We'll start with waking up today. My roommate gets up at 5:45 every morning. I don't know exactly how she does this, but she does. Every morning she wakes me up, and every morning I clamp a pillow over my head, roll over, and go back to sleep. Last night, however, I asked her to turn the lights on and make me get up, since I need to catch up on my reading. She, being the wonderful roommate she is, complied. Except, having had the emotional B.S. occur last night the way it did, I was dead tired. So what did I do: roll over and go back to sleep, or get up like a responsible person?
You guessed it. I went back to sleep. And was woken up four hours later by my alarm for class.
One hour to read for two classes. Thank God for speed reading, that's all I can say. I managed to get through pretty much everything in time for classes. Basically rolled out of bed and got dressed, though, I love scarfs so much for this reason. Keeps the crazy bedhead in check.
I had a really, really good day. Walked to class in some slight rain, which sounds nutty, but I LOVE the rain when its like it was today. It's sporadic enough that I don't need to worry about messing up my books (my backpack is pretty waterproof) but wet enough that I get to enjoy it. Is it weird that I like getting wet? Probably. I could seriously live in the water, though. For years I would spend every possible movement at the pool or at the ocean, when we went to the coast. You know how other little kids want to be superheros or princesses? I wanted to be a mermaid. I actually thought for a while about going into marine biology because of that, except that I then realized how many dissections and such I would have to do (I am incredibly squeamish).
ANYWAY, everyone around me was complaining about the rain, and I just thought, well, I'm dressed all right for it...usually that's my biggest concern. It was funny, though...we're not into our acting class ten minutes when Code Maroon sends out a message: tornado warning, take shelter immediately! So our class obediently troops into the costume shop for the majority of class. Oh, weather warnings, you are so amusing. Rain hit pretty fierce around then, though.
Then, script analysis. Really interesting class today. I write, if you couldn't guess already; I've actually already written several plays and screenplays, and I write songs, poetry, and short stories on a regular basis. Class today was about breaking down plays into their most basic parts, on a scene by scene basis; our prof called it "action analysis". Maybe this is conceited--I hope not, it's just a memory tool--but whenever I'm in a class talking about analyzing, I think about my own work as an example, just in my head obviously. Example: we're talking about how plays have 3 climaxes, near the beginning, the middle, and the end. I wrote a play last year called Tightrope; some of you know the storyline, but for those that don't, I'll fill you in. At its most basic level, it's about strength, and its different forms. The idea is that schizophrenia as a disease is caused by real, unseen forces, who choose those who suffer from it as their victims, and basically play mind games with them. These forces take the shape of a circus, one side good, one side evil, and with the victim walking a tightrope between them. It's something I'm pretty proud of, and I still hope to direct it (I was supposed to do this for my senior project, but some unforeseen circumstances caused us to cancel literally the DAY OF our first rehearsal), especially since I put a lot of work into creative pre-show work.
Point being, I was thinking about what these climaxes might be for my own work. Thinking about it, I realized it really was true, even when unintentional: climax number one is the choosing of the main character as the victim, number two is when he is presented with his choice, and number three when he makes his choice. I didn't even plan it that way; it just turned out that way. That was really interesting to me, as a writer.
So, after class I headed to the Underground to get a bite. I was happy to actually be able to eat something today, even if it was just a bag of chips. One of the guys from my acting/script classes was there; we had a nice talk, and he introduced me to someone else in the theatre department that he's friends with. Finished eating and went back to my dorm, showered, changed into my audition clothes, and headed to my seminar. I like this class. I'm probably the most liberal in that room (what's new, this IS A&M) but it's still really a good group for discussions and such.
Left the seminar at 4:50, went to the SCC to type up a fresh resume, and then headed back to the dorm to finish getting ready, i.e., do my hair, put on makeup, that kind of thing. Appearances DO make a difference in this field. Went to a dorm floor meeting at 7. Our floor actually seems kind of cool, and our RA seems really nice. If you've watched Dorm Life, it's like that...without the bad RA. Headed to my audition by 7:45.
Got there early, and was told we were running ahead of schedule, could I go ahead and go in? Oh, I love college already. Monologue auditions (haven't done those in a while!) AND we're moving on in good time? Heaven. So I go ahead and go in, do my monologue. I ended up doing the Kindergarten one; I know it really well, and I altered it some so it would be more concise. I felt pretty good about it, considering it's been almost a full year since I performed last. I'm fairly well pleased, regardless of the reaction it gets, so I'm taken aback when the director hands me a script, tells me to go out in the hall and read this particular monologue a few times, and then come back in when I'm ready and perform it for them (script in hand, of course). Now, I'm game for pretty much anything in an audition, but this I definitely have never done before. Read something I haven't ever even looked at? All right, let's try it. So I go outside, a little giddy: is this a good sign? The girl working backstage--the assistant stage manager, actually--tells me she thinks so. So I take a few minutes; I read it silently, first, then aloud a few times. Oh, and btw: this is the lead girl's monologue. That doesn't mean they're considering me for her--it's the largest monologue I noted when I read the play--but it makes me a little giddy, for obvious reasons. After a few minutes I go back in, I read, fairly well considering, I get a thank you, and I head out.
Weird audition, but I'm thinking it went pretty well. Even if I don't make callbacks, I feel happy that something different happened. One of my counselors I saw tonight was insistent that I made it, he kept saying that if I thought positively, it would make a world of difference. I feel, at least, that there's a distinct possibility of it, won't lie, although I think it would be arrogant to suggest certainty. I'll find out tomorrow, one way or another.
So, I walk over to Freebird's and grab dinner (I apparently can eat most Freebird's food, which is incredibly exciting), and then head back to Rudder to meet for Silver Taps. We meet on the steps of Rudder; a surprisingly small group, although maybe not, because it's been raining off and on all day. It's clear at the moment, though, and it's good to see those who are there. We head over around 10 and find a place to stand under a large tree, right at the corner of the Academic Plaza. And there, we begin our Silver Taps experience.
It's impossible to adequately explain Silver Taps. It's something you'd have to see, first-hand, to understand or even just to believe. Honestly, the best analogy I can come up with is that it's like trying to describe an exquisitely beautiful sunrise; you know what made it so beautiful, so moving, but even the most eloquent description falls short. No matter how much you describe colors and patterns, the person trying to understand can only try and picture what you're saying. However, because that is the point of this blog, I'm going to do my best.
Probably the best way to do this is just to provide a play-by-play account of the night. Let's begin.
We get to the plaza, like I said, at around 10 o'clock. The plaza is already beginning to fill up, lining the square. It's mostly silent, except for an occasional cough and the shifting of feet. It's clear, at the moment, although there are clouds in the sky. The oppressive heat of the past few days has been banished by the rain; it's not cold out, no, but it's pleasantly cool. Touching my own arm, it feels chilled. Somehow it's incredibly bright out; the whole sky has a ruddy tinge to it, swirled with darker colors that show through to the night sky. There's sort of glow over the whole scene that doesn't come from streetlights, since all of these have been turned off. We stand in place, just waiting in silence. I'm not sure when the bells began to play; it could have been 10 minutes, it could have been 5, it could have been 20. I know that I gradually notice them, a background music; sweet, haunting, playing a melody I don't know. At some point, the Corps members begin to arrive, marching in, spurs jangling, measured steps thumping. A few minutes after the last group comes in, the plaza almost full, the song from the belltower changes. A few notes sound, and I start to smile. Amazing Grace. I close my eyes for a moment, just breathing in the sweet summer air and listening to the tune, thinking the words. This plays for a few minutes, and during that time, the families of the fallen are escorted in. Everyone around me shifts in anticipation. It begins opposite of me; I see people slouching stand up straighter, glance behind them. Then, I hear it.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Slow, measured, deliberate. I hear the firing squad's boots on the pavement, altogether, precise and loud in the silence. Slow, at first; then I see the first of the members, and it slows even more. Almost painfully slowly, they take their first steps into the plaza.
Then, almost in tribute, it seems, the skies open, and a soft rain begins to fall.
There's a sudden flurry as watchers pull out umbrellas or seek shelter under the trees, but the corps members seem unimpressed, and the rhythm of the marchers does not falter a bit. They slow down even more, taking unimaginably long moments to pause between steps. That may sound maddening, but it's more beautiful then anything else. After several minutes of this, they reach the center of the plaza. They stop. In one motion, it seems, they lower their rifles to the ground, and a loud clunk crashes out. They turn, they repeat the motion. They lift the guns in what looks like a complicated maneuver, and raise the guns to fire.
The first volley is louder than I could possibly imagine. It sounds like cannon fire, or a thunderclap, and I jump, surprised. I close my eyes for the next two volleys, clenching my fists involuntarily as the sound hits my eardrums. Then, silence. The squad turns to face the Academic building, lowers their guns. "Taps" begins to play, the music drifting from somewhere I cannot see. To try seems a waste of time, so packed is the plaza; so I close my eyes and listen to the music.
It seems like it goes on forever. Not in a bad way, don't get me wrong; the moment just stretches for eternity, bigger than any single person in that crowd. The music plays; once to the north, once to the south, once to the west. They told us at fish camp that they do not play to the east because it is said that the sun will never rise on that Aggie again. It feels heavy, so incredibly solemn and moving. Strangely, for me, I don't want to cry. I just feel an incredible sadness, and a feeling of gratefulness for the life I have.
The last playing ends. We filter out, slowly, heading to our separate homes. The rain ends, again, like it's a sign, some kind of message. It's fitting, in its way. It's like the very sky over college station is crying. I walk slowly, trying to comprehend what has just happened. All I can think, over and over again, is "God, please, don't let me ever have to go to this for me or for someone I have known. It's so beautiful, so moving, but please, please, please, don't let it be me. Don't let them play it for me." Maybe that's selfish, but all I can think is how lucky I am to have the life I do. I keep thinking about how these were kids not much older than me, and to some degree, all with stories similar to mine. I don't even know them, don't even know who they are, or anything at all about them, and yet I know there are common threads woven among us all in this tapestry that is Aggieland. We are all Aggies. No matter what other differences we may share, we have that in common.
It's a beautiful ceremony. It's powerful, incredible. I hope to God, with all my heart and soul, that it is never held for anyone I know. And, if I'm honest, I hope it is never held for me. Although, would the worst happen--and those would be the worst--I can't think of a better honor.
Maybe that's why I didn't go straight to my dorm after the ceremony; instead, I went to Bernie's. Got a cup of coffee. Read the end of Dangerous Liaisons. And thought. I thought a lot. Not a lot of it was cheerful, but I was far from depressed. God, that ceremony moved me. I still can't get it out of my head.
So, tonight, I'll end on a more solemn note, something I think is right to do, in light of the purpose of this night. I never knew those Aggies. I don't know how they died. I don't know anything about them except what was sent to my TAMU email, letting me know who Silver Taps was being held for tonight. So here is exactly what I know: names, and majors.
Tanner Lloyd Ferris, General Studies
Kimberley Michaela Kenyon, Biology
Nathan V. Shearod, Physics
Yi-Chun Yang, Molecular & Environmental Plant Sciences (Dept: Biology)
May they rest in peace.
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