Scattered

"Beth, you ready?"

There was a knock on my closed bedroom door, bringing my thoughts to a front, as I was expecting her to arrive within the next five minutes.

Candice Michelle Leehan—A blonde (who occasionally acts like one), twenty-one year old female, current best friend of myself and speed-driving extraordinaire. If you were to somehow meet this girl, agree to have coffee with her the next day to exchange the dreaded about me's with one another—if something about you actually strikes her interest, that is—and you show up, greeting with her with a bright, "Hello Candice!" and earn a harsh smack on the side of your head with her purse, don't take it personally. I had the same encounter, before hearing that she prefers to be called "Candie" instead of her birthname.

There had been some cases where people had forgotten her little warning, and in return were hit in the head like a whack-a-mole. Quite terrified of receiving a concussion, I remembered her little nickname, and soon realized the name complimented her personality much more.

I was glad I had met her when I was eighteen, though. Because over the years, we had matured and now instead of using her purse as a friendly reminder of her warning, she instead used her sharp fingernails to pinch bruises into their skin. Well, maybe I was the only one who had matured. And between earning a headache from a purse or a bruise from a pinch, I wasn't sure which one was worse.

"Yeah, I'm coming,"

Just a little over a week ago, I had turned the marvelous age of twenty-one. And just a little over four days ago, I had gotten my first job since I was nineteen, which had been an unsuccessful employment at the local coffee shop. Candie worked along side me, and since she was born a year before I was, she had been working there previous to my stunning age change and was able to get me a position.

If you were curious, I worked as a bartender at Newport Beachside Hotel & Resort in Miami, Florida. Ridiculously long name, huh? That was why I usually referred to it as NBH & R.

I grabbed any purse that was within arms length and scampered over to the door, ready for a fun-filling day of bartending. And surprisingly enough, that statement didn't come attached with any sarcasm, because I could for once honestly say that I enjoyed working. One of the qualities of bartending that struck my interest the most was the people I served. They were all very nice—maybe this was because our hotel was in the more pleasant district of Miami, I didn't know—and when they needed to vent to someone about their rough day at work or problems within a relationship of theirs (and yes, there was much choking while discussing this topic on my part), they surely vented and I welcomed their troubles with open arms. Hey, if I couldn't solve my own goddamn problems (I had so many that, by this point, I'd forgotten most of them), at least give me the talent of solving everyone else's!

"Hey there," Candie grinned upon the opening of my door. I returned the gesture while placing the keycard into my back pocket so that at least one of us had a way into the hotel room. Candie was notorious for forgetting the important things and remembering everything else. Her explanation was always the same whenever our only entrance into our suite was nowhere to be seen (we'd already gotten six new keycards in the past, all of which mysteriously disappeared on Candie's part): "It must've slipped my mind." And the sad thing? I believed it because it was Candie who'd said it. With her, it wasn't surprising.

"You ready, Beth?" The dreaded nickname I'd come to despise. Did my eye actually twitch at the sound of it or was it just me?

I suppose you're looking for an explanation as to why I have been called "Beth", yes?

Let's start from the beginning, shall we? To recap; I left Rodeo, California on May thirteenth of 1990. And yes, if you're also wondering, I've kept in close contact with everyone since then. Thankfully, no one's been abandoned and I have some connection or another with everyone I'd ever spoken to while living there, other than one whose name should be rather obvious. But back to my original story: I'd left on May thirteenth, and arrived by multiple bus trips and taxi cabs to Miami, Florida late in the evening. While only having the choices of finding a motel or asking the man on the side of the road to share his blanket, I opted for the former and rented a room in the nearest Motel 6. Not that cuddling with an absolute stranger didn't sound like a dream come true or anything, but I chose the room to keep myself from having to use the moves my father had taught me as I child when he tried anything, which he was sure to push his luck somehow.

During my stay at the very luxurious Motel 6 that put most street curbs to shame, my thoughts reflected back on the events in Rodeo—no shock there; the reminders were literally smothering me. I figured, if so many things had changed so suddenly and without my consent, I should at least change something on my own accord. My name felt the most reasonable, considering my second option was a sex change, which wasn't exactly on my list of things to do. As I was eighteen years of age, I was classified as a legal adult and therefore had clear permission by the government to change my name without a parent or guardian's approval. So, with multiple visits to the Department of Vital Statistics and an uncountable amount of signed papers later, I changed from Spencer Rae Monroe to Elizabeth Nicole Garner. And I liked it.

My hair was now a vibrant shade of black, only barely reaching my shoulders in a choppy sort of fashion, only because I hated having to constantly deal with it at my mid-back.

Yet, just because my name, age and appearance had changed, I was still that familiar red-headed Spence beneath it all. I still constantly thought of Carly, Mike, Tre and Kris everyday and talked to at least one of them each of those aforementioned days. Those three words, the words that had completely changed the course of my life, still lingered at the front of my mind, usually acting as my wake up call in the morning and what put me to sleep at night.

Despite all that has happened, I still love Billie. Some would say I was hanging on to a hopeless case and that I would never receive anything in return for remaining so devoted to him, but Chase's words still rang through my ears, "Just remember one thing: Billie will always love you, even if he doesn't remember. And there's nothing wrong with still loving him." He was right, after all.

Boyfriends? Nah. Candie had attempted the "blind date" treatment, but they never ended well. The way I acted during the many dinners never resulted in the males asking for another date, which I was silently thankful for. I respected Candie for putting forth the effort of pulling me out of my cocoon, but her endeavors were futile and she knew it.

It took us a grand total of four minutes to reach the lobby of the hotel, since we could only afford a room on the third floor, despite the incredible twenty-seven floors it occupied. We made our way to the far side of the hotel, taking only another five minutes to do so and stopped near the pool, both with equal smiles.

"We're here. Such a long trip to work, huh?" Candie smirked while walked towards the back area of the rather large bar, taking to hanging her coat up and placing her belongings in one of the unavailable lockers that were offered to us.

Living in the same hotel that I worked at had its advantages, the main one being the fact that we didn't have to deal with the five o'clock traffic, usually consisting of impatient business men and women who were driving home from a hectic day at work and made a good use of very colorful language and horn-honking. The words "Miami" and "traffic" being placed in the same sentence never meant anything good.

I smirked. "You know it. I'm exhausted."

After giving a quick greeting to the man of the house, commonly referred to as our boss by the name of Kenny, we were free to do as our hearts desired from behind the counter of the bar. It was nearing five-thirty, meaning that our evening drinkers and vent-ers were soon to arrive.

We had a radio placed near one of the sinks below the wall of alcoholic beverages, I suppose to lighten the mood of those who were down, and Candie changed it to a suitable station while sipping her water from a water bottle she took with her from the refrigerator in the back room.

As if on cue, one of the doors opened near the left entrance of the resort and in came a man looking to be in his early or mid-twenties, appearing rather dejected. I straightened from my previous position against the counter and watched with a smile as he took a seat at one of the stools in front of me.

"Hi there, what can I get for you?" I asked in a soft tone, not wanting to place him in an even more bitter mood. From the looks of the bags beneath his eyes and his tattered clothing, he appeared to be having a rather rough time.

"Just a beer. Light, please." I nodded and grabbed a Bud Light from beneath the counter and opened it with one of our small bottle openers before sliding it across the counter to him. He nodded his thanks and took a large sip, sighing afterwards though didn't look as though it pleased him as much as he originally planned for it to.

"Is anything the matter?" I inquired, continuing to smile. Venting time.

The man sighed for a second time. "You don't want to hear me, I could go on for hours."

I laughed, liking this man already. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure your life is much more interesting than mine is. And by the way you're drinking that beer as if it were just water, I'd say my thoughts were confirmed." I smirked for his benefit, hoping to bring him out of his sour mood, though also anxious to hear his story.

He chuckled softly, though didn't meet my gaze and instead traced patterns on the counter top with his fingertip. "My wife—she's been cheating on me. For months. And I'm just now finding out about it."

Another marriage problem. I've heard these before.

I did as I normally would when talking to the guests—I helped in any way I possibly could, also throwing in bits and pieces of my own problems back in Rodeo just to ease the situation a bit. He was soon to discover most of the things that had happened, as I found he was a very easy man to converse with. He seemed very understanding and considerate of not only his feelings, but mine as well. It was like a breath of fresh air and I couldn't seem to get enough. So I told him everything from square one—moving to Rodeo, moving to Miami and every goddamn thing in between. I found myself laughing at how many issues I actually had in that small town, most of which hadn't been discussed freely even with myself in years.

"Beth, you might want to hear this," warned Candie, suddenly interrupting mine and the man's conversation. I waved her comment off, not wanting to stop now that I had started. And shockingly enough, the man seemed to be in awe with my story, almost like a small child at bedtime when his parents told him an interesting tale.

I heard Candie sigh and walk over to the counter, looking to be turning the radio up.

"... news that the Berkeley punk rock threesome, Green Day," My head raised at the awfully familiar name. " are promoting their second album, Kerplunk!, with a tour across the United States and have already started in Richmond, all the way across to the east coast and it's said that their next stop is right here in Miami." My face paled dramatically, strongly resembling the while flooring of the room. "No word yet on where their concert will take place, nor about any future venues, but keep checking in for more updates..." Candie lowered the volume back to its original tone and shot me a worried glance, as if expecting a tantrum to be thrown before her very eyes.

But that wasn't going to happen. Only mentally was I clawing my hair out. Physically, my jaw was somewhere near the floor.

The man that I had been ranting off to before the radio announcement eyeballed me with a sympathetic, yet slightly amused, expression.

"Eh, wow. Coming into contact with the ex after how many years? Three? Seems to me like you're screwed; forget about my problems."

I scowled darkly at the male.

I took back everything I said about him being understanding and considerate.