Band Cramp

Chase Diggby examined his maelstrom of a corps in front of him. They were confused, saddened and an absolute mess as opposed to the destructive force they were meant to be. In fact, they were more like a gentle river trickle, barely moving forward. His own mountainous force had been absent the day they needed him most, only to be replaced by the hill that was Mandy.

'The aspect that infuriates me most is that not even one of you had the cognitive presence to inform me of what transpired. Not even one. Instead, I discover your failures through DCUK's social media postings. Eighth place. You came eig- We came eighth! I even read a review in that Mr. Firkins fell flat on his face. With such factual recounts, I believe I have ascertained a perspicacious frame of mind. You all performed perfunctorily. Don't think, in those vacuous heads of yours, that your risqué performance will not portend repercussions. From here on, our journey will be rigorous and dense, not some wishy-washy half-baked effort. Do I make myself clear?' Chase produced a guttural and calmly violent speech.

'Er... I think...' Gareth responded, trying to understand all of Chase's lengthy lingo, exacerbated by his rage.

Chase swooped in on Gareth with a murderous gaze.

'You think?' Chase growled, 'I'm evidently the only one intelligent enough to think, so all you need do is follow my imperatives, prisoner.'

Annoyed that Chase's singled him out, Gareth caught himself short at Chase's tired eyes and pale skin. It was obvious the corps leader was recovering from an illness which had knocked him for six.

'So, do I make myself clear?' Chase repeated.

'Sir, yes, sir!' Dave shouted from the head-hanging corps.

'If you licked anyone else's rear end as much as you licked mine, Mr. Pritchard, you'd be chatting more shite than the leader of the Telford Scouts... who, by the way, beat us, despite being a bunch of thick layabouts,' Chase fumed, reeling anyone and everyone into his embroilment.

As Chase started a showdown with Lofty, Gareth couldn't help but feel frustrated. He'd arrived home to a locked and empty house, his mum having vacated for the weekend. He had been stuck outside in the dying temperature, his new key inside, until his mum finally returned several hours later. It was a fearful time, as any encounter with Darren was unwanted, and Gareth had found himself kneeling behind their plastic wheelie bin, just in case Darren appeared. Then, when Kerry-Anne finally arrived, she was disinterested in Adonis, which upset Gareth all the more. Still, she had made him a coffee, which wasn't so bad, but last weekend had played on his mind all week, counting down the days until Chase exploded at the next rehearsal. It was exactly what Gareth was expecting, but it made it no less frightening as the unhinged Scot scolded them for a job well ruined.

'Colourguard, with me, so I can show you how to twirl without taking out someone's head,' the exotic accent of the colourguard leader commanded.

'Tina Gomez, until first camp, was with The Falcons,' Mandy explained, seeing Gareth's confused expression. Now that she mentioned it, he did remember her lasso the colourguard at band camp. 'However, Tina has graciously decided a change of pace was in order, so joined our colourguard, my grapefruits'.

'That's enough, Mandy, there's no need to bore them with the details,' Chase spat, taking over. 'Section leaders, make the next hour count,' he threatened, turning around and grabbing a plastic bottle of water to quench his thirst.

'Nevermind, Bob, it wasn't your fault...' Gareth heard Nathan softly say, as they headed off to another part of the morning field.

As Gareth was guided by Stefan to work on ironing out not just the show, but Gareth's frustration, he noticed a figure sitting on the fenced field barrier.

'Oi, Gazza!' called the violent voice.

Gareth closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his trumpet in one hand and his hoodie in the other. If there was one place he couldn't escape Darren, should he rear his ugly head, it was at band.
'Yo, Daz!' Gareth unenthusiastically replied.

Darren Johnson, dressed in a dirty t-shirt, an open denim jacket and a black cap, stayed where he was on the barrier. He was near enough to the brass section to speak freely.

'Concentrate, Gazza,' Stefan's eyes narrowed.

'Oi, mate, only me and Nath get ta call 'im Gazza. Speakin' o' which, why's Nath here? He turned soft or summink?' Darren spat.

'Here's here to calm his brother down,' Stefan answered, 'now please refrain from heckling if you want to watch the rehearsal.'

Darren's icy gaze froze Stefan.

'You wot, mate?' Darren responded, calmly. Stefan didn't respond. 'You, wot, mate?!' Darren exploded, jumping off of the barrier.

'I'm not scared of you,' Stefan quietly answered, clearly quite taken aback by Darren's outburst.
'You ain't worth it,' Darren chuckled, taking a step back to the fence.

Stefan took a deep breath and turned to the horns, who were all rather uncertain of Darren's presence. Melanie, in particular, was ready to leap in at any point should Darren again threaten one of their number. In fact, Dave and Aaron were also ready to take him out. This, at least, made Gareth feel safer.

'All right, everyone, the C scale, settling on the perfect middle C. We'll then go over Part 3, section by section,' Stefan commanded.

Hesitantly, they surrounded Stefan in their best misshaped semi-circle, and complied with his request. All went smoothly, until Gareth felt something hit him sharply in the eye.

Immediately felling his horn, Gareth hunched over to rub his eyes clean of whatever had hit him. Somewhere above, he heard Darren in hysterics.

'Yer crap, mate!'

Gareth growled in response, just in time to glance up and see Darren furiously throw small stones at the rest of the horn section.

'You mind, you little piece of garbage?' Kara yelled, fiercely.

'I mind wot?' Darren responded, thickly.

'Do you mind not throwin' stones at me band?' Melanie interjected.

'Yeah, I don't mind throwin' stones at yer.'

This clearly annoyed Aaron to immense proportions.

'Clear off or I'll deck ya!' he scowled, putting down his massive horn and rolling up his sleeves.

Darren evidently found this hilarious. Gareth was also dubious that Aaron could legitimately fight off Darren. With no disrespect to the contra player, Darren was fierce and much larger in stature to Aaron. However, this was Gareth's fight, he thought, not Aaron's... or the rest of the band's.

'Just leave us alone, Daz, this ain't right,' Gareth walked forward and out of the arc.

Darren lobbed several more stones as harshly as possible at Gareth's head. Gareth immediately shielded his eyes, his trumpet in hand. The stones ricocheted off of the trumpet with several tinny clangs.

'Well, well, if it isn't one of Mr. Firkins' band of thieves,' Chase snarled, approaching Darren whilst cracking his knuckles.

'Ain't yer fight, mate,' Darren responded.

'Oh, it's entirely my fight when you choose to launch dirt at my corps. So you either vacate the area, or I'll inform the police of your gross negligence of respect for a non-profit organisation,' Chase retaliated.

'I ain't dealin' with no feds, today. I'll get goin', but I'll be back for you lot. I ain't done with either of you, Gazza and Nath. You'll see,' Darren warned.

Chase took a sharp step forward, his fist raised, causing Darren to leap backwards and off the fence, onto the stony path behind him. He gave a great sneer before running off down the path, away from the field.

'You're better than that, Mr. Firkins, better. If I ever find you bring such trouble to my corps again, you'll be the one at the receiving end of my fist,' Chase whispered with such venom, that Gareth speedily nodded to avoid further confrontation. He was a part of Adonis now, whether he liked it or not, and it was something Darren would also have to accept.

********************

Gareth listened to the cars rev down his street as he watched the ceiling. It was as peaceful as his road could be on a Tuesday evening; the canned laughter of his mum's programme sifting through the floorboards, couples walking down the pavement outside, the rattling window panes from the rushing wind. Somewhere amongst the peaceful cacophony came the crescendo of thuds. The clapping of the feet halted, just outside the house.

There was a moment of silence, leaving Gareth's thoughts to drift to how much he had disappointed Chase. He'd tried his best, but everything fell to pieces in Basingstoke. His heart ached at his futility to prove that he wasn't just Darren's puppet.

Three eruptive slams vibrated through the house.

'Oi, let me in!' a familiar and violent voice wailed.

Gareth groaned to himself and pulled his bed covers over his head. He knew there'd be only one person who would try to enter at such a late hour, but he didn't think he'd be back so soon.

'Oi, it's yer mate, Darren! Let me in, bruv! It's Daz! Daaaaaaaaz!' Darren roared, his slamming becoming more vibrant and violent.

'We're not in!' Kerry-Anne shouted, downstairs.

Darren responded with a few choice curse words, before rattling the front door with all his might.

'I'm gonna mess you up good and proper if you don't let me in!' Darren growled, his voice echoing from both outside Gareth's window and from the downstairs hallway.

'Give me back my stuff, you little horror, or I'll mess you up!' Kerry-Anne retaliated.

Gareth smiled, despite his concerns. He felt he'd drifted from Darren since the night of the Scout hut, whom he now saw as a deserter and out entirely for himself. Gareth never saw Darren so clearly before now, and realised this distancing was doing him the world of good. At the same time, Gareth couldn't help but feel like a coward, hiding from Darren like he was. He couldn't let this go on.

As Gareth threw back his bed covers to head to his window, a hefty brick came crashing through the glass with an almighty force. Gareth leapt back in surprise as glass whizzed past his body, the shrapnel of shards slicing his skin. Gareth only felt his wounds when he looked down at his bare arms, whilst his feet bled specks of blood.

'Serves ya righ', Firkins! You had yer chance, ennit! Yer left me alone, but I ain't gonna be ignored,' Darren laughed from somewhere below.

Gareth cursed loud enough at Darren for him to hear, but dared not move from his spot in case the shrapnel embedded in his feet.

'Yer gonna play Daz's game, now. There ain't no winner but me, you hear? Yer goin' down, bruv!' Darren hollered down the street, bitter frustration in his voice.

The street fell silent.

As the wind howled through the now shattered window pane, Gareth finally decided to shuffle out of glass and onto his bed, which was soft, warm and comforting against the events of recent. Things can only get better. Better than Darren's threats, Chase's anger and his own failures... right?