I Do Not Own That '70s Show
The Girl Who Got It
Eric is such a sweet guy. He's the type of boy I thought Michael was. He's the type who actually wants to get married and have children. He wants a house with a picket fence and a tire-swing. He wants to settle down before he sows his wild oats and he wants to do it with a childhood crush. The only thing is, I'm not that crush. I'm not the girl next door.
And that girl…She's okay, I guess. I barely know her. She's kind of uppity in a way. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the way she's so sure of herself all the time. And it gets on my nerves how confident one person is in themselves. I know I'm not, and maybe that's what bothers me. It bothers me how they're all so confident.
And Eric isn't. I can tell he's so vulnerable and open. And how he pines to be loved, like a stray kitten or a puppy without a home. And I guess that I started going over to his place to look for Michael, and somewhere, somewhere along the way there came the day I went to see him instead. I wanted to see Eric.
It was kind of refreshing to hear a guy talk about his feelings the way Eric did. He described everything with so much texture and color. He spoke of love as if it was something more than one of Fez's Flowers, or Michael's Chains. It was more than one of Steven Hyde's Conspiracies or Donna's 'If it's there, it's there' sort of things.
Eric had made it so personal, the way he spoke of a wonderful future, and not just for himself, but for everyone. And I know he doesn't care for me too much, and perhaps part of that is my fault. I guess sometimes I have to hide my respect for him otherwise the others might think I like him or something. And I do like him. But I don't like-like him.
I don't.
I don't!
Stop thinking I do!
I said I didn't, so just stop it already. He's a friend of a friend sort of guy. And anyone who thinks we'd be a good match is just full of it. Because I know my taste, and I like strong men. Like, big, strong men who can actually grow facial hair. Guys with big arms that I can lose myself in. And who I can trust, and who trusts me back! And who hear me, and get me. Isn't that what all the girls want? Just someone to have fun with? Someone to pass the years together.
And Eric has that with someone else.
And he loves her. I can tell. The way his eyes light up when she enters a room, or the way he makes a fool out of himself doting over her every little need. And she likes the attention. She basks in it. And I think she's falling for him too, probably tripping all over her big feet. And who can blame her? I'm tangled all up in my thoughts about the skinny Star Wars obsessed guy myself.
Yeah, so I'll admit that much.
I'm tangled up in thoughts over him.
But it doesn't mean I like him.
No, far from it.
I should know. I drew fine lines between him and myself. And now…now I guess I'm tangled up in those too.
Ugh, I keep going back to him. And you're making me do this! I'm so tired of it! It doesn't matter! There's nothing there and you are shoving my nose in what doesn't exist isn't going to change a damn thing!
And I'm not in denial.
I'm not in anything. So ha! I win.
I win…
Okay, so you don't have to say it or think it. Maybe I don't win. Maybe life isn't a competition. Maybe the only person I'm fooling is myself, so please just let me be. All I have left is my "rich girl" fantasy life. Maybe it's because my "real life" isn't all that I've lied about. Maybe it's hard to look in the mirror day after day, and notice how everyone passes me by, as if I'm standing still on a crowded New York sidewalk. And the strangers never notice. Those who said they love you never notice. Michael never noticed.
And yet Eric would.
If we were ever alone, he'd ask me what was wrong. He'd sit so close to me, I could smell the soap he used when he took a shower. I could even tell you the fabric softer that his mother put in his clothes. That's how close he would sit. And when he would politely take my hand in his, I'd be surprised how strong he was. And he wouldn't be a Hercules, but I would be reminded he was a man. I had insulted him otherwise for so many years, I guess I'd convinced myself otherwise.
And his hands would be so soft, so welcoming. It was if he had been wanting to hold onto a woman for so long. And he chose me.
He listened to me, and having him there listening to me vent, that within itself made me feel better.
Sounds stupid, right?
Me, feeling better, because of such a sweet guy. And after he'd patiently listen to me, I would dare look into his pale green eyes. I could tell he was a good one. He was the type of fella I had decided long ago never existed. My mother would tell me about this kind of innocently charming guy, a bit of a fumbler but stern where it counted. He was the type who was honest, trusting, loyal and so ever true.
And I gotta tell you that I couldn't help myself. Then I would look down at his thin lips that parted softly, I would almost lean in to kiss him. And it was weird, because I never thought I liked him. And bear with me, I know this sounds flakey and cliché, but Eric Forman was a turn on. And just like that, I was all untangled and unraveled and falling for him a million miles a second.
And he saw it coming to.
His eyes would betray how much he wanted me, but his heart never betrayed that girl-next-door. He would then get up quickly, and with a red face would ask me politely leave. I would be so embarrassed but I would grab my purse and my sweater and leave as quickly as I could.
I would be turned down. But that wasn't the humiliating part. No, I guess it would be the fact that I was so vulnerable and wanted him. I wanted those oh-so kissable lips to kiss me back, and his arms to swallow me up and never let me go.
But he wasn't mine.
And for the first time in our relationship, between me and Michael, I was the cheater.
Eric is just too much of a decent guy to go through with anything. And I knew he would never tell Michael of what had happened. He wouldn't hold over what happened over my head, like a carrot dangling from disaster. Eric was cut from a good cloth. Meanwhile, I would feel like some sort of trash.
I mean, you have to understand, I never thought I'd fall for anyone other than my Michael. But, these feelings sort of wandered in, and took over.
Anyways, thanks for listening, but I have to go.
And for the record, I don't like him.
I just needed someone to talk things over with.
() () ()
After explaining things to herself in her bathroom mirror, Jackie reapplied her makeup and fixed her '70s style ascot. She straightened her skirt, and let out a long sigh, telling her school-girl reflection, "I don't like him, so stop staring at me as if I do!"
She then turned on her heel and left the bathroom.
But before she left, she stopped by the door, thinking to herself. Why is it she told herself the same fantasy about Eric over and over again, and even in those they never kissed?
As she walked in her room, she slowly closed the door and turned on the radio. And on her small radio, a DJ by the name of Jerry Thunder played a tune from the band Badfinger titled 'Come and Get It.'
She looked herself in the eye, her reflection on her dresser mirror. Holding Mr. Fluffy-Cakes, a stuffed animal from way back when, she shrugged, smiling to herself "Oh, what the hell?"
She imagined herself back in the basement, talking with Eric. He was there, sitting so close to her, being the perfect gentleman as always. But this time she kissed those oh-so kissable lips and lost herself in his arms. This time he didn't pull back but held her closer to him, wanting her. And she had to admit, it was a much better ending.
If You Want It,
Here It Is,
Come and Get It.
Make Your Mind Up Fast.
If You Want It,
Any-time,
I Can Give It.
But you better hurry
'Cause It May Not Last.
For anyone who's ever tried denying themselves the truth.