Here I stand, tall and proud, on the coveted 50 yard line, while all of my friends and peers mysteriously disappear from sight. I am all alone on the field, both musically and physically. The music that comes from my instrument is the only one heard by the 1,000 audience members, and my movements are they only ones seen by their eyes. They grow silent and still as the 153-member band diminishes down to one, and that one is me. The field is mine, and I embrace the moment for the short time I have.

Prior to the disappearance of the band, I am joined by 152 other students that are all taking part in this exciting, simultaneous activity. We crowd the field as the shiny, black shoes on our feet glide smoothly and evenly across the slick, short grass. Our size looks quite intimidating to the general audience member, for we take up a large amount of the field. As we come to an anticipated halt in a huge diamond formation that initiates the big, dramatic, passionate portion of the ballad, the crowd is blown away by the massive, beautiful sound we create. Goosebumps raise one the skins of the spectators and musicians alike. The moment is very powerful and very emotional for me and my fellow musicians. This is one of the few times in the show when we can focus solely on the music that we play. Despite the burning passion I feel during this beautiful moment, I begin to prepare myself for my soloist moment of solitude.

While trying to stay in the moment of this massive hit, I think ahead to that moment, causing my mind to twist and turn and multitask like never before. The spectators are now standing on their feet, applauding profusely, for the huge, beautiful sound is worth and ovation. As the moment draws nearer, I begin to focus my attention on the spotlight on the 50. The moment has finally arrived, and I slowly begin my stroll along the 50 toward the back of the field.

No one in the audience knows what is taking place, or why all but one band member has decided to disappear from the sight of the audience and the judges. I’m the only remaining visible musician on the field, and only I can be heard. The cold, salty sweat runs down my face and neck as the nerves of the solo start to kick in. The thrills and chills are a little more than I expected them to be, seeing as this moment takes me by surprise every time. I don’t feel completely alone until I turn around to see that my companions and peers are no longer around me. They have all gone, and only I remain. I look like an ant on the field without everyone else surrounding me, and the field seems to grow to double its size. The bright, strong stadium lights illuminate the grass to make it very clear that I am the only one left. I stand there on the 50 all alone. That spot is mine, the field is mine, and the moment is mine.

The music begins to die away as the band shrivels down to just me. I begin to feel the true pressure of playing all alone. While the strong chord foundation diminishes to nothing, I am still playing to my full potential. Seeing as the solo basically plays itself, I have a chance to look around the empty field to observe my surroundings and focus on the movement that corresponds with the music. It even baffles me when I see the band disappear, for I, too, am wondering what exactly is going on.

For the short time that I’m turned around facing backfield, my back is to the gigantic crowd that is now silent and in wonder. The last musician has vanished, so I turn back around to face the audience. The sight of the fans is quite overwhelming at first, but I quickly set my eyes on the drum majors for their cues. Even though I can’t see them, I know that all of the eyes of the audience members are fixed on me and all of their ears are focused on my tone. The anxiety and nervousness in my body slowly builds up as I try my very hardest not to mess this up. It takes a ton of effort for me to not think about making a mistake. But I clear my mind of those thoughts and focus on the task at hand. Thinking about those negative things will only bring me down.

For some reason, I feel as though I am still surrounded by my friends and (basically) second family. I still feel their prayers and encouragement all around me. I feel powerful and strong as if I have the support of the rest of the band behind me. My sound resonates off of the stands, and as I cut off, a small yet impactful echo can be heard, sealing the beautiful piece we had just performed. As I put my horn down, I raise my glance to the press box with the judges inside, giving them one final confident look before we proceed to the next portion of the show.

When I stand there for what seems like forever, and I finally get to breathe easily again, I begin to feel the sense of accomplishment inside of me. I know that a lot of trust had been put into me for that moment, and I can almost feel our director’s smile and congratulations coming from the sideline where she stands. That was my moment, and I made the most of it.

Regrettably, the show must go on, and I must exit the spotlight of the 50 so that it may be occupied by another performer. During my time in that spotlight, I got to experience what it truly feels like being a soloist. Not only was I the only one playing, but I was also the only one physically performing. Every spectator in the stands and on the track was watching me at that moment, and it definitely caused some more of those “soloist nerves” to come about. But now the moment has passed, so I could now set my sights on finishing the show in a strong, confident manner with the rest of my peers.

Playing my solo on the 50 is something that I’ll not only look forward to, but dread going into every show. The spotlight is a nice place to be, but the pressures that come with it are quite a lot to handle in the heat of the moment. However, that moment in every show is my moment to shine, and I only have one shot at it in every performance. The 50 is an honored, coveted place that not many people get to occupy in their marching career. I was given the opportunity to be staged on that line, and I took it. The end of the ballad is my time to be watched, and my time to be myself musically. I embrace my time there, and I give the audience a solo to remember. No one else can describe the feelings and nerves I feel on the 50, because I stand there on the 50 all alone. That spot is mine, the field is mine, and the moment is mine.