the Majorette and the Heavily Clothed

“H - hold s - still,” the Tunemasters majorette says, trying not to sound condescending.  Her shaking fingers straighten the top of little Ricky Fuentes’s thermals, which is sticking out unevenly over the high collar of his many-buttoned uniform jacket.  Brigid is bending over him, her baton clutched between her bare, goose-pimpled thighs.  Her orange-sized breasts, clad only in silver-dollar-sized “circlets” attached to her nipples, wobble in Ricky's face.  Not that he notices; everyone is used to seeing them on display, even on snowy days like today.

        It is one of Brigid’s many duties to make sure everyone’s uniform is on straight.  The rest of her band is so heavily clothed they sometimes don’t notice when something is askew.  Ninth graders like Ricky need special attention.  Thermals are an ongoing problem; the majorette, of course, cannot wear them, but they are the source of many complaints and she has become an expert on fixing folds and kinks on a moment’s notice.

        “S - stay still!” Brigid repeats, like a mother.  Ricky’s jacket is tight and various parts of Brigid bounce as she tugs the collar to one side.

        Ricky is a little spoiled and always feels he is being put upon by circumstance.  He reaches up to brush a fallen snowflake from his cheek, accidentally flicking Brigid about an inch below her left circlet.  “I don’t like these thermals!  They’re scratchy -- and hot!”

        “T - talk to your m - mother about that.”  The collar finally fixed, Ricky scampers back to his place in line and gets his alto sax back from his classmate Jim Joyner.  Brigid grabs her baton and shakes herself all over.  Her body is almost purple by now.  She brushes the white flakes off her red, pinned-up hair.

        They’ve been waiting here behind the fence for fifteen minutes.  Thirty seconds left on the clock is when they assemble for the halftime show.  Roxbury is leading Brookline 25 to 7, thanks to Jermaine’s on-target passes to LaShawn.  They were watching the clock count down when with 18 seconds left a Brookline player got injured and paramedics took over.  It didn’t look that serious -- maybe a broken finger -- but it’s been taking forever to resume play.  Once the band gets on the field, Brigid can do her moves and get her blood moving again.  People often wonder how majorettes can go out in the cold while being so scantily dressed.  “It’s okay because we move around so much,” is the standard answer.  “We’re getting quite a workout out there!”  But being forced to stand around is . . . not easy.