I held up the shimmering flute in my hands. Like a trophy, I stared at it in awe. I felt rug burn in my knees as I tried to attach the silky white ribbon. I held it like a baby bird. So fragile and delicate. Almost as it was made of glass. I tried to tie it in a bow, but it was too short. So by the mouthpiece I made it into a corkscrew fashion. It almost reminded me the way the stripes of a barber pole go up and up. So I twirled my flute. It had the same illusion. Then I hear the click of the TV in the other room. So I jump up, and jog to the car.

After I get to the school entrance, I practically leap over the first set of steps. While walking, I seemed to look down the whole time. Staring at the tiles, and how they seemed extra shiny. Just for me, or so I thought. Them I blindly slammed into a complete stranger. We exchange our sorries, and then move away. I then started to pick up the spare pieces sprawled across the floor. I hear the sixth grade band end, with a round of applause. So I rush but it is no use. I am clouded by a group of people. The music flies with the rhythm of feet. I only had one sheet left. It flew to the other end of the hall. I jumped like a frog from place to place. Searching for my prize. It flew right in front of the band room. I stopped, and listened. They were practicing. There was a soft and sweet rhythm. It was like a cool summer day. So inviting, you could feel the warmth on your fingertips. It seemed so bittersweet. Soothing, but I knew I needed to go.

I hopped in line in with my classmates. All in satin white shirts with black skirts or pants. I looked at the cheep fabric of my shirt, it seemed like a darker white then the rest. No matter, I have my ribbon to think about.

I marched on the line while we entered the auditorium. The light reflected off of my flutelike a lazar. I mangled through my folder until I found the piece I wanted. The piece I needed. I adjusted the stand. There is nothing like playing Hymn to the fallen from Saving Private Ryan. I hear the band director fumble with the microphone until it turns on. “Helleoooooooooooo, and welcome to the….” Then I zone out for a little. “I would like to dedicate this song to someone who died to early.” I shed a quick tear as I watched her choke up.

She raised her hands like she was directing an army. The percussion started to play and the instruments just melted in. I just listened and felt tears stain the back of my eyes. I was so focused I almost forgot the entrance. But I quickly came back with the rest. As the flutes hummed the melody, tears started to roll down my face. The band strikes up to the musical climax. It sounds like a emotional explosion. The streaks on my face became flooded with water. While playing I looked at the band director. We had the same emotion. The tracks of her tears glistened under the burning lights. She stared at me straight in the eyes. Feeling sympathy. She mouthed the words, “It will be ok.” A new emotion swept me. One I could not describe. Then the piece ended.

Once I came home I through on some pajamas and sat down in my room. I disassembled the flute and put it in its case. It took the ribbon from its grasp. Then I took an old wooden box from under my bed. I took out the continents and placed the band pamphlet at the bottom. I then took a ribbon and wrapped it around the old wilting corsage my grandfather gave me. The petals where held on by a invisible force. But somehow it lived.

Then I took an old picture out of the box. It was me sitting on my grandfather’s lap, as he wore his navy uniform. Then I talked to the picture. “I miss you. So I knew I had to have a piece of you with me. I know that is one of your favorites. I don’t know why but I always feel closer. I felt like you where playing beside me. I love you.” I put the old picture back in the box. As I climbed into bed I sang taps. “day is done, shine the sun, something something, god is neigh.” I never really knew the words. But I knew grandpa will still be with me.