Bethany

Bethany

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Her style is "Nuevo punk" where she flaunts a firm body under a skintight Von Dutch t-shirt. It says, "Attitude—with money." Her flavor speaks of punk but also of prestige; not many are able to hit this trendy chic on the head, with Britney Spears as the exception. The clothes look stylistically dirty. Trendy dirty. Expensive dirty. The dirty that only means clean. The dirty you must pay for. The dirty you'll find in stores. They’re highlighted with well positioned rips and accentuating tears.

She's wearing a trucker hat over hair that's been treated with many vitamins and nutrients in the shower each morning. Its shine shouts, "Antioxidants!" Looking at her skin I see the exfoliated and moisturized epidermis in its ideal setting. I see it thriving with health where it breathes under tanning bulbs, courtesy of a monthly appointment schedule.

I see a delicate demeanor in her; she's careful what she says; she's polite; she's gentle. But I’ll bet there's a venomous bite tucked away for the eventual dark day. Nonetheless she's calm. She’s quiet. I see a girl who lets loose with foul language and violent dancing at rock concerts; a little lady who's throwing her head back and forth as a form of Stress Management.

Despite her obedience to fashion, nothing about the girl says "Home Ec." I envision this girl eating a bowl of cereal for dinner. Quick and easy, and she won't keep her friend waiting. She once grouped herself with the cheerleader girls, the dancer girls. The yuppie girls. But she's come to the realization that tragedy sparks beauty with her artist friends. She's somehow distant. Somehow detatched. Yet she certainly knows how to dance, breaking the mold I just described.

I had known this Bethany since I was a child : I remember day trips, along with my mother, to her house where I'd play computer games with her brothers. I never got to know this childhood Bethany well, and it makes sense, we were young. But what had she become since?

Less than a year ago she'd seen a picture of me and thought she'd set me up with a single friend—much appreciated. I was surprised by her autonomy, since I only remembered a girl who'd play with My Little Pony—definitely not a girl who'd listen to trendy music and laugh at my jokes. Definitely not a girl I'd be impressed by.

Her friend denied my invitation, but the ability to attract a beautiful girl showed my potential, in time. We went to the mall and found ourselves looking in the same stores. We went out to eat and found ourselves splurging with our diets. And eventually I invited her to an ECM Christmas Party where we found ourselves dancing together and fitting like puzzle pieces.

I remember that night : Despite braces I was dressed to impress with a sports coat and Santa tie. I didn't swoop her off her feet with my conversation, and I didn't woo her with my dancing abilities. Nonetheless I did dance with the pretty princess for most of the night. . .