Band Camping

What was it with this girl? Hadn't Jen mentioned some guy's name? Jim, right? I wasn't sure I liked this kind of attention from her, especially if she was as serious with that guy as the earlier mention of his name had indicated, so I thought I'd use that name again, see what happened.

"What would Jim think?" As soon as I said it, her hand jerked away from my thigh like I had suddenly turned into the Human Torch. I did kind of miss feeling her hand on my thigh, though.

"Uh... you talked to him?"

I decided on a bluff to "go all-in," as it were.

"Yeah. He mentioned you a lot."

"Damn that Misty. He never can keep his mouth shut." Jess huffed. Haha, it worked! So Misty/Jim was her boyfriend... interesting. I wonder how he got the nickname 'Misty' then...

"Look, just don't mention any of this, ok? I like teasing guys, seeing their reactions, but it makes him kinda mad. I won't mention anything to Jen... in fact, I can plant a good seed about you, if you'd like."

"No problem, Jess. I won't tell." I was grinning inwardly at my little bluffing victory. Not to mention that she was okay with me having an interest in her twin. We were getting out of her car, as we had just pulled up at the dorms, where we had been granted early access for being in the marching band. "See you tomorrow?"

"Uh... yeah, we will." I closed the door and turned to leave, headed toward the dorm's entrance. "Dan, wait!"

I turned around, hearing her voice call out to me. She trotted up next to me.

"Yeah?" Was she about to play another teasing game or something?

"We live in the same dorm, dummy. You could at least walk a lady to her door. This lady doesn't mind a good-looking guy offering to walk with her." She paused and leaned closer, her hand resting on my forearm. "You are offering, right?"

God, what did she mean by all this? Hadn't we just talked about Jim, her boyfriend, and how she didn't want me mentioning her flirtations? Of course she also said she liked to see a reaction. But... did she call me a good-looking guy?

"Umm... "

Jess seemed to shake herself from a trance or something.

"Fuck, sorry. It's such a habit of mine to flirt with cute guys." She pulled her hand away and rapidly put a small gap between us. "We've only been dating a few months, and I've been swimming in the singles' pool for such a long time... the transition has been killing me!"

I had to laugh. "Jess, I won't lie -- it's not like I dislike being flirted with by someone cute like you."

"But..." she cut in during my pause, "you like the darker hair and eyes, more like Jen, huh?"

I think I blushed again.

"Hehe, I thought so. You seem like a good guy, so..." Jess ran ahead to the door and turned around in the entrance. "Make sure you treat her right!"

And with that, she disappeared into the building. So much for walking her to her door.

Band Camp Hell had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

Chapter 3 -- I Dub Thee...

The rest of Band Camp Hell went by quickly, with Jess and Jen giving me a ride back to the dorms each evening. Several times, Jim/Misty went with us and we all had dinner together. There seemed to be a strong bond forming between us all. I was enjoying it quite a bit.

It was during the last week of camp, just before school started, and also just before the opening game where we'd march our first halftime show, that I embarrassed myself, and thereby earned myself my Bruce nickname -- Lube.

First, it's important to know why the trombone line got the name of the Bruces. I was delighted that Jen had explained it to me one evening while we all ate dinner. Even Jim was okay with me knowing early, since the tradition was to tell the "Bruce Legacy" during a cookout after the end of Band Camp Hell.

It turned out that many, many years ago, four of the trombone players had watched an episode of the Monty Python Flying Circus one evening prior to band practice. The next day, inspired by the Monty Python sketch, they started calling each other Bruce all during practice. The other trombone players caught on and joined in, while the rest of the band who witnessed and heard it just assumed the trombones had come up with a section nickname.

Shortly after, the moniker stuck, the individual Bruce nicknames got added a few years later, and the tradition continued to get passed on through the years.

That was how we, the trombones, became known as The Bruces.

But how did I become known by my rather embarrassing and amusing nickname of Lube Bruce, you ask? The story makes sense only if you understand another of the Bruce traditions.

Several years after the Bruce nickname first took hold, another group of friends inside the trombone line witnessed a fascinating choreography during another school's marching show. They saw trumpet players executing a neat swinging pattern with their horns.

But being trombone players, they thought they could put on as good a show -- only faster, snappier, and with trombones.

They brainstormed, practiced, and decided they would add a bit of "danger" to the routine -- every trombone player would stand at shoulder-width apart, and swing their horn left and right while the player next to them would duck. They experimented with calling the routine "guillotine trombones" but decided a much simpler and more evocative term -- "suicide trombones" -- would be catchier and sound edgier.

And they were right. They showed the rest of their Bruce line, had everyone practice it, and then got the drumline to play one of their cadences for them, to keep a rhythm going.

The band director -- a much younger version of our current Satan-spawn -- saw it and decreed that it must be incorporated into the choreography of the halftime show.

Nearly a decade since it started, it has become a highlight of the marching band.

Now, as for my nickname -- Lube -- that came during a full routine practice.

It was a day when we were to be playing the whole show, including the suicide trombones bit in the middle, as a sort of dress rehearsal, before the opening game. I was a little nervous, worried that I might forget a move or a note of the song, or mess up my timing in the suicide trombones maneuver.

During warm-ups, I noticed my slide was a little bit stiff in moving, something a trombone player learns to hate. But that's why they invented slide oil -- commonly and fondly nicknamed tube lube by many. I had purchased some specialty kind that came in a tiny bottle along with an empty spray bottle. I hadn't used it yet, and the correct manner of application hadn't been demonstrated to me. So of course I didn't use it properly.

I might have added too much -- I was very familiar with generously adding drops of oil from a little bottle, not spraying it on. Only later did I learn that with this new tube lube you're supposed to drip a few drops on your slide from the tiny tube and use water in your spray bottle. I had transferred the oil from that tiny tube into my spray bottle, and very nearly coated my entire slide.

My slide worked famously, with no sticking, no issues whatsoever.

I made it through the show with no mistakes or errors, and I had come to the end, where we lined up for the suicide trombones. Everything was going smoothly as the cadence rolled in. I was spot on, jerking my trombone left and right in perfect synchrony with the drum beat.

Unfortunately, the excessive quantity of oil made my slide slip right off the end of my trombone during a jerk to middle, causing it to go sailing through the air. As it gracefully arced toward a landing, it smashed into the drum major's face, knocked him off the step-ladder, cut his nose and broke his wrist, and fractured a few ribs. A fountain of blood gushed gloriously from his nose. On the other hand, my trombone slide survived the ordeal unscathed.

Needless to say, I felt terrible. The rest of the band thought it was hysterical. It happened to be caught on tape, and, when the drum major watched it later, even he thought it was pretty comical. No one was mad, no harm was done (except the injuries to the drum major, which didn't hinder or deter the tough, crazy bastard from his drum major duties), and I had effectively earned my nickname -- Lube Bruce.

On the final day of camp, we did another "dress rehearsal" -- flawlessly this time, with no flying trombone slides (although I got teased relentlessly during warm-ups, whether I had lubed my slide enough, or if I used too much lube, or... well, you get the idea).

After it was all said and done, the trombone line had organized a cookout for each Bruce (and Jess, the honorary Bruce girlfriend and Bruce Twin), where I and Number One were formally and officially welcomed into the Bruces. (Incidentally, One didn't do much of anything embarrassing, or much of anything else worth noting, so they called him Boring Bruce -- he just shrugged and didn't really say anything.)

The location had remained the same since the cookout started. I rode with Jess and Jen to a small park quite a ways away from campus. The park was nice, with many gazebos scattered around, plenty of trees to offer breaks in line of sight to every gazebo, and several tennis and basketball courts. We pulled up, late in the afternoon, to one that was screened on two sides by a line of pine trees, on a bend in the road deep inside the park. It basically meant that we could be noisy and boisterous without pissing too many people off, if they happened to be in the park, too.

During the cookout, one by one the Bruces, in keeping with tradition, shared the stories -- some funny, some poignant -- of how they had each come by their nickname.

Gas led off.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Gas."

"Hi, Gas." We all snickered, feeling like we were in an AA meeting.

"I got called Gas because on one of our camping trips a few years ago. I was one of the drivers. Unfortunately, our car peeled off from the group, and we got lost. Even more unfortunately, I had decided, in whatever wisdom I thought I had, to eat a copious amount of fart-inducing foods just before the trip. As we're searching for where to go, we see a campground. I pull in, and we learn that the place we were looking for was 70 miles behind us. Awesome, right?

"So we start heading back, only my personal gas is becoming an issue. So I apologize to everyone and let 'em go. It gets worse. My car decides to run out of gas. So we push the car about half a mile to a service station. They have fuel cans, but no gas. Swell. So we buy some cans and walk the ten miles back to the place that has fuel. Along the way, everyone was laughing how it would have worked out if I could have used all my farts as gas for my car." Gas finished, and everyone was chuckling at his unfortunate turn of events. Quite amusing, I must say.

"I'm Baby. I don't have a funny story, unlike most of you, but, for whatever reason, I get giddy when I see babies. One practice, a former Bruce brought his newborn daughter to watch, and I got so scatterbrained, I kept missing my cues, bumbling notes and marching steps, and, as I ran over to see the baby, I slipped in some mud. Nothing too special, but that's my story." Baby took a bow, and sat back down.

"I'm Hand-Job, or HJ." This time, everyone snickered. "No, it's not dirty. But, we often play hacky-sack before games. I have a bad habit of using my hands during the game -- a big no-no, I'm told. So I got stuck with the humiliating name of Hand-Job." She sat back down, blushing, while the laughter echoed around. "Hey, be thankful yours are family-friendly!"

"Mine's not," Boobs said, as she stood up, her breasts doing their signature bobble/wiggle. "I'm sure anyone can guess, but I'm called Boobs because of my breasts. Nothing special, just these two jiggling double Ds." She gave a small wiggle of her breasts, earning several hollers and whistles, before she sat back down.

"Yeah, mine's not family-friendly either," Dick said, as she sat up. "I got called this name simply because I used to say it in phrases, like 'quit dicking around' or 'what a dick.' Whoopee." She sat back down, and everyone laughed. She joined in, saying what appeared to be her catchphrase: "Aw, quit dicking around!"

"Well, I'm Misty," Jim said, as he stood up. "I got that name because during registration, when I was drinking Sierra Mist, someone said something funny, and I laughed so hard it sprayed out my nose. Like, literally sprayed, as if I was some kind of hairspray can. God, that burned so bad, I had tears in my eyes, and everyone around me said my eyes looked all 'misty' from my tears. Sierra Mist plus misty eyes..." He shrugged and sat down. I had to admit, it was a funny story, one I wished I had been present for. My ideas for how he got Misty were way off, of course. One idea included the Pokemon game.

"I'm Sasquatch. I, uh, am tall, hairy, and... last camping trip, when I had to go to the bathroom, I tripped on a branch, scraped my knee, and I howled. Like a sasquatch, they said." He sat back down. He wasn't exactly one for words (and I would find out later, he hardly said anything at all. That was probably the most I'd heard from him since becoming a Bruce).

"I'm Donkey. Some people have called me an ass, and I have pretty strong political views, so thus, I'm Donkey, since being an elephant just doesn't work as well as being an ass." He sat down with a pretty close mimicking of a braying donkey, evoking more laughter.

"I'm Midget," Jen said, standing up. By now, she had been able to ditch the crutches, and was in a thick knee brace. "I got my name because of my car..." She looked right at me, and we noticed none of the other Bruces got it, their eyebrows arching, since they all knew why she was called Midget, after all. Watching their reaction, we couldn't hold it in anymore, so we started laughing. They all looked even more confused, making us laugh even harder. We heard several "What's so funny?" questions and whatnot, making it even more amusing.

Finally, Donkey piped up and asked us a question.

"Ok, what did you two lovebirds do in her car?" Donkey's question made us both stop laughing and look right at each other. I noticed a blush creeping up her cheeks before she glanced away. I was about to say something, but she beat me to it.

"Nothing. It was a simple joke that Dan and I both got about a car called a Midget. You all know I got my name because of my height." Jen's brows had furrowed into a scowl. She sat down, the lively mood effectively killed. Several people looked around at each other, exchanging knowing glances. I had no clue what was going on, but I remembered something her sister had said: She hasn't dated anyone in over two years, let alone screwed anyone.

I wondered if that was the cause. For all I knew, she might've been sensitive about being alone for the last two years. Well... whatever it was, I wasn't going to find out about it tonight. Thankfully, Nipple somehow knew how to bring the excitement and laughter back.

"I'm a Nipple. I mean, I am Nipple." He paused to snicker at his own blunder. "Well, my nickname is Nipple... because I used to laugh when I heard that word. So one day, a bunch of the Bruces got together the fixings for a drink called the Slippery Nipple, and they told me, every time I laughed at the word nipple, I had to drink one. Needless to say, I got flat-out wasted that day, and was laughing hysterically every time someone said the word. I eventually passed out from being so drunk, and woke up to find myself surrounded by nipples from baby bottles. Despite my hangover, I couldn't stop laughing." Thanks to Nipple, the mood lightened, and everyone seemed to go back to enjoying the cookout.

Everyone except Jen, the Midget, who sat facing out from the table, slightly away from everyone else. I tried to think of any excuse to go over and talk to her. I couldn't come up with anything suave or fancy, so I opted for the direct route: I grabbed my plate of food and walked over to sit next to her.

"Penny for your thoughts," I offered.

"You'd better be a rich man for how many thoughts I'm having right now."

"Wow, that lost in thought, huh?"

"Yeah..." she trailed off, using her plastic fork to push some baked beans around on her plate.

"You, uh... wanna take a walk? With me?" My heart had leapt in my throat, as I realized just what I was asking. "I mean... if you want to, that is. Uh, you don't have to, or anything. I know you just had your knee --"

"Shhh." Jen whispered, pressing her finger to my lips. She nodded behind me, so I glanced around. Gas had commanded the rest of the group's attention with a magic trick. He shot us a nearly imperceptible look and nod, and continued with his mini-show, keeping everyone facing away from us. I felt Jen's hand on mine as she dragged me to my feet.

"Wh--"

"Shhhh!" she whispered, a bit more forcefully, smacking me in the gut this time. "Just follow me."

I silently trekked behind her, into the rapidly dwindling light of dusk. As I moved up to walk beside her, our hands were still linked. I was beginning to really enjoy holding her hand, when she let go and sat down on another bench under a gazebo. We were well out of sight of where the Bruce party was going on, and we could scarcely hear the music and laughter. Had we really been walking that long together, especially with her limp? Was I really that distracted by just holding her hand? And if our shared laughter made them -- well, Donkey, at least -- think that something was going on between us, wouldn't they...

"They'll realize we're both gone, together..." I pointed out.

"Fine, let them. They just didn't need to see us sneak off together." She looked away for a moment and then patted the bench next to her. I only hesitated a moment before sitting next to her.

"Dan... have you ever loved someone?"

"Pardon?" The question took me aback -- it was definitely not one I had anticipated or expected her to ask.

"Have you ever fallen in love? Or thought you had?"

"Well... I did, once." I sighed, recalling how naïve I was back then. "But I was 16 at the time, so I hardly think it counts."

"No, tell me about it." She glanced at me. "I mean, if you want to, that is. You don't have to, or anything," She grinned slightly. I smiled sheepishly. She'd echoed my words (and style) from earlier when I asked her to take a walk with me.

"Sure." I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Back in high school, I was dating this girl. We were both freshmen when we started dating, then sophomores when we were really serious. We had thought we were going to get married, have children, and live the great 'American Dream,' as they say."

"Yeah..."

"Well... we, uh... we decided we were in love and thought we should do what people do when they're in love..."

"You fucked." Jen's frankness was one of the qualities I had come to like about her, in the short four weeks I had known her.

I laughed. "Yeah, you could put it that way. It wasn't what I expected. I had thought it was supposed to be this magical, deep, amazing experience..."

"...and it wasn't." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Nope, not at all. Truthfully, I'd been more satisfied by my own hand, than with that experience." Jen snickered at my words.

"What happened after?" she asked.

"Well... you could say we gradually fell out of love."

"Ahh."

"Yep. In a way, I began to hate that experience, eventually, because it robbed me of my virginity, stole my innocence, and took away the deep, loving relationship we had. Later on I came to understand how shallow and petty our relationship truly was."

"You grew up."

"I guess so."