I drove to the college campus where I'd already registered for my fall classes. I glanced (again) at the email that I'd printed out and made sure I was at the correct location. I found the parking spaces that had been listed as the ones we were allowed to use. My eyes played back over the bolded, all-caps warning about parking my vehicle anywhere other than in the designated areas. I double-checked the sign for the lot and the spaces again as I got out of the car. I grabbed my backpack, my baritone saxophone, and a small suitcase.
I arrived at the pickup point and discovered that there were a lot more students attending than I had anticipated. Most looked like band geeks - but there were a few who looked more like jocks or folks who I would expect to not be interested in spending half of their summer transitioning from high school band to university band.
As I stood among the mass of bodies, I thought back over all of the stuff I'd read online that advised me on how to be prepared for this: get/stay active (including walking and running), drink lots of water, and stretch. My instrument is not light - so I'd done some upper-body work as well to build myself up for what was coming. I had also followed the advice to practice with my instrument AFTER my exercise routine - to get my body comfortable with playing when I was tired.
Band camp for the entire band would start in August. Freshman were shuttled off to a remote campground to work on our ability to follow instructions, develop team cohesion, and build our skills from what we'd learned as high school students. The goal was to have us whipped into shape - so that we wouldn't be slowing the rest of the band down when regular camp began.
The buses started arriving at the pick-up point and, as I queued up with the rest of the herd, I watched several students hurrying from their parking places to join us. There are always those who wait until the last minute. My mom routinely told my sister that she'd be late for her own funeral.
I handed my instrument case and my suitcase off to the baggage handlers and got in the line to board the bus. I climbed the steps and looked at all of the faces staring back at me. I pulled my backpack in front of me (to make it easier to navigate the narrower path) and began making my way towards the back.
Midway along, on the right, there was a seat with a redhead with LOTS of freckles (there were even some on her lips). Her hair was clean (and curly/wavy) and fell to below her shoulders - nearly to her modest breasts. She was decently cute - if a bit intense. Her face was kind of teardrop-shaped - with the narrower point towards the bottom. She didn't smile. Her steel-grey eyes studied me. For whatever reason, no one was sitting with her - maybe they were put off by her intensity.
"May I?" I asked, pointing to the seat beside her.
"Sure," she said, not looking overly enthused.
I plopped into the seat and pulled my bag onto my lap, clearing the aisle for those behind me.
"Kyle," I said, offering her my hand. "Bari Sax."
She looked at my hand for a second but finally took it.
"Megan," she said. "Flute."
I arched my eyebrows at her and asked, "Is it true, what they say about female flautists?"
That managed to get a modest smile from her ...
"What's that?" she asked.
"The same thing they say about male sax players," I replied - giving her what I hoped she thought was a wry grin.
Her smile got a little wider - but she was still hiding most of it.
"Any hidden talents you'd like to admit to?" she asked, her smile growing.
"I can tie my shoe-laces with my tongue," I said - as straight-faced as I could manage.
That got a full laugh from her. She dried the corner of her eye and shook her head at me, grinning.
"I can also lick my eyebrows," I said.
"Really?" she asked, grinning broadly. "This I've got to see."
"Not here," I whispered dramatically. "There was a stampede last time. It'll need to be some place more private."
Megan grinned and shook her head at me again.
"You?" I asked.
"Me what?"
"Hidden talents?"
"I can suck a golf ball through a garden hose," she answered quickly, smirking.
"Sus ...," I said, expressing doubt with my face, tone, and words.
"Really?" she asked, scowling. "Got a hose on you? I'll show you."
Absolutely the ONLY response that I thought was appropriate was to look directly at my crotch and then back up, into her eyes.
She snorted - and then covered her mouth with her hand.
It was my turn to laugh out loud.
The engine on the bus started up and I looked around to see that we were all loaded. A moment later, we pulled away.
"Is this your first time?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at her suggestively.
She slugged me in the arm and laughed again.
"You hit like you have ... uh ... two older brothers?" I guessed.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
She stared at me a minute before taking a try herself.
"One older sister?" she inquired.
"Nailed it in one," I told her, nodding.
She gave me a smug smile.
We spent the rest of the trip chatting about what we thought the week would entail, what we'd done to prepare for our time here, and how we thought the following camp would compare to this one. We didn't talk too much about band season in general - just all of the prep-work we were going through in order to get there. Non-band students - except maybe the football players - were relaxing over their break between high school and college. Band kids were spending their whole summer getting ready for marching band.
Megan was from a high school that was about the same size as mine. As we conversed, we discovered that we actually only lived about a half-hour apart.
Finally, we arrived at a collection of bunkhouses - with an open, stone-paved area in the middle. There had been three buses in the caravan - but only ours stopped here. We got off of the bus and ambled towards the courtyard.
Four people wearing the uniform of the university's marching band stood on a small, raised platform at one end of the paved area. The rest of us gathered in front of them with the things that we'd brought with us on the bus.
A young blonde woman stepped out from the other leaders and raised her voice.
"Welcome, freshmen! This area will serve as your sleeping quarters and dining area for the next two weeks. Each bunkhouse contains four bunkbeds. Generally, it's a good idea to split up males and females but, honestly, no one is going to come check - THAT IS - until you mess up. So ... don't mess up. Pick seven other people that you can live with - or move to another bunkhouse if you find out that you can't. Don't waste our time, dealing with stupid shit, when we're all here to get ready for marching season. You're not in high school anymore so act like it."
A tall sandy-haired guy stepped up next.
"Each day, you will eat breakfast and be ready to board the buses by 8 o'clock. Lunches will be loaded onto the buses before they leave here. Instruments stay on the buses when not out for practices. You'll ride to the practice field, and we'll train until lunch. You'll have a break to eat and relax for a half-hour or so. After lunch, we'll train until after 5 o'clock. Training does NOT stop at 5 o'clock - so don't ask. You'll come back here for dinner. Eat something at every meal. Drink water all day. Don't go looking for sodas; there are none here. There might be sports drinks at lunch - if the director thinks you need it - or is feeling generous. Don't bet on it. One last time: Drink water. Eat something. Drink water!"
He stepped back and a brunette stepped up.
"There will be a fire in the pit each evening. Don't mess with the fire. Everyone will hate you if you get fire privileges revoked. You are advised NOT to have sex this week. Since we know you will ignore that, please make sure you're being safe. No band camp babies! There is a beach at the lake. Swim at your own risk and stay inside of the cordoned area. Fishing is allowed outside of the swimming area. Catch and release."
The final uniformed leader stepped up.
"Report any injuries to the dining hall. Do not attempt to leave this area. Please follow the rules. If you cannot, you WILL be sent home with no option for refunds and you will NOT be joining us for the next camp. Yes, that means you're out of marching band. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Now, please return to the buses for your suitcases but leave your instruments on board. Come back here and figure out where you are bunking. Last but not least ... Go Dawgs!"
With that, the four climbed down and began chatting among themselves. There was a mad rush for the buses and I stepped out of the way to let the zombie horde pass me by. I found myself next to Megan.
"Skipping the mosh pit?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, smiling, "just got my nails done."
I glanced at her nails to see that she had the same bad habit that I did - chewing them off. Somehow, I hadn't noticed that before. I showed her my nails, and she chuckled.
By the time the bulk of the marching band maelstrom had passed us by, there were only a handful of cases left to pick from - so much easier than joining the mad rush, in my opinion.
We returned to the courtyard to find the one male among the group of leaders waiting with a clipboard.
He began pointing at bunkhouses and calling out how many beds were left. In all but the last one, there were only one or two beds open. The last one had all eight available.
I looked at those who were gathered around me. There was a brunette with short choppy hair and a nose-ring, a curvy blonde girl (with hair to her shoulders) who would barely look at me, and Megan.
Both of the other girls were average height - like the redhead that I had ridden here with. Megan was the thinnest of the three. The brunette looked solid but not heavy. The blonde was a little more curvaceous - but she wasn't fat.
I kind of assumed - maybe incorrectly - that Megan and I could get along together in the last cabin. I looked at the other two.
"Looks like it's just us," I said. "Assuming Megan's not too tired of my sense of humor yet, I have no problem joining you guys in the last open bunkhouse. I'm a heterosexual male but I can mostly keep my libido under control - so I shouldn't be too horrible of a house-mate."
