Have you ever taken the time to realize just how close the band students at your school are?

I'm sure you've barely noticed it. You know? They always sit together at lunch, right, and on Fridays, when we're required to wear our band shirts, you can see little clusters of band t-shirts moving around the school.

That's because we're a family.

And families have to stick together.

We feel each other's pain. We understand each other, and are there when another is going through problems.

Of course, the story I'm referencing to, we all went through this.

Here's the background.

I've mentioned Mistah T to you. Well, Mistah T wasn't always our teacher. My freshman year, I had a guy named Eric Holden as my director. He was pretty cool. Very funny. Once, he tossed his conductor's wand right at Dan Croswait's head. I forget why, but dude, it was hilarious. I loved Holden.

My sophomore year, unfortunately, Holden stopped coming to the band practices in the morning, and Krill-dawg led those instead. It was around November I think that Holden was diagnosed with bone cancer. There was a lot of mourning, but we remained optimistic. People survived cancer all the time, these days. Holden would be okay.

The beginning of this year, Holden was at band camp, and he seemed to be doing okay. He was playing around with his daughter, Eryn, and teasing the freshmen, just like he did my freshman year. Dude, it was great to see him so lively again!

But then he started to disappear again. Mistah T, who had been hired as Holden's assistant director, started to teach more and more often, until finally, it was announced that Holden had taken a leave of absence, and Mistah T would be our teacher for the rest of the year.

We didn't hear much news of him after that. Holden came and conducted a few songs at the winter concert, but after that, we didn't see him. Every time Mistah T gave us news for him, it seemed like he was going through ups and downs. But at least the fact that he was going up kept us hopeful.

Then, April 8th, 2003, Mistah T gave us the news that they'd found a new growth along Holden's spine. But, no matter what we heard, we were not to believe that Holden was dead. "He's not dead, all right? He's in the ER, yes, he has a new growth, yes, but he is not dead!"

Yet.

That April afternoon, I was lounging around in my Humanities class, listening to the hubbub going on around me, waiting for the bell to ring so I could go meet Skitts at his car, and he could drive me home. There were three other band students in that class with me; Erin Huysentruyt, Victoria Quach, and Brenden Ore. Erin and Brenden were tossing Cheetoes at each other, while Victoria was chatting nonchalantly with some of her non-band friends.

That's when everything started.

At almost 2:40 exactly, an announcement came over the speaker:

"Teachers, please excuse the interruption. Please excuse the interruption. Will all band students please report to the band room. Mr. Templin has an announcement for you. That is all."

I saw a shadow pass over Erin's face, and Brenden raised his eyebrows. The four of us packed our stuff and left the room, entering the slight trickle of band students that would become a flood as soon as we left the building and entered the courtyard.

I jumped off the bottom stair and Itey ran up to me, his face flushed slightly.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Don't know, dude."

"Is it Holden, do you think?"

"Don't know what else it could be." I frowned. "I hope he didn't…"

Itey raised his eyebrows. "No. No, of course not. Don't be stupid." He turned and looked straight ahead, but we both knew what had happened. That's the only reason anyone could think of as to why Mistah T would call us out of class without giving us notice beforehand.

We exited the building, and I was struck by how many band students there were. I'd always forgot to count the students that were only in concert band as real band students, and therefore had only though there were 150 or so of us.

But there was a real flood of students; on the landing, on the covered walk, out in the courtyard… the area was practically covered.

It was then that I noticed my knees were shaking, and I was having a little trouble breathing. Studying my fellow students, I noticed they were all shaking as well: Itey had a twitch in his eye; Shad was skipping around Kenny Dahill in the hopes of keeping his knees from knocking together; Lute and Bill Nelson were leaning on each other and laughing about holding each other up and about how they were shaking too bad to stand on their own…

It was strange. We were all shaking. I could hear the quiver in everyone's voices.

Somehow, we all just knew. We didn't want to say it or acknowledge it, but we knew, in the very backs of our minds, exactly why Mistah T had called us to the band room.

This was my first thought.

Then the door to the band room came into view, and I poked Itey.

"Its, look." I pointed. "It's Walt."

"Walt?" Itey questioned, studying everyone's favorite teddybear/security guard. "What's Walt doing there?"

I shrugged, and a shudder ripped up my spine.

We entered the band room and took a seat near the center of the room, on the floor. I noticed that all the counselors… every last one… were standing at the inside door, talking quietly amongst themselves, and that Mr. Haggard, the orchestra teacher, and Mr. Fountain, one of the drama teachers, were standing by the office door, talking with Big Willie Kotterman, a tuba player.

Itey looked at me with worry in his eyes. "Snitch, what's going on?"

"I don't know." I said softly. "Don't worry though, dude. Mistah T will let us in on this in a bit."

That's when Big Willie raised his voice and started to take a seat on the floor. "Take a seat guys, and just sit tight, okay? Wait for Mistah T to compose himself."

"Compose himself?" I heard Lute whisper to her friend Lara Muncaster, a freshman.

"Yeah." Lara responded. "Someone just came in during rehearsal, whispered something to Mistah T, and then he just… walked out."

"Really? That doesn't sound like Mistah T." Lute quipped.

"You didn't see the look on his face." Lara responded with a nervous laugh.

Mr. Fountain opened the door to the office and spoke quietly with someone I couldn't see, then he moved out of the way, and Mistah T emerged from the hallway. The band room quieted instantly, pensive curiosity replacing the typical bando urge to gossip and chat.

Mistah T took a seat on his conductor's chair, and started wiping his glasses on his shirt, laughing softly. "I'm gonna clean my glasses because that's what I do when I don't want to look you guys in the eye." He said.

I saw Itey's face tighten. The realization had hit him. I noticed his brother Tony sitting near us, and it tugged on my heartstrings to see that they had the same expression of horrified premonition on their faces.

Mistah T sighed and replaced his glasses on his nose, looking at the ceiling. "You all know the situation with Mr. Holden, right? Of course you do. How could you not?" He leaned forward, now looking at the floor. "I told you all this morning that Mr. Holden was in the ER, that they'd found a new growth. Well, I just received word that…" he sighed again. "You know he's been fighting this." There was a quake in Mistah T's voice, and a few muffled sobs from those that just couldn't hold in this contact, this psychic knowledge anymore. "He's been fighting this for a long time, and he just couldn't fight it anymore."

I noticed my hands clenching and unclenching. Dude, please don't say it. I thought, please, please don't say it. We already know, dude, but right now, it's just our imaginations running away with us; if you don't say it, it didn't happen…for the love of God! Please don't fucking say it!

Mistah T raised his head, and looked at the opposite wall, where the DVHS banners hung. "Mr. Holden passed away this afternoon."

There was a sudden chorus of sobs and pained cries from all around the room, creating a heartbreaking harmony that was only too appropriate for band students. Itey buried his face in his hands, and Tony embraced him, the Assaro brothers finding solace in each other.

Lute crashed forward, her shoulders heaving with sobs, and Lara, also crying, reached over and embraced her, whispering "It'll be okay. It'll be okay, he's better now, it'll be all right."

Shad stood with his back against the wall, holding his head high, but his face and eyes were bright red with choked back tears. He had apparently not noticed Shawn Burr and Matt Peterson sobbing in the middle of the floor without any qualms, and was trying to hold onto his male dignity.

Me?

It felt as if my heart had dropped into this huge, bottomless chasm, and it would have trouble getting out of there, if it ever did. The band is like a family, and Mr. Holden was our 'Dad' of sorts. To have him gone… to only have Mistah T and Krill left… that was just… too hard to comprehend. The fact that he was dead didn't exactly register until the following morning; that afternoon, I just knew something had happened, something horrible and terrible, something that shouldn't have happened. So I hugged my knees to my chest and hid my face in my blue jeans, dry sobs storming through me.

Mistah T waited for the initial shock to fade away, then continued. "I know this is hard for some of you guys to hear." The shiver in his voice was more pronounced now. I think that saying it out-loud to the near-two-hundred students that had known and loved Holden like a second father had a kind of damning effect on him: it was real. It had happened. Holden was dead. "But you all know that he fought as hard as he could, and there was nothing we could do about it. Eric was just tired of fighting." Mistah T's eyes were rimmed with red, like Shad's, with tears flowing down his cheeks, and seeing that brought tears to my own eyes.

It was different, seeing Mistah T cry. Being a percussionist, I knew him better than some of the other students, and he has this optimistic, cheerful personality. He's the kinda guy that'll always bring a smile to your face. Seeing him cry… that was like an act against God.

So I started to cry as well.

"We… we can keep him in our thoughts. We can pray for him. We can light candles for him. There's all kinds of things we can do for him, but most of all, we just have to be happy that he's not in pain anymore." Mistah T paused to let a sob shudder through his chest. "Cancer is hard to deal with, both for those that have it and the ones that love those that have it. We have to be glad for Eric, glad that he's not in pain anymore."

When Mistah T put his face in his hands, Mr. Haggard stepped forward and put a hand on the younger teacher's shoulder. "Ian is right; there's nothing you guys can do now. What you can do is remember the good times you had with Mr. Holden. All the happy memories, like performing at the Fiesta Bowl, or the great performance you all had at Las Vegas last year, or playing with Eric at Disneyland."

Each example Haggard gave brought new sobs into the choir; he obviously wasn't helping. He sighed in defeat and stepped back, giving Mr. Fountain a chance to speak.

"All I can say is this; all of us in the Fine Arts department feel your loss, and we know that Eric would have wanted you to keep going, to keep the music alive. Let the music live on. That's the best way you can remember him."

Music is what Mr. Holden gave to us. He took the clay given to him by Mr. Glenn from Akimel and Mr. Norris from Altadena, the middle school band teachers, and he shaped it into the fine young musicians you see before you. Without Mr. Holden, Desert Vista would not have a marching band program, and even if it did, it wouldn't be the great, award winning program it is today, the one that makes Corona del Sol shake in their stupid little shoes, that feeds into Van Guards like the Blue Devils, and into well-known college bands like the U of A Wildcats and the ASU Sun Devils.

What's going to happen to us now that Holden is gone?

Mistah T lifted his head when Mr. Fountain had finished, and stood up. "I can only think of one way to… to remember Mr. Holden right now, and I think you all know what that is. Stand up, if you can."

There was the silent rustle of movement mixed in with the chorus of wailing. A lot of people had to lean on others to stand upright, because they were shaking too bad to stand, but wanted desperately to give Mr. Holden the respect he deserved.

"Matt, please." Mistah T instructed. Matt Peterson took his baritone and played a sweet, sad note that brought fresh tears to everyone's eyes. When we sang, the song, normally full of giggles because of the notes we had to, and usually couldn't hit, was instead filled with lamentable sobs and pained cries.

And somehow, it was more beautiful that way.

Alone"

Mistah T took a deep breath when we were finished and put his hands behind his head, giving us a sad, tear-stained smile. "Dismissed."

The cries became louder, and people grabbed each other for support and comfort, clinging at their band brothers and sisters.

There was a cloud of sadness over the school, and only the band students were getting rained on.

Itey and I embraced, him sobbing into my chest, and Tony watched for a moment before joining us, making three crying boys in one circle. I lifted my head and pulled away from the brothers, watching as my sisters and brothers went to each other for condolence. Watching Lute and Shad flit from person to person, giving hugs, and finding shoulders to cry on, obviously avoiding each other… that was upsetting too. They'd known each other for so long, it was too hard for them to cry on each other.

But when they did, finally, it was even more pitiful than watching them dodge each other.

I said my good-byes to Itey, received a hug from Lute, and left the band room, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand and trying not to sob too much.

Skittery was waiting for me in the parking lot, and his face paled when he saw me.

"Snitch! What's wrong?" He asked, looking shocked. "What happened?"

"Mr. Holden." It was so hard to talk, with that goddam lump in my throat. "Holden, he… he passed away this afternoon."

And saying it brought me to tears again, in the middle of the parking lot, holding my boyfriend to me, and trying to find comfort in the soft movement of his hands up and down my back and the words he whispered that I couldn't hear.

But there was no comfort to find.

Mr. Holden was gone. There was nothing we could do.

April 8th, 2003.

The day the music died.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

…

I'm going to the memorial service this afternoon, so I might write more of this later, if I feel like I have to. Right now, though, I just have to post it. I just have to share.

Thanks for letting me vent.