I was having doubts.

I was doubting myself, my boyfriend, and our ability to stick this out and make it work. I was afraid. I was so afraid of losing yet another person.

And then last night happened. He invited me over late at night to hang out with him and his sister, who was home from college on break. I got a ride over, wondering how tonight was gonna go, if it would end up bad.

He pulled me inside and kissed me, then walked me over to the dining room with his arm around me to say hi to his dad and sister. We all sat down to watch a video about a magician…and truth me told I was a little disappointed because I didn’t want to share my man. Again.

See, I see him every day at school. But there are always administrators around, always kids who have the dirtiest minds and always want to know if we’ve had sex yet or when we’re having sex and they think all we do is have sex.

And seeing him at school just isn’t enough for me.

But here I was again, sharing him. I shouldn’t feel this way, not at all. I shouldn’t be upset that he’s happy to see his sister and talking to her more than me. But I am. And that makes me angry. Angry at myself.

His dad ended up going to bed, and I stayed until 2 AM.

And it was one of the best nights of my life. Every doubt was put to rest. Every single fear I had was driven away. After those first few minutes, he was all mine. We hid in the kitchen for probably half an hour, alternating between him giving me the most gorgeous necklace I have ever owned (a diamond/sterling silver heart), talking about awkward things and kissing and discussing fighting techniques (and yes, he made me mad and I punched him. He didn’t hit back, bless his heart, even though I wish he had). After I punched him, I convinced him to ‘spar’ with me, which really only consisted of me trying to hit him and him blocking me. The longer it went on, the more angry and frustrated I became. But every punch was helping me let off steam from months of frustration and fury that hitting walls and refrigerators wasn’t helping me with. I gave him a few bruises, and my hand swelled up pretty big. I fight with my right hand mostly, the left I use for blocking. I don’t know where I learned that or why I fight like that. I always have. He let me have a few good hits, and every time I felt my heart break. I hated hitting him, but I had to. If I didn’t, I was going to go crazy.

People tell me to pull up trees or hit pillows or something when I’m angry, but that doesn’t work for me. I feel stupid because the damn thing won’t hit back. And then I feel like a coward, and that makes me angry at myself. Its a viscous cycle.

Afterwards we curled up on the couch together and talked about what movies to watch, whether his cat liked me or not, and I can’t remember what else. I do remember getting spoiled rotten by an amazing foot massage.

We headed upstairs (Oh God now I’ve done it) and laid back on a pile of pillows to finish talking. And to cuddle. He doesn’t like cuddling and long hugs like I do…I need them. I feel fixed when I get long hugs from him. But he dislikes them, so he never gives them and I never asked because I didn’t want him to do something that he didn’t enjoy. But once he realized this, things changed. For the better.

“Hey,” I said, “I want some cuddles SillyBoy.”

“You have them,” he said, and wrapped me up in the warmest, longest hug/cuddle I have ever had.

While he massaged my back for 20 minutes, we ended up talking about things we had previously disagreed on. Homeschooling, parenting methods…and found out that things had changed for both of us. We were willing to bend on things for each other. And his viewpoints had changed as well.

We were laying on the pillows on the floor, not saying anything, when an old lullaby came into my head and wouldn’t go away, so I hummed my own rendition of it very quietly, eventually letting it flow into another song I’d learned as a kid. When I finished, I looked over at the handsome man I had unknowingly sung to sleep snoring on my arm (which was losing feeling fast) and I was amazed that I could ever have doubted him. Or us.

He was mine again.

Or maybe, I was just over my extremely emotional time of the month.

"When did my dreams become my worst enemy?
When did the one I love become the one I hate?
When did I decide that hell was my heaven,
That peace was war and hate and evil?
What happened to the kid
That hid in mortal fear from the demons
That haunted her dreams and told her of things to come?
Now she stands and welcomes them
Now she tells people around her what will happen
Now she can communicate in way unnatural
What happened to the skinned knees
What happened to the boogey man?
I think I miss him- he was my best friend
Although I didn't know it.
What happened to the dreams of a prince
What happened to the dreams that I had
They're gone...
They saw the monster inside of me and ran
Now I'm gathering up the pieces of the heart
That was beating in my hand and I'm wondering
Did I squeeze it too hard?"

Amid the flurry of getting cases and lyres on the trailer, the band is somewhere between a sky-high pumped feeling and a sad feeling.
We're pumped more than we've been this season because this is our 3rd Championship game in a row- and if we win, the 3rd title in a row. We're sad...because this is the last game of the season. This is Tyler Rochelle's last game. He's our Drum Major...and this is his last game. He will never be drum major for a football game for the Dirty Birds, the Northern Nighthawks ever again.
As I stand in the bathroom changing and downing a double-shot cappuccino in record time, my mind seems to play slow-motion flashbacks of every game so far. Turning to each other and squealing as we head to another win. Falling to our knees on the field as a player gets taken down. Dancing on the way back to the band room. Getting so low in our spiral that we're bouncing on our knees, then leaping into the air and screaming for all we're worth.
As we unload into Piccolo Park at Wake Forest BB&T Stadium, the band moms hurry around handing out plumes. Jenna loads my arms full of flute cases- I'm holding all eight before the flutes surround me and take their cases. We line up, and Tyler is so pumped he starts screaming like a little girl with a masculine voice. He's so excited we can't really understand a word he's saying. They're bits and pieces of words and sentences. Mike breaks rank and steps up. "Let me take over."
"BAND!! Do you remember, at the Northern/Northwest game, when I told you that you could call me Moses cause I was gonna take you to the Promised Land?"
"YEAH!!!"
He throws his arm at the stadium. "There it is. That's our promised land. That's where we were meant to be.


"NIGHTHAWKS!!! WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION!!!!"


"AAAOOOOUUU! AAAOOOOUUU!!! AAAOOOOUUU!!!!"

Tyler stands at the head of the line and screams, "Band! Ten! Hut!"
We march in, amid the glares from Charlotte Catholic kids and the screams and cheers from the whole of Guilford County. The drums echo off of the cement tunnel walls as we march in , yelling along with our cadence, "UH-OH!! 3PEAT!! UH-OH!!!" I felt as if I were going deaf from the noise the crowd was making as we marched through the tunnel/hallway to our section.
We gasped at the sheer size of the stadium. No matter how many times you go to a Championship, the first things a band geek says are either, "God, this is huge!!" And then usually the second thing is, "Oh my freakin' gosh, that field is beautiful."
We started playing right away. And we played hard, better than we'd played all season.
And Charlotte Catholic's band? Well, they sucked. Really bad.
Through the 1st and 2nd quarters, we stand up most of the time, watching as TJ Logan gets a new record for the number of yards run. We scream louder than we've ever screamed before. Tears are in our eyes as we jump up and down.
Halftime comes, and we head down to the sidelines to wait for CC to get done with their halftime show (if you can call it a show). 2 Minutes before the clock runs out, TJ gives us another touchdown, so we play the fightsong. A camera man comes over and puts his camera right in Evan's face, then mine. Its all we can do to keep from grinning. Its all we can do to keep serious. Right before we head out, two of our players get hurt. We all drop to our knees and look through the legs of the football players until they are both up. Then we stand and get ready for the rest of halftime.
After CC's 'show' (they just stood there), we head onto the field and boss that show. We make look like we are a professional band.
We head off and back into our seats. We hold our breath as we stand on our seats and watch our team.
With 43 seconds left in the game and the score at 64-26 in Northern's favor, the clock stops and the team dumps a cooler of water over Coach Roscoe's head. They gather around and scream. The band is screaming too, and Mr Kimbrough himself actually stands up and screams.
The clock runs out and we all scream so loud we lose our voices. The stands are packed with screaming maniacs and amazed people. The team falls on its knees for prayer and awards and the Title is delivered to a very proud, very deserving team of football players, some crying. Me and Becca look up at Tyler, watching the whole thing excitedly. But we both know he's only hiding the sadness inside. His mom is crying. We get teary eyed, I cry and laugh at the same time.



We did it.
We did it, we made it.



It takes me for ever to get that.



We did it.




I have never been prouder of my team, my band before.






Standing in the bleachers, looking at the quickly emptying CC side, looking down at the ecstatic football players, looking up at Tyler, gazing out at the successful end to his last game, at Megan, hoping she'll get re-elected for drum major next year, looking at the seniors, looking over their last game as Dirty Birds. It starts to slow down. I hang on every minute as long as possible. I want this to last. I don't want to lose these precious minutes.



It was our last game with this group. We will never be the same group with the same memories.



We march out, with headsplitting grins, people pounding us on the back, screaming, cheering. A drum head is broken from being hit so hard. My cheeks and plume shake from the noise. I hear feel the drums reverberating in my gut. My knees are shaking, my feet hurt, my headache is killing me, my eyes are burning from all the lights.



And I am the happiest person alive.




That long busride home, my head on Ryan's shoulder, I cant fall asleep.


Its so hard to say goodbye to my band. Its gonna be hard to wait for next year.




We did it, Northern. We got to a 3peat, we won.




We did it.







Long Live.