Precisely Spaced Lines (Purnhagen)

The drums began early this year. I don't usually hear the percussion section in my back yard until the end of August, when school has resumed and the high school marching band falls into its daily rehearsal schedule. But band camp was altered this year-- the first time in forever-- so instead of a week living in dorms and practicing on the fields eighty miles south at Ashland University, the kids are practicing at the high school a few blocks away. Their music drifts into my back yard so clearly that if I close my eyes I can almost picture myself on the field with them.

My oldest son, a junior, plays the baritone horn in the low brass section. Henry’s two previous experiences at band camp were, in his words, “amazing.” Sharing a dorm room with his best friend, the all-you-can-eat breakfasts in the cafeteria. After a long day of practice, the kids could swim in the pool or gather in the student lounge to watch movies. Every year, the seniors bring an old toilet that's been passed down for a decade and hide it in different locations: on Monday, it might appear in the elevator, on Tuesday it pops up next to the drum major's stand. The kids stay up way too late and spend all day on the field and return home at the end of the week both exhausted and exhilarated, buzzing with their first taste of college-like freedom. Then school starts and every day at 2 pm, they march out onto the football field. I hear the percussion section warming up, followed by the escalation of scales as the other instruments join in. Sometimes I would sit on my back deck, the fight song a soundtrack to the book I was reading.

It's different this year. The kids arrive at scattered times and meet in different locations across the high school campus. Brass players like Henry start their day in front of the auditorium, where he has his temperature taken. He then answers a checklist of health questions before he can join his section and begin practicing. Everyone is required to bring their own water, as the drinking fountains have been covered in plastic. Instead of emptying their spit valves onto the ground, they need to bring rags, which they carry around and throw away at the end of the day. The trumpet section has secured masks around the bells of their horns—turns out, paper medical masks are a perfect fit.

The sections spend the morning in different locations learning their music. Instead of the usual ice breakers, students are randomly assigned a Zoom meeting so they can socialize with other band members before lunch. Some students opted out of band camp this year, but they’re still invited to chat from home. Sandwiches and chips are handed out, and the kids sit on towels positioned six feet apart to eat.  At the end of the day, they all gather on the field for a half hour of rehearsal. This year’s routine is slow, with each player spread across the yard lines. Gone are the square formations and the pinwheel. It’s all straight, precisely spaced lines. Practice ends and they go home, with strict instructions to sanitize their mouth pieces.

Despite the slower pace and austere atmosphere, Henry is happy to be back. He missed his friends and, after 140 days, will take any piece of normal he can get. The infamous toilet made an appearance on the sidelines one day, he gleefully reported. And one of the seniors decided to start a new tradition by bringing in a plastic skeleton. “Reggie” is easier to carry around and shows up sitting under a tree at lunch or holding a water bottle during sectionals. He will likely be replacing one of the kids’ favorite traditions: the water balloon fight on the last day, followed by everyone sliding down a Slip-n-Slide that the seniors have smothered in dish soap. The last day also features a performance for families. We would sit in the stands and get a first look at the show, cameras poised. This year we’ll watch a livestream instead.

Band camp has continued in this new, Covid-directed capacity. But whether or not Henry will ever step foot on the field for halftime remains to be determined. Pre-season football scrimmages have been cancelled. Will there be any games? And if there are, what will they look like? During pre-game, the band forms two lines for the football players to run through. This traditional “tunnel” is out of the question now, and we’ve been informed that our kids will not be attending any away games. Their formal white and orange uniforms will be replaced with matching t-shirts and black pants because the annual fitting has been deemed too risky.

For now, I can remain in my backyard and listen to the steady rhythm of the drums. The horns join in and the familiar sound of the fight song begins to take shape. The band used to practice for an hour. Now, it’s half that. But it’s something. And if all you did was stand outside and listen, you could almost convince yourself that nothing at all had changed.

Update: About an hour after I wrote this post, the superintendent sent out a district-wide email announcing that all sports and extra-curriculars would be suspended until August 9 and the Fall schedule is on hold. The band director followed up with her own message, stating that as for the future of marching band, “I have no clue.” Band rehearsals have been scheduled for later in the month with the caveat that they may not happen. The annual band photo (which consists of all one hundred students) will be different: Students will have their pictures taken individually, and those photos will be compiled into a collage. For now, students are encouraged to memorize their music and practice at home. The hope is that the band will return to a modified “half season” on October 1. The back yard may remain quiet this year, but right now I am audience to a one-horn show being played behind the closed door of my son’s bedroom.

Mara Purnhagen is the author of four young adult novels: Tagged, Past Midnight, One Hundred Candles, and Beyond the Grave, as well as two novellas and numerous short stories. She lives in Chagrin Falls with her husband, their four sons, and two cats.