My voice was vanished, destroyed as I stood in front of her, in her way I grunted, smiled, she smiled I slowly stepped out of her way, stumbling, trying to catch my step. Some kids turned and looked, others laughed but as I stepped out of her way, I turned towards her as she walked away, and then all the kids laughed and laughed and one kid said “nice try”
But I didn’t listen. I dazed at the dull, gray ceiling, not that there was anything special except some gum a few webs tucked in the corner. But it was as though the ceiling was a background for the video being played in my mind, of the other times I passed by her, and this one was stored with the rest. As time flew, I took no notice. I just stared at the old gray ceiling as thought it was the most amazing thing in a 3rd graders life. Her.., Oh her, that girls name is Melanie, the way it slipped of my bright pink tongue was astounding and she was, although very free and alone, friends with the rest of the kids with the over expensive pants and shirts, not because they are sturdy but because the money set them directly with “the group”. She was different, she had no costly clothes, it was her attitude that everyone wanted to be around her for. I, am a different story my parents are a middle-class citizens, as they told me at least. I do not have friends, I do not want friends, I am a loner. All I need is me, my homework, and my thoughts. Kids won’t dare say “Hi” to me; their precious reputation will go dramatically down. I don’t know why she did it, maybe as a bet or a joke, or she knew she wouldn’t lose anything in the end, but Melanie became my friend.

The rich woody sound of the saxophones steady the sharp, yet smooth timing of the trumpet’s muted horn. A tapping blues rhythm sinks the whole sound through a connection to corresponding beats. Over all the solemn chaos rapping through the eternal war of brass and woodwinds came a godly sound pointing out the direction of the whole bickering band. The top Trombone leads the solo of the blues piece and soars through it as though he was reminiscing of the bright times as a young boy, and you can see tears come to the point of being exposed and fade away as the solo and dream slowly dissipate from the strong, passionate phrases. The barry sax stands up for his gritty solo to talk back, he sets himself in the song and drifts away only to come back by the strong powerful boom of the bass drum. As you stand by the judges, you notice they have put all the judging behind and started to slowly tap with the band’s appealing rhythm; no notes are put down; no intimidating growl, just the tap of the foot and the swift but slow recognition of what was here today. Ladies and gentlemen this is the Nevada Union Jazz Band.