The band is mingling amongst us, indistinguishable from their audience at present. There are benches and tables that have been here since before we were born. Everything wooden has shrunken and swollen, and time has erased any horizontal uniformity this wood once possesed. It's Summertime in Texas, and the ancient, rusty fans are working hard to shelter us from the sweltering heat. The neon signs create an ambiance of gritty Southern pride, advertising Beer, Cowboy hats, and anything authentically Lone Star worthy.
There are lonesome stragglers nursing beer bottles that reflect and distort the lights from the signs. There are happy couples getting happier and more affectionate the more they drink. There are ashtrays full to the brim with discarded butts, and groups of smokers in clumps of thick, happy hazes. There are parents with young kids being raised on good music. There are cowboy hats, torn jeans, and tank tops wherever you look. In one shady corner, there is a pool game lit up from a overhead light casting a greenish glow that's muted by grey smoke. The dance hall is thick with Southern twang and smiles.
I sit with my party at one of the long tables on one of the slanted wooden benches, watching. Photographing. Listening. Smelling. Laughing. Loving. Treasuring.
The tables all have carvings in them that are highlighted by the neon glow. I sit and stare at the table and realize that every one of these markings is indistinguisable. Even if there were dates on this table, I'd not be able to make them out. I sit and I wonder how many people have sat right where my butt is planted. How many different kinds of people. Whether they were one of the stragglers, the pool aces, the smokers, the cowboys, the happy spouses, the children, the old ones, the band members, the locals, the tourists, the teens, the motorcyclists, the out of towners, the history makers.
In a way, you could say it was sad that they all left their marks only to become worn and carved over throughout the years. But, I don't think so. Even if a mark is indistinguishable, it is still prominent as long as you know it's there. As long as you can see it bending the light, or feel it with your fingertips, or trace it with your fingernail, it is still a mark.
I wonder if things were different when these marks were made, but something tells me things in this dance hall have always been exactly the same. The clothes may have been a bit different at one time, and the hair styles may have changed, but the feeling I get now tells me that it's here to stay. The smiles on everyones' faces tells me that this humble hall has always served the same purpose, and has an eternal ability to bring people together in a beautiful way.
I feel connected here in Gruene Hall. I feel as though I have found a timeless treasure. I feel closer to the past, present and future, and for that, I love this place.
-Alee
Alee,
