Drinking cup after cup of bad instant coffee had one upside: the bathroom was warmer than anywhere else. On this cold, windy October day, the windows of the Autzen press box were wide open so that the announcer could hear the high school marching band competition taking place far below us. I had on long underwear, three shirts, two pairs of socks. And I was miserable.
The night before, my mom had called to tell me that her father had choked to death on his lunch that afternoon. My strawberry-growing, wise-cracking grandfather was abruptly gone. Tomorrow I’d take the train north to Salem for the family viewing at the funeral home. Today, though, was just one more day of graduate school. I had theory to read, notes to take on this odd spectacle, interviews to conduct in my nervous, unskilled way. All of which sounded even less appealing than usual. I was cold and sad and lonely. I just wanted to go home, burrow under my blue quilt and wait for spring.
Far below us, the Oregon Marching Band was lining up in the endzones, waiting to perform. Out of cold or joy or some combination of the two, they were all jumping up and down, making a sea of bobbing yellow baseball caps. It looked … fun. It looked like everything that I wasn’t feeling that day. That’s when the thought arrived. The “I want to do that, too” thought. The thought that started everything.
