America the Beautiful
I haven’t been very fond of America. Usually to a statement like that, someone older than me will drop their jaw and after gaping for a little while say: “America is a wonderful place! Where else can you have freedom of speech and not be afraid of getting arrested or killed?” England, I think. I usually counter by saying that this country has given people power who care nothing about the masses and usually mess things up. After that, I’ll leave the room promptly or switch subjects before anyone else can counter that argument and I can maintain a small sense that in a way, I’m right.
What I thought of as America were politicians and war. No one is proud of politics and everyone hates war, so it was an easy stance for me to fall into, especially when passionate talks around me would center on those two disliked things. Independence Day for me was a time to relax and spend time with my family apart from summer school, jobs, and sitting on my bottom all day.
Last June, I auditioned to go to Northwestern University’s music program for high school students. It was essentially college for high school students and a bit of propaganda for Northwestern’s programs. For me, it was the opportunity to live the life of a music major and see if I was crazy for choosing that path. On June 27th, I found myself dragging my two duffels and bass to Northwestern University.
We often had performances and one of the opportunities we had was part of a mock military band on Independence Day. My friends had varying degrees of opinions on this, but regardless, we were set to play on the beach, close to the fence marking the end of the safety zone, at least one hundred feet from where they would be releasing fireworks. No one could argue that we’d have the best view.
The lockers where we kept our instruments were in a practice building closest to the lake, so it was almost no trouble to get them to our designated concert spot. Someone in charge had set up a platform to go over the sand, which made my life infinitely easier. For three days prior to the performance my fellow bassists and I (all three of us) had gone to 8 am practices with the wind ensemble to prepare. The only thing I was nervous about the day of the performance (except maybe the wind blowing sand and water into my instrument) was playing for the largest number of strangers in attendance.
I’m not a patriotic person and brass and wind music are in impossible keys. But the music was easy to drift away from while I watched the people on the other side of the fence. In a way I felt as if I was inside a bubble and everyone was ignoring me. My family was watching but engaged in conversation that I couldn’t hear. Overall, this seemed a wasted effort.
We ran through Stars and Stripes, America the Beautiful, and My Country, Tis of Thee without a hitch. We played songs I had never even heard of, just to show our patriotism. My legs were tired from standing and my mind was wandering. One family had brought their grill in order to make dinner. Dogs ran back and forth barking wildly, their tongues flying sideways out of their mouths as they dragged children on their roller skates down the pebble path. As it got darker, the amount of colored lights in various patterns and circles flew back and forth with limbs. My stand light glowed a pale yellow on the page.
Once the fireworks started we were playing the 1812 Overture. And even though the song had nothing to do with the Revolutionary War, I felt something sort of different. I was sitting in the best spot for fireworks where I could see them shoot into the sky. The brass notes soared right above us with them and I was engulfed in noise. My comfortable blanket of music as I sat in the dark with my friends and colleagues was overwhelming. The only thing absurd left was the “ooohs” and “aahs” at the bursts of color. Even though fireworks cracked instead of cannons, Lake Michigan crashed to the shore instead of the Atlantic Ocean, I felt safer and prouder than I had in my life previously. I started paying attention to the notes on the page and the inflection, even if my fragile sound was overpowered by other ones. I was serving my country, no matter how small, and it was strange. From the 1812 Overture we went straight into the Star Spangled Banner. No one could hear us over the final fireworks explosion, but it didn’t seem to matter. We were going through the motions of patriotism and that was all that mattered.
The air smelled like sulfur long after the final chord was played. People sat in dazed silence, the distant sound of Chicago fireworks from miles away ringing over the water. Then, laughter and applause. We packed up our things as quickly as possible. I leaned over the fence to wave to my parents and tell my mom I’d call her once I got back to the dorm. I went back to the platform and waited for my roommate to pack up.
The walk back was congested with giddy people and though I could understand their excitement I wanted to put my bass back as soon as I could. America for me went back to being laws and politics. But I understood a little more of what the troops felt before they left the United States. Only so far as the walk back to my dorm. By the next morning, everything was back to normal again.
