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Mr. Edwards
It had been one of the worst mornings that year. No one had anything, and what they had was wrong. The aged director sighed and covered his face with his palm. Was he getting too old, too soft? He had told people that he had been doing this for about twenty-four years, when it was really closer to thirty. Through those years, he had seen the good, the bad, his children, his assistant. One day it would all fall on the shoulders of his assistant director: the name this band had received, the perfection is was known for, and the stress that no one knew. Would he be able to handle it?
Mr. Edwards ran his fingers up from his moistened brow and through his hair, a running joke among the band students. Maybe it would all change. But maybe could go either way, or... A bitter taste filled his mouth. His band was the epitome of a small school marching and concert band. It was near impossible to rival him and them. La'Rouge didn't care and East Lake could never quite make it up. He chuckled, who else was there...Pleasantville? He let out another snobbish rasp of a laugh; Pleasantville was too small.
A few kids were going to be great, and it was easy to pick them out. He commented about it to himself, and noted how faded his voice was from yelling over the metronome. Those few kids, though, weren't going to bring them to the level he was so used to being at. No. It would take all of them to do it.
He thought back to the first day of learning the show, it had been a promising one. Five sets in, and nine to go, was the score. After that it had slowly gone downhill, starting with the bass drummers and going to the bari-sax.
In the few moments he had spent inside his office, waiting for the time to go outside to teach again, Mr. Edwards had sifted through the times that were passing and had already passed. Was his time passing? Did people even remember that he had still taught here? He glanced down at the time on his computer screen. Seven forty-five in the morning, time for the first bell to ring and for the students to return to the first two inches of their seats.
As he stood up, a thought still nagged in the back of his mind. Was he still able to do what he had done for so long? To teach music, discipline, and working together? Or...was he just fooling himself into bringing the once powerful band to the likes of mere children who were playing around on a football field?
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