At five in the morning, my father rolled up in front of my tasteless high school to drop me off for a weekend getaway to Virginia Beach with my beloved band and orchestra. My charismatic friends bolted towards the sight of my father’s silver Buick as I sprung out to wearily, yet excitedly, drag myself into the band room of the unsanitary construction zone, better known as Wethersfield High School. I strode to the ivory room to get my glossy, wooden, semi-professional clarinet, and my light blue monstrosity of a suitcase.
Once I retrieved my things, I made my way outside to see the golden sun rising over the horizon, turning the violet sky into a brilliant light blue, to be embraced by the scent of crisp, clean spring air. The forty degree May weather didn’t phase anyone as the plethora of instrumental students began to gather in front of the school in long sleeved t shirts, jeans, and light jackets. As the group of students enlarged, our voices echoed,
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Golden Corral.” We chanted over and over again until we arrived. It was seven o’clock at night, and all we wanted to do was eat as fast as we could and as much as we could to hold us over for the next four and a half hours of our journey that was ahead of us. “We’ll get there eventually.”
We spent the rest of the four hours struggling to stay awake, and praying that none of us would vomit from the rancid food we all devoured, movie after movie blasting through the DVD player on the bus. We wanted nothing more than to finally reach our hotel and go to sleep, having suffered the longest and most treacherous journeys that most of us had ever experienced.
Finally, at 11:30 at night we arrived at our hotel. Our eleven hour journey had turned into a seventeen and a half hour one, thanks to a faulty bus and a southern New Jersey turkey. “I told you we’d get here eventually. You always get where you need to be, you just never know how long it will take.” Mr. Dion declared, satisfied that he had been