Saturday, November 3, 2012

Celebrate Estylo Frontera Bugalú

September 1, 2012

The pleasure of your company 
is requested at the marriage of

Amy Ann Porras
Brandon Alejandro Ayala

Dance & Celebration 
Nine O'Clock in The Evening 
Grace Gardens
6701 Westside Drive
El Paso, TX 79932

The church nestled on the far Westside. The service, beautiful and filled with tears. The tears that glimmer and make eyes overly shinny as they hang, precarious on the edge of the bottom lid, before one spills over and glides gently down cheeks flushed with happiness.

After, a certain sigh of relief as all the well wishers crowd around the newlyweds showering them with hugs and kisses, lip stick imprints and pats on the back. The sun is shining, warm. Small beads of sweat are added accessories to the court and guests as they linger in front of the church. Next?

The pictures. Downtown El Paso. Surrounded by The Camino Hotel, The Museum of Art, and the breath of the southwest. 
        "Okay! Parense asi. Close close. Y muñequita aca en frente."
        "My feet hurt."
        "It's hot."
        "It's so hot."
        "Is it always this hot here?"
        "Yes, girl!"

The father daughter dance. The son mother dance. The couples first dance.The dollar dance. The dance. 

      "Since Amy and I began planning this day, we knew that we had to have this band play for us and for you. We hope everyone enjoys their music as much as we do, Frontera Bugalú!"  Brandon said as he stood in front of the family, friends, and well wishers all there to be a part of their moment.

       "Estamos aqui para celebrar la union de Amy y Brandon. Les deseamos felicidades a la pareja en esta nueva vida. Y a bailar!"

The music starts. The rhythm bouncy. The kind of bouncy that has shoulders swaying, guests dancing in their chairs, as hips swing on the dance floor. The accordion player, also the singer, sways his head and rocks his body as fast as his fingers move across the keys.

Timid dancers make their way to the floor, but in seconds match the incessant rhythm. The numerous members of the band combine their chaotic strums and drums to make hips swing left right left in a sinuous circular motion. They dance too, as if the beat created is too much even for them to contain.

The floor? Now packed. Couples move back and forth against one another. Hands clasped and released only to be pulled tightly against one another. Moving. Swinging. Swaying. Around one another, away, and back. The beat, infective. Children move on the outskirts of the dance floor. Little girls try to pull their crushes to the floor, dance, then run away blushing. The bride and groom? Moving between guests, smiling and hugging, stopping to dance with one circle of people, moving on, but still keeping time with the music.

         "Y la que sige, se llama "La Murga" a moversen!"

The beginning similar, a moment to catch a breath, before it starts all over again Moving. Swinging. Swaying. Glistening sweat slickened bodies move in unison, become a living embodiment of the notes and strums, the beat of conga drums in celebration.

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