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It was good to be home, at least for a little while. The Aurora High School marching band was hosting their annual competition, the Celestial Classic that weekend and he wouldn’t miss that for anything. Gabriel could remember the first time they held the competition when he was a tiny, well tinier, freshman toting around a too large mellophone. To be honest he kind of missed it now that he was away at college. Which was why he had chosen to visit home this particular weekend. His best friend Chuck’s father coordinated the whole event every year and the poor kid was roped into helping out even after he got out of high school. Gabriel was under no such obligation and Chuck had promised to get him in for free. This meant smuggling him in through the back as though anyone would actually care if they caught them.
Chuck had been assigned to work the pit gate, not exactly a hard job, but important. His job was to usher the incoming bands’ pit sections and sometimes props through one side of the gate while guiding the out coming band through the other and to the water tent as they exited the field. There was a line of cones out to help him with this job. He had a walkie talkie clipped to his hip and his father had left him a golf cart in case of emergencies. Gabriel was sitting in the passenger seat of the golf cart with his feet up, munching on popcorn and red sour punch straws he had bought from the concessions stand. They had just moved to the medium sized bands, but they were still pretty small. Or maybe he just saw it that way since he was used to the monster that was the Aurora Marching Host.
This year the theme seemed to be the oldies and the goodies. Already he had seen two Beatles shows, three Queen shows, and at least five classic rock medleys. It was getting repetitive and none of them were that good. The current show, a medley of music from the Avengers, wasn’t great, but it was a nice break. Aurora’s show was some classical piece meant to sound like angel song, not that Gabriel cared now that he was out of high school. He only knew about it because his younger brother, Castiel, had finally made it as head drum major and he was proud of him.
“Lawrence is up next” said Chuck, plopping down next to him in the driver’s seat, “That’s where you go to college, right?”
Gabriel nodded and looked towards the band entering the field. They were decently sized, not enough to be one of the big bands, but not small by any means either and they had props. The color guard was rolling out a long, thin tarp made to look like a road and were stashing their flags underneath it. On top of the tarp a group of kids set up a life size cutout of an old Chevy Impala. There was only one drum major, a petite girl who was dwarfed by the tall platform she stood on waiting for her cue from the announcer.
“Judges are you ready? Drum major, Joanna Harvelle, is your band ready?” The drum major did her salute and turned to her band, “Lawrence High School Marching Band you may now take the field in competition!”
As with many others their show was a classic rock medley of Renegade, Wanted Dead or Alive, and Carry On Wayward Son. According to the competition program their show was titled On the Road and the guard showed an ongoing story of a couple of friends on a road trip. While not very original, Gabriel had to admit it was a good show. They had a lot of sound for a band their size and not just a lot of sound, but a lot of good sound.
From his seat near the field he couldn’t see the whole band, but only small sections at a time. Currently he was watching a group of flutes which included a rare male flute. The guy was tall, really tall, and gangly and heading straight for a field judge. Everyone knew that if a field judge was in your path or in your spot that you were supposed to keep going exactly where you were supposed to even if that mean you ran into them. You might even get points for doing exactly what you were supposed to by not diverting course. Chuck liked to tell the story of how he once hit a field judge in the back of the head with the bell of his baritone and kept going. However Gabriel could see this was headed for disaster. They both had their backs to each other, the judge meandering back as he talked into his recorder and the flute marching backwards, fast. When the collision inevitably happened the judge managed to stay on his feet, but the kid went down like a moose shot by a tranquilizer gun. His long limbs flailed and he clutched at his flute in hopes of bracing it as he went down and most impressively he picked himself up and kept marching. Other than a few dropped flags from the guard, the rest of the show went off without a hitch.
As the show ended, Chuck hopped out of the golf cart to play traffic cop to the bands. The next band’s pit was trying to enter the field early and part of Lawrence was on the wrong side of the cones. Gabriel leaned back in his seat and stuffed another sour punch straw in his mouth. This may have been the busiest part for Chuck and his father, but watching the bands switch out was boring and he had nothing to do. Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting it when Chuck’s father came up to him.
“We’ve got an injured kid from Lawrence. I need you to drive him over to his bus.” said Mr. Shurely.
“What?”
“We need someone to drive him over, you’re sitting in the golf cart, and everyone else is busy.” he explained.
“Ok, but I’ve never driven a golf cart.” Gabriel said.
“It’s not hard. You’ve got the gas, brake, emergency brake. The key is there and the shift is back here.” He pointed at each part as he said it, “It’s like driving a car.”
“Um, ok”
“He’s over there, sitting under the water tent.”
Gabriel turned the key in the ignition and drove the short distance through the pit gate to where the band was. Under the tent the tall flute sat, surrounded by a gaggle of girls all fawning over him. Now that the chako was off, Gabriel could see the boy’s long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and the loose ends were plastered to his forehead with sweat. His left foot was propped up and he was hunched over to press an ice pack to his ankle. He looked up as Gabriel pulled the golf cart up next to him.
“Need a ride, kiddo?” he joked, smiling at the kid, “Hop in.”
One of the girls, a short blonde, helped him into the passenger seat, “Thanks, Jess. Do you mind taking my flute back?” She nodded and took his instrument in her other hand.
“Want one?” Gabriel held out his remaining sour punch straws as the tall flute settled in.
“Sure.”
“The name’s Gabriel,” he said as he began driving across the parking lot and out to the street. The high school where all the busses were parked was across the street from the sports fields. “What’s yours, kid?”
“I’m Sam,” he replied.
“Well Sam, that was a truly impressive incident you had today.” Gabriel said, letting his eyes linger as he looked over at him. Up close and personal the kid was very attractive and he sent up a silent prayer that he was at least eighteen.
Sam’s face turned red and he gave a small embarrassed smile accented by dimples Gabriel had to resist the urge to poke, “Getting teased by someone I don’t even know, just what I need.”
No, I really mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone run into a field judge quite like that. And the way you just got up and kept going. Amazing. You are amazing.”
“Really?” Sam’s eyes were bright and his smile widened.
“Really” Gabriel said, “Besides, I wouldn’t have shared my candy with you if I didn’t think so. I only share my candy with awesome people.”
“You don’t say. Aren’t you a little old to be hitting on high schoolers?”
“Hey! I’m only nineteen.” he protested, “And you don’t exactly look like a freshman.”
“I’m not. I’m a senior.” he replied. Prayer answered.
“There you go then.” Gabriel’s mouth turned up at one side, “Does that mean I have a chance?”
“That depends. Is there even a possibility I’ll see you again?”
“I do go to college in Lawrence.” he said as he pulled up next to Lawrence High School’s bus.
“Can I see your phone for a second?” Gabriel nodded and handed his phone to Sam. He tapped around on the screen for a moment before handing it back, “I put my number in your contacts. Feel free to text me any time.”
“So is that a yes?”
“Yes.”