Smell of hairspray. Sound of a horn. Abundance of colors cradled in arm. Field becomes a stage. I grab the shoulder of a friend. My heart feels like it will bust from my chest as though both of our hearts merely pound through me. I see the drum major raise their gloved hands. A booming voice announces, "Croatan High School Band you may take the field in competition". Time freezes. Noise ceases. With one flex of the drum major's hand everything will be derived. Senses override. We are now one.