the trumpet room, all the way back to my car deep in the stadium parking lot. They had said that some people had just missed making it by tenths of a point and I knew that they meant me. The way that they had been comparing me and the girl now in spot H-14 told me that. Knowing that I was so close and yet didn’t make it was almost more than I could handle, then and now. I finally broke down as I turned on the radio in my car. I went to my boyfriend’s house and spent the next few hours crying into a supportive, yet blissfully ignorant shoulder. He knew how much I had wanted it, the time and effort I had put in, the pain I had gone through, but unless you’ve experienced it yourself, you can’t even begin to understand what that process takes out of you. I drove home late, got into bed and fell into a heavy sleep. I actually woke up a few hours later around 4:00 or 5:00 AM after a dream about what I had just been through and cried again until an hour of the morning when normal people wake up. My eyes were swollen that day, so much so that I didn’t leave the house and the only person I saw was my mom. I hadn’t realized how much it had meant to me until I was so close.
It really hurt that I hadn’t made it, especially as they called the names of my friends that I was standing in between and had worked with all summer. One of them gripped my hand tightly and just kept whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over until I had to leave. I had to leave them standing there, knowing that as much as I valued them as friends, I would still end up resenting them for having been given an opportunity that I had so narrowly missed out on. I still haven’t spoken to either of them, not because I’m not proud or amazed by what they managed to do, but because, even as I write this, I’m tearing up remembering how hard that moment was.
It’s been a while now since that night and I still feel pangs when I’m listening to the radio and something comes on about football season or when someone talks about the band. There are kids in my classes who did make it, and while I’m happy for them, I’d rather that they didn’t notice I was there. I see the squad leaders I’d worked with all summer and I would sooner walk the opposite direction than engage in conversation with them or even make eye contact. Two of the people who live in my wing made the band and I walked in on one of them getting ready in the bathroom the other day. Yeah, I don’t really want to hear about how you’re sorry I didn’t make it, I’m pretty darn sorry, too, if you hadn’t noticed.
Now, this isn’t all to say that it wasn’t worth it. Actually, I still can’t tell whether or not I’m glad that I tried. I learned a lot, had a lot of fun, and was able to push myself physically past what I thought were my limits. I have joint problems and asthma, but the prospect of making the band was enough to help me endure even when I wanted nothing more than just to quit. That being said, I was left a wreck. I feel depressed whenever the band is mentioned, I take ibuprofen and wear a knee brace daily, and I can no longer walk without being in pain. Tryouts overtaxed my body and my mind and all I have left are the memories and the pain. So yeah, I can’t tell you whether it was worth it or not. That night, I would have said no; today, I say I’m not sure; and I don’t know what I’ll say a year from now when I have to decide whether or not I want to risk trying it all over again, just for a spot in that band.
Photo Source: http://www.thebuckeyebattlecry…