Nervous?
I was so nervous that the palms of my hands
were wet with sweat.
Cold and clammy sweat.
Having moved
to the community only
three months before,
my music teacher,
Mr. Davis,
had been elated
with my superior ability
with the trumpet
and immediately informed me
that as a high school junior,
it would be my
inherited responsibility
to participate in the annual
Memorial Day ceremony.
It seemed,
he explained,
that while
Taps
was being played
at the main gathering
by a senior member of the band,
I would go to the
far end of the cemetery
and play an
echo effect.
I tried to voice my
uncertainty at the prospect.
Although I loved
playing my trumpet,
I was shy.
Playing as a member of
the band was all right
because I was surrounded
by other members,
but to play solo
well,
that was another story.
My mind and my fingers
just simply wouldn't
maneuver
we'll be
together
when that happened.
"It'll be unbelievable!"
he said,
the excitement
in his voice
clearly evident.
"We do it this way every year.
A senior plays
for the main group,
while a junior plays the
echo.
" His eyes
had sparkled
with enthusiasm.
"I promise that
you won't
believe
your ears
or your eyes,
son.
It'll change you."
And to make matters worse,
Ralph Smith,
the senior trumpeter,
agreed
when I questioned him.
"I did it last year,"
he said
"It's awesome.
There isn't a dry eye.
You'll always remember it."
"But I'm horrible
when I play solo like that,"
I countered.
"So was I,"
he stated flatly.
"But something happens.
You'll see.
I envy you."
So here I was,
walking away
from the main band ensemble,
my trumpet
in my hand
and my hands
sweating,
like
I'd just fallen into a pool.
Envy me?
Sure, Ralph, sure.
"Mind if I join you?"
Mr. Davis
said from beside me.
"You're not staying with the band?"
I asked
incredulously, hearing the
tap-tap-tap
of the drums behind me
as they kept cadence
for the band
to move into place
at the ceremony.
"No,"
he said,
keeping up the
brisk walk
to reach the
designated point
for my location.
"Ralph knows what to do."
He threw me a quick side-glance.
"And so will
you
next year."
I considered
arguing the point,
It was bad enough
that I was about to
embarrass myself,
but I was also about to
embarrass
Mr. Davis,
and my inability
would be clear to everyone then.
We walked along
silently
for a few more steps before
Mr. Davis
spoke again.
"My brothers
both played trumpet,"
he said.
"We all went to
high school here
and in 1968
we all
promised
to meet here on
Memorial Day
every year.
They went into the
military
and I finished
high school.
After I finished college,
I came back here to teach."
He seemed lost in thought.
"And every year,"
he said,
"we always remember our promise."
Stopping,
he positioned me to face toward the gathering.
"I'll be right over there,"
he said,
walking a short distance away
to stand
at the far edge of the cemetery.
Great,
I thought,
beginning to feel as if I were about to audition
for a part I didn't want to play.
Watching Ralph,
I could see that the speaker
was about to finish
and that he was
positioning himself
to begin.
Fingering my keys nervously,
I glanced at Mr. Davis.
He had
squatted
down beside some
grave markers
and seemed to be
straightening
the flowers.
It was a nice gesture.
"Okay,"
I said silently to myself,
"just do your best."
Hearing Ralph's first notes,
I brought my trumpet to my lips
and took in
a deep breath to begin
and looked around.
Mr. Davis
had come to full attention,
his hand
raised in silent salute,
facing
the opposite side
of the cemetery.
Two other men
stood
on the opposite side
of the cemetery.
One was dressed
in the full regalia of
jungle fatigues,
complete with facepaint,
while the other
wore the
dress whites
of a seaman.
Both,
like Mr. Davis,
were saluting.
As the first notes of my
echo
began,
I thought it strange that I
hadn't noticed the
men
breaking away
from the group
of veterans to follow us.
Perhaps they were
Mr. Davis' brothers.
No,
that wasn't possible.
Both men
were much younger
than most of the men present,
including
Mr. Davis.
Then,
as if by magic,
the crystal-clear tones
of my trumpet
began to sound.
And even to my ears,
it was beautiful!
Never had
I played as
I
was now.
Moments later,
as my last note faded,
I looked at the gathering.
Everyone
was dabbing their eyes
and the Mayor
was blowing his nose.
Mr. Davis
was bringing down his arm
and reaching for his handkerchief.
The two Vets
were gone.
Ralph
had been right.
There wasn't a dry eye.
But there was only one problem.
I didn't remember playing.
Not understanding
what had happened,
I walked to Mr. Davis.
My voice
trembled
as I spoke.
"I'm sorry, I don't know
what just happened.
Was it all right?
I don't remember playing."
"I know, son,"
he said, wiping his eyes.
"It was perfect.
I told you that you
wouldn't believe your eyes
or your ears,
but that you'd always remember this moment.
You'll always remember it.
Just as we always do,"
he said
before walking away,
pointing
to the two headstones beside him,
each
bearing the name
Davis.
And that was something else
Ralph
had been right about.
I've never
played
the same way
since
that day.
Unafraid,
my notes
are always
clear and true.
Even when I'm playing solo.
I envy next year's trumpeter
who'll get to watch
three brothers
keep their
promise
to each other.
And I will...
I will always remember,
too.
21 Gun Salute
And Taps
by
Unites States
Military Band
for
PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY
funeral
1963
"MORE NEW STORIES"
"CLICK"
WHY LAWSON A SINNER
"NO"
WE DON'T TELL LIES
EVERYTHING IS
"FR EE"
TO COPY
IN GOD WE TRUST
GOD LOVES YOU
This is a
"FR EE"
page
so you will
GOD
is real
and
JESUS
is alive
Send this to your
friends
and
YOUR ENEMIES.
WILL YOU KNOW ME
"CLICK"
IF
ONLY
WE HAD
MORE
SEVEN DAY
a WEEK
CHRISTIANS
IF
your parents believed in
ABORTION
where would YOU
betoday
JESUS IS ALIVE
If you were
arrested
for being a
CHRISTIAN
Would there be enough
evidence
to
CONVICT YOU?
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