I used to think it was as simple as hello and goodbye.  You walk into a bar, you sit down, a guy walks up, buys you a drink and three or four hours later, your getting dressed and walking out of his life, just as quickly as you came into it.  It was the same thing every Friday and Saturday night.  That is the life I lead.  Every weekend, someone different.  I was young, stupid, and didn’t know what love was.  Everyone says its all butterflies, rainbows and happy thoughts, that sounds like a bad acid trip to Oz to me.  So, what do you do to change this awful habit that you develop at such a young age, and what makes you think this is what love is like?  Let me tell you my story….

I was adopted at the young age of five.  My birth parents gave me up at the age of two, saying they weren’t ready to be parents yet.  The family that adopted me, took me in full of love and joy and happiness.  Mom was a doll.  She was 5’2″ and all of a hundred pounds, she had beautiful vibrant red hair that fell in curls all over, and these brown eyes that looked like chocolate.  Dad was 6’3″ and he had Dark brown hair and Dark brown eyes, they suited him well.  I was fine for the first 4 years I lived in this happy, fun place.  I got anything I wanted, all I had to do was look up at them with my big green eyes and stick out my bottom lip, and there it was.  Mom and I would shop every weekend, we would hit all the outlet malls, I had designer everything!  From shoes, to purse to jeans, there was no limit.  Rachael, my mom and Steve, my dad, were very well off.  Dad owned his own company, and he sat back and told everyone what to do.  So, that gave Mom and I plenty of money and time on the weekends to do and go where we wanted.  I was so happy those first four years.  Then I turned nine, and things started to change in the house.

Oh yeah, by the way, my name is Bethany, and I was born on Halloween, which is also my favorite holiday.  Anyways, On my ninth birthday, Mom decided to throw a huge Halloween party at the house and invite all of our friends and their children.  It was an amazing night, we bobbed for apples, and had birthday cake, and a costume contest, and the adults sat back and sipped champagne and ate little mini quiches and puff pastries.  it was everything that a girl could dream of.  I went as a princess, in a pretty pink dress that showed off my newly budding curves, and a beautiful cubic zirconia tiara.  My Dad said I was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, even prettier than Mom.  That made me feel really special.  With my blonde hair pinned up in tight little curls that fell down my back, and my little silver heels that mom bought especially for that night, I felt really pretty, and when Dad confirmed how pretty I was, that made it so much more pleasant.

The night wore on, and it was well after midnight when the guests all left.  I was pretty exhausted myself, and at nine, that is kinda late to stay up.  Mom was a little tipsy from all the champagne, and was headed off to bed.  Dad took me upstairs and helped me take my tiara off and pull my hair out of all the pins.  I slipped out of my dress and heels and into a nightgown, and he tucked me in.  He told me how beautiful I looked that night, and that he couldn’t imagine having a prettier little girl.  He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead, and then kissed me on the lips.  I was shocked by that, and pushed him away…..

I don’t remember much after that, I remember him telling me that I was pretty, the prettiest girl in the whole world, and how one day I would make some boy very happy, but tonight it would be him.  I just kept hearing that over and over.  This went on for years.  I was 15 when I finally told Mom.  She denied it.  I left.  Ran away.  I called her two weeks later, and she told me that Steve had left, and that he wasn’t coming back.  I came home.  She divorced Steve, and we got half of everything.  Steve killed himself about 3 weeks after the divorce.  I got everything else.  He willed everything to me.

I went to college straight from high school.  I majored in Journalism and minored in photography.  I also studied the bars and clubs.  I lived in them when I wasn’t doing homework.  That’s when the habit formed.  I would walk in, my platinum blond curls bouncing, my green eyes hungry, my curves just asking to be touched.  Every night, a different boy.  This was a common occurrence.  There were a couple of nights, I moved from one boy to the next.  I used them, I was the prettiest girl in the whole world..right?  That’s what Dad had always said, and it was my job to make some boy very happy.

So, here I sit, twenty three years old, and enough notches on my belt, to make a sailor blush.  My friends kept telling me I needed to take a break from the bar scene, and just try to be more ‘normally’ social.  Whatever that means.  I work at the local paper writing a ‘social’ column and I do photography jobs when they come up, weddings and proms are my big payers.  When I sit there and I look at the bride and groom in a wedding and I take the pictures of them, and see them look at each other with that look in their eyes, I wonder, will that ever be me?

The first wedding I ever did, the bride and groom loved my pictures, and referred me to everyone they knew, so for the next year, I was booked to do her sister, niece, aunt, best friend, and her friend’s friends, and so on and so forth.  I was busy at least one weekend out of every month for wedding shoots.  During the week I was working on articles for the paper.  I noticed that I was only hitting the bars and clubs 3 weekends out of the month.  Maybe I could shake this nasty habit.

That’s when I met him.  It was a Friday afternoon and I was trying to finish up an article on a local charity event, and was trying to get some research done at the library downtown.  I had my ‘research clothes’ on.  A pair of jeans, white tank and a light sweater, it was cold in the library, and my favorite pair of tennis shoes.  I had my hair pulled up in a pony tail and a pencil in my mouth, while I was perusing the microfilm.  I heard a thump behind me, and there was a man standing there looking at the microfiche viewer like it had assaulted him.  He was wearing a pair of loose fitting jeans, a blue polo, and a pair of running shoes.  He had Black hair and startlingly green eyes. 

Next thing I know he is letting out a quiet stream of curse words that would make even the saltiest of pirates in a movie blush.

“Can I help you?”  I asked gently, not wanting to anger him anymore.

“Damn machine, it won’t turn on, I hit the button and no power.”  He again looked at the Microfiche viewer like it had assaulted him.

“Ummm, that’s not the power button.”  I then reached over and turned the viewer on with a switch in the back.  “That’s just to turn the light off and on.”  I giggled and turned back to my own research. 

“Thank you, I now feel like a complete idiot, and wish I was in a hole hiding.”  He said as he pulled the chair out and sat down to look at the microfiche he had.  “Dammit to Hell, why is it all turned around?  Excuse me, ma’am, could you assist me one more time?”

I turned to look at him, and he had this lost look on his face, which made his lips look extremely kissable.  “I suppose I could.  What’s the issue?”

“The film looks like it’s upside down, and I can’t figure out how to change it, there aren’t any switches to flip it.  As you can tell, I am quite new to the whole microfiche, research, library type things.  Please forgive me my ignorance.”

I suddenly felt this lurch in my stomach.  “Let me take a look.”  I moved over to his viewer and pulled the archived document out and turned it around, and slid it back into the viewer.  Took a look and everything was right side up and clear as a bell.  “There ya go.”

“Wow, amazing!  Do you work here, are you a librarian?” 

“No, sir, I work for the local paper.  I am here doing research about three times a week.”  I held out my hand, ” My name is Bethany, if you need anything else, let me know.”

“Thank you kindly, Bethany.  My name is Howie, that is short for Howard, but only my Mom is allowed to call me Howard.”  He shook my hand softly, and then turned back to his viewer.

The afternoon wore on, and in the midst of the silence of the library, there was a huge grumbling of my stomach.  I hadn’t realized it was so late.  I heard a chuckle from behind me, and realized Howie was snickering at me.

“You sound like you need to have dinner bought for you.”  He said, still chuckling.  “I know a good pizza place right around the corner.  If you would like to go?”  He looked away, almost shyly.

My stomach lurched again.  “That sounds great.  You don’t have to buy my dinner though.”

“But I would really like to.”  His eyes seemed to be pleading with me.

“Okay.  Let me just gather all my stuff up and put this microfilm back in it’s rightful place.”  I started to get up, straightened up my research work, and put all the microfilms I was working on, back in their assigned spots, grabbed my backpack, and we headed out the door and around the corner to Luigi’s Pizza and Pasta.

We got a table quickly, and the waitress asked us what we would like to drink.  I ordered a coke and he ordered an iced tea.  “So, what do you do for the local paper?”

“I write a local social column, well they call it a social column.”  I laughed and rolled my eyes.

“I think I read that column, are you Beth Thangler?”  He seemed truly awed.

I laughed again, “Yes, that’s me.  Scary isn’t it?”

“Your columns are fun and very informational, I enjoy reading them.”  He looked very sincere when he said it.  His eyes were soft and his smile genuine.

“Thank you.”  Again my stomach lurched.

Our waitress brought our drinks out, we ordered a cheese and black olive and hamburger pizza, and sat and talked about the weather, and some of the local events, and upcoming events.  We ate our pizza and chatted some more.  I learned he was a law student and was due to graduate in the next year.  He worked at the DA’s office part time and went to school the rest of the time.  He grew up in a small town just north of here. 

He paid for the dinner, and told me he really enjoyed talking to me, and said he hoped to see me in the library again sometime.  Walked me out the door, and to my Camaro parked in the Library parking garage.  Told me good night, and walked away.  My stomach did a complete flip flop, as I watched him walk away into the night.  I got into the Camaro, started it up, and pulled out of the garage, and drove out to the house.  It was a long drive, with nothing but the roar of the V8 engine and the thoughts of Howie in my head.  I pulled into the drive way, and realized how lonely it was going to be tonight.  I considered going in, throwing on my little black dress and my favorite heels, and hitting the bar.  Then I thought about his green eyes, and those lips that just begged to be kissed.  I went inside, crawled into my favorite pair of flannel pajamas, grabbed a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked, and curled up on the couch and watched Gone With the Wind.

Howie crossed my mind quite a bit that weekend, and I stayed in the whole weekend, cooking myself a small dinner on Saturday evening, and watching movies I loved growing up as a child in this very house.  I thought about what Mom might think of how I had grown up.  I thought about all the things I had been doing to myself.  That weekend was a life turning weekend. 

Now, if I could just get Howie to see me again.  I didn’t have his number, and didn’t give him mine.  But, he knew who I was, if he wanted to, he could contact me.  So, I started the wait. 

(to be continued)