Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/23



THE GLOOM OF THE AUDITORIUM had been perennially deepened by the shadows cast upon it from the giant cottonwood trees surrounding it. Shadows that roamed over its rows of endless worn shingles, on the grounds that bedplated its weather-beaten sides, moved and swayed in the moonlight as if some unseen hand was fanning their decaying bark. In Cotton, the auditorium meant a perfect floor to dance on … a good time; but to Gaylord it was an ugly thing of the past, a leap into the days of his childhood.

It had none of the architectural beauty which distinguished so many public buildings in the South. Apparently, it belonged to that period of square-shaped ones which had been built with no thought of beauty, only for quick and easy construction. And, if Gaylord could have chosen the building where dances were to be held he would never have chosen this one. He clenched his teeth together and looked away from it … looked at the long line of parked cars.

Automatically, he pulled into a vacant space, took the key from the ignition, opened the door and got out. As he stood on the gravel, feeling the large rocks pressing into the soles of his shoes, he locked the door, and then, with one last look at his car, started toward the old structure that centered the public park.

He felt a pang, deep and cutting, seeing couples walking hand in hand towards the auditorium. He would have to walk alone. Why did he always have to be alone? Little biting thoughts of worry began fretting his mind and he was glad for the darkness. Would they think he couldn't get a date? He fingered his soft shirt and unbuttoned the 13