Announcing Their 2020 Program, EDEN

Picture this: it’s the year 2020, and you are months away from the day you had dreamed about for the last seven years of your life. Months prior you had been inducted into your high school’s National Honor Society chapter, your last marching band season had ended perfectly, and the winter Colorguard season had just begun. Your first letters of college acceptances were already starting to arrive and you felt at ease. It seemed like you were on top of the world and nothing could stop you. This was my life, and even now in February 2021, I’m still trying to grasp how my world just crumbled underneath my feet.

“My indoor season as a senior might be cut short because of this crap and I’m feeling pretty frustrated,” I typed out. In a short onslaught of angry, sad, and confused Snapchat posts, I was finally coming to terms with my new reality. The date was Wednesday, March 10, 2020, and just a mere three days out before the world had seemed to end overnight. The Coronavirus, or “crap” as I called it, was by this time given the new, and frightening title of being a “pandemic”. At the time I didn’t fully understand it, and sometimes I wish I could go back to that moment. A time prior to the madness and when the words “ignorance is bliss” hit closer to home. I was finally facing reality for what it was, and it was one where fun died and the worry of contracting a fatal disease and passing it onto others was all you could think about.

Last year the only thing on my mind other than school was Colorguard. I joined the performing art association when I was just a freshman, and all I knew about the sport was that you got to spin and twirl to music and looked cool during the process. Guard soon became my number one creative outlet. An escape from school, stress, and any other problems that were plaguing me at the time. As a senior veteran, I was sad that my time on the team was coming to a close, but the end in question was much more abrupt than I was initially expecting. Just the night before, one of my guard technicians, “techs” as we called them, discussed the course our 2020 season could possibly go. The hardest possibility out of the many she had listed that night was that our season could end early. All the work we had put in over the last four years to move up in ranks, leaving the TIA circuit, and moving onto the big leagues such as MAIN and WGI would’ve all been a wasted effort. I didn’t want to believe it.

On the day of March 10th, my team and I met for practice. My high school had two teams, varsity and JV. I was on the varsity team and had competed at this level since my sophomore year. That Wednesday we had all expected to meet in the dance room to work on our performance through dance and facial expression. Our school’s drumline had booked the gym that night, so spinning flag, rifle, and sabre were out of the question. All of us team members thought that tonight’s practice was going to be like no other. Unfortunately, I was very wrong.

For a while everything was normal. We were all congregated on the dance floor talking away and stretching–nothing out of the ordinary. Here and there I heard the occasional “Our season is ending” or “School is going to shut down.” Some of my teammates were actually excited over the idea of the school closing. Just in the last week, we heard of schools in the surrounding areas planning to close for a maximum of two weeks and then resuming afterward. If I am being honest, even I was excited over the idea of getting a two-week-long break. Senior year was proving to be much harder than I thought it would be, and I was exhausted. Despite that, I realized that during those two weeks off there would be no friends to hang out with after school and no weekend competitions. It sadden me to think of that potentially happening, so I tried shoving that thought aside. I was your average happy-go-lucky individual who always had an optimistic worldview of things. I didn’t want to believe the possibility of school shutting down or Colorguard coming to a close could happen. My attitude at that moment quickly shifted as soon as I saw the tear-stained cheeks of my other guard tech. Outside of coaching us, he was spinning alongside a New York group that year too. When I saw the look on his face that’s when it dawned on me.

“WGI and MAIN champs are canceled,” my director announced. All of us kids immediately went silent. The hairs on my arm stood up and I froze. I felt glued to my spot, and my thoughts were all over the place. Canceled? At that moment my vision began to blur a little, and my heart began to race. My thoughts instantly clouded with dread. I couldn’t comprehend it! Just that Monday my team and I met in the gym and worked 3 hours straight trying to improve our show. Changes were made, and our final practice video showed the greatness we were all capable of. We had a competition scheduled that weekend, and now it was all over? It didn’t make sense. Our techs and director discussed how our governor, John Carney, as well our neighboring states had issued a state of emergency, and travel bans were now in place. Accommodations that both effectively, and swiftly pulled the plug on my last season in just seconds.

Our techs tried to reassure us that things would work out, but our expectations were already dimming. They offered that we could switch back to our old circuit, TIA, and hope that the organization doesn’t wrap up its competitive season as well. At that moment all of us girls weren’t sure about how to feel. Many of us wanted to continue, some were reasonably scared and put off by the idea, and then the other portion was just silent. Our whole reality was shattered not too long ago, so how could we effectively discuss a new course of action? As the seconds passed, you could hear the faint hiccups of those of us who were trying to choke back a cry. They were overwhelmed and confused and we were finally experiencing the early effects of what COVID-19 had on our lives as high school students. It was hard to take in.

By the time the clock struck 9, it was time to go. We had all managed to pull ourselves together. Us veterans had to put on a facade especially. We had younger recruits whose first season was also just stolen from them too. It was a hard time for all of us, but we had to push forward. Before saying goodbye that night, and eventually goodbye for good only three days later, we decided to have a final send-off. We all put our hands together and did a cheesy rendition of High School Musical’s “WILDCATS” chant and after doing so our spirits were lifted just a bit. Our varsity program “Eden” was cut short, and ironically bore a slight resemblance to our theme’s origin story. That week, I had my last ever Colorguard practice, as well as my last few days learning in a school building. This farewell was one I never would have anticipated, but nonetheless, I lived it.