This picture may be some other bell instrument, like vibes or something. I'm not a percussionist, and I don't know all the differences.
So... turns out xenophile didn't mean what I thought it did, and I lost my X word. Then I thought about stealing Leigh Covington's X-Men post, but I decided against it. Then I flipped through the dictionary looking for random X words. Then I decided on xylophone.
*This story is fiction. Any likeness to events occurring in other marching bands are entirely coincidental (in other words, we never bullied the xylophone player in my marching band. A good rule of thumb is never tick off someone who carries small mallets).
Have you ever been a xylophone player in the marching band? Talk about the loser of the losers. You don’t even march! Me, I stand in the middle of the field, marking time and pounding out the same eight notes over and over because no one cared enough to write a real xylophone part. Not that anyone can hear me because we’re too poor to afford a sound system. And not that anyone’s looking at me when there’s a chick with a flaming baton right by the bleachers.
Well, they did tell me when I got into high school that I’d be uncool if I joined marching band. On the bright note, I might as well be invisible to the rest of the school. So at least I don’t get shoved in a locker like the tuba player (and, seriously, seeing a 5’8”, 200-pound guy get squished into one of those tiny lockers is like watching someone try to shove water back in a sink).
On the not-so-bright note, the other band geeks give me a hard time instead. None of them are crude enough to try shoving me in a locker (some of them could do it though; marching while carrying a baritone saxophone gives you muscles, dude), but they have their own ways of bullying. Catty comments, frank discussions about my not-so-prolific sex life, things like that. Stupid stuff.
I asked the director if I could switch to a different drum. You know, the kind you carry. But he told me the xylophone is a very important part of the band, and I should be proud to play it.
Proud. Like I’m freaking Mozart making a piano sound like God’s own song.
Hell, I’ll be proud if I can just get through the rest of this year.