Who me?

I am Beth. Yes, Beth is my name. I never really think about my name. Whether I like it, or don't. Whether I'm supposed to wonder about liking it, or not. I go to college. A rundown shit hole they call a college, in this rundown shit hole town. I want to be in college forever. I feel it will make me better than everyone else. And I am probably right when I look around at the kids these days. I've danced for 14 years now. Every kind of dance. I started out in ballet. And though I hate pop and rap music, I do dance my best when dancing to it.

I never told myself... "I want to pop pills!". But come Friday after my fucking week I take a few pain killers, what ever kind, and go to a pub like club. It's old-fashion and comfortable. It's stained glass light fixtures make it soothing. Plus... I work there.
I dance, in clothes that is, to entertain our guests. There are only three of us and we carry our dancing as a privilege there. We have come to grow on our boss.

Larry. He is a good man, a bad man, a noble man... an asshole. He never treats us girls bad. But he is not a protector. He only cares. I met Cal on my own. But, I still look at Larry like he is our introducer. Cal wouldn't have ever been in our pub if it wasn't for Larry. I would have never been in the pub if I didn't want to be a ballerina when I grew up. None the less, we met. He wasn't near me that whole night. I never even really noticed him. But he noticed me.

That night when the bar cleared, the two other girls went with some men, and Larry took his usual dark clothed crew to the back, I sat at the piano. Larry got it for me. Well, for the pub. But because of me, I think.

I played with my entire being. You play different when you are alone. It was so real, my body broke into a piano itself. My fingers, were keys.
I paused mid song because I hit a C. One wrong note out of all my fingers notes. My thumb was supposed to be on the B.

"That was beautiful." Said a voice that lingered on my backbone. I turned abruptly to see, Cal. A man handsome in his own right. He had his own genre. Perfect fitting dark jeans. Muscular, and healthy looking. Light brown hair and light green eyes. He had the weak smell of a wonderful cologne I still can't place. Since that day it's been weak, and enough too. Mm. I guess I say he's his own genre because he seems to have a cloud around him. Some thick aura like cloud. Filled with spirit. Spirit of every kind. Compassion, coldness, sex appeal, and friendship, arrogance, slyness, and honesty. Yes, Cal is honest.

I love him. It's a platonic love. Every in an out of the word platonic, is us. Except for one. I think. We haven't had sex. But, we have a sexual connection. So, maybe we aren't platonic. This, is where our issues are. This, is what separates us, from the world. Everything with us, and around us... is, and isn't, at the same time.