Thank you to those who have read & reviewed so far :) I would like everyone to take note that though this is a Hyde & Jackie story, it will also contain moments shared by the other characters. Also, Hyde and Jackie may not appear in every chapter. I like to focus on stories as a whole, not a narrow path of only two people.

2.

January, 1980

New York was fast paced. My cool, tough guy demeanor was no match for the city that never sleeps. I continuously rolled uncomfortably in my newish bed at night. Cars passed and honked at every hour of the day and night. Guns were shot close by on occasion. Once, I thought I'd heard a fight on my block. I ignored it. It wasn't my business.

The job I found was at a butcher shop next to a Korean owner mini market. My boss was a fat Italian who claimed to know everything there was about meat. I had to stifle a laugh. Daily, I came home smelling like blood. The hot shower waiting for me was never nearly enough to soothe the aching muscles and bored mind I had. Life was great. But I was sick of staying in my daily routine.

When I was bummin' around with Forman and Kelso, at least there was always something to do. For such a small town, Point Place served its purpose well. New York was big and booming and never ending. I liked it. But I'm not so sure it liked me.

I found myself snagging a second job just to pay rent for my measly apartment and monthly bills. I was running out of food.

Part-time butcher boy, part-time mechanic. My weeks were spent with Antonio, slicing up flank steaks for the neighborhood housewives that trudged through any type of weather to guarantee their husband's a fine cooked meal that night. Lucky bastards.

Weekends were dedicated to grease and wrenches while elbow deep in the engine of a Toyota. Needless to say, I was becoming exhausted.

I kept to myself mainly; people watching while drinking a beer after work, blowing THC smoke out my bedroom window. My landlord threatened to kick me out if he found me smoking in his complex one more time. Bastard smokes a pack of cigarettes a day in his living room.

Once in a while, I'd go down to a pay phone and call people. Mrs. Forman, W.B., Donna or Forman...didn't matter too much. I never heard too much from Kelso, he was trying to spend more time with his daughter. And trying to nail my sister a few times more in life. Fez tried talking to me when I'd talk to Forman or Donna. I humored him and listened, trying to laugh at his jokes.

"Hyde, when are you coming back to visit?"

I took a deep breath and let it out. "M-man, I don't know. The r-roads are r-real icy outta town over here."

"Yes, you sound cold." Fez spoke as if his word determined whether I truly was cold or not, despite my shivering body beneath a thin flannel and torn up pair of jeans.

"Look man, I gotta go. I gotta be at work in a few minutes." I lied. I had the day off, outta special request of Antonio's wife. She happened to adore me.

"Oh...okay." He sounded sad. "Well, I miss you Hyde."

I chuckled. Fez, man. He's like a little kid. "Yeah, yeah. I miss yah too, man."

I never spoke to Jackie on the phone. I never asked about her and no one ever told me what she was doing or who she was doing it with. Fez only wanted to talk about nonsense, rather than the girlfriend he finally nabbed after years of obsessively stalking her.

I bet they were great in bed together. I lit a cigarette and strolled back towards my apartment complex's stoop. Dragging out that tar tasting addiction of smoke, I gazed around my neighborhood. To the point of poverty, it was simple. Broken beer glass covered the sidewalk and graffiti covered almost every dumpster and alley wall. A few cars had slashed tires or smashed out windows or bullet holes in the side. I lived in a shit hole.

This is exactly why Jackie and you will never work out. My mind pointed out.

Jackie could never handle a place like this. With dirt and drugs and prostitutes everywhere. Where drive-bye's were more and more common every day, and women couldn't come out at night for fear of being raped.

I lived in the slums and Jackie Burkhart came from a castle. No wonder she never asked to talk to me when I called home.

I flicked my cigarette and went back inside. I needed a nap.

I have no idea what time I'd fallen asleep. And I didn't know what time it was when I woke back up. But it was dark and cold. I had one blanket.

Groaning, I rolled over and pulled my blankets over my head, trying to keep in as much body warmth as possibly. I had a headache. I always get a headache when I call home. I hate that they miss me. I feel guilty every time someone asks when I'm coming home. I always say I can't. I don't have time. I don't have the money. The El Camino needs a tune up. I picked up an extra shift. I'm sick.

Anything.

At one point, W.B. had me locked in a serious conversation. "Now tell me the truth, Steven. What's really keepin' you from comin' home?"

He knew what I was going to say. I knew he knew. But I still lied. "Man, it's just...I mean, really...it's money. I'm not makin' enough cash to drive the El Camino back home."

"Steven, you can always come to me for money."

"Nah. Thanks, man." I shifted uncomfortably on the other line. "But...I can't. I gotta do this on my own."

In a sense, I didn't lie. I did believe that I had to do...whatever I was doing on my own. I had to get my shit together and focus. Self sustainability. My new goal. I'd always been a survivor and a fighter. I had to tackle the Big Apple. I had to test myself. When you're scrapin' at the bottom of the barrel, tryin' to reach the top, you don't give up. I was pretty rock bottom in comparison to where I thought I'd be when I moved to New York. But, I mean, I like a challenge.

W.B. never asked his question again. He avoided any conversations that questioned my judgement about living so far from everything I'd known.

The wind whistled outside, breaking my memories away from me. I hate lying awake at night. I groaned again and rolled back over to sit up and grab some supplies off my bedside table: herb, tobacco, rolling papers, pencil, notebook.

I began to roll. The trick to rolling a spliff or joint, for those of you who don't know, is that it's all in the thumbs. The pot and tobacco rolls in one fluid motion between the papers, then sealed, packed with the pencil, lit, smoked. I leaned back in my bed, taking a long drag. I held it in, closed my eyes, and smiled.

About a year ago, maybe, around this time...I tried to teach Jackie how to roll. She wanted little petite, "cute" joints to have. She tried and got it on the first time, her thumbs being so small and all. She rolled a baggies worth and we proceeded to smoke a joint each while watching tv.

Truth be told...I miss the fuck outta that girl.

W.B. wasn't an idiot, he knew what was up with me. He understood.

I closed my eyes and let the feeling of aloofness wash over me.

"Like this?" Jackie pressed the weed down and slowly started to roll the white paper between her fingers and thumbs. "Steven, am I doing it?"

His eyes were smiling. "You gotta lick it first so it'll stick."

Jackie shot him a sideways glance, "I've heard that from you before."

He cracked a lopsided grin. She handed him her freshly rolled joint. "Perfect." He handed it back to her. "Here. Ladies first."

She cooed, and sat against him as she stuck the joint between her lips and lit it. Inhaling that sweet taste, she turned to me and pressed her mouth to mine. I parted my lips and inhaled. She was shotgunning me. And followed it with a slip of the tongue and playful bite at the end. I kissed her forehead and draped my arm around her and relaxed. Life was good.

I lied in bed for the rest of the night, thinking of that feeling.

A/N: Sorry for those who don't like shorter chapters. It's just my style.