Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. Degenerate Matter, their albums Vagabondage, Ultrarelativistic, WIMPs and MACHOs, Frozen Stars and all the song lyrics contained therein copyright to the author of this story (username: MistyMountainHop, maker of Those '70s Comics).

CHAPTER TWO
FARTHER AND FURTHER

May 28, 1994

Kenosha, Wisconsin

Hickory Lane Funeral Home and Cemetery

…

Outside in the cemetery gardens, beneath a copse of white cedar, Hyde decided against having a smoke. Reeking of tobacco here wouldn't happen. Betsy and Isabella didn't need to experience that side of him, but he freed his hair from the rubber band. It was giving him a headache, or maybe the burial was the culprit. Kim's mother wept openly, as did Kelso. Betsy clung to Brooke and began sobbing herself, probably because her dad was crying.

Hyde's reflex was to help, but after years of stepping forward, he stood back. His legs stiffened as people threw dirt on Kim's casket, as Ax lost control over himself and lunged at his brother Casey. Ax swung at Casey's jaw, but Kelso and their brother Will pinned Ax to the ground.

"You killed our sister!" Ax shouted, and the accusation blasted through the gardens. "You ridiculed her and ridiculed her until all she wanted to do was disappear. She's dead now. Mission fucking accomplished!"

Another Kelso brother came to Casey's defense, and sides were taken around the burial plot. They were adults acting like a bunch of kids in a schoolyard fight. It was obvious even from a distance, from Hyde's vantage point by the copse of trees. Pastor Dave tried to intervene. But only when the Kelso brothers' father yelled sense into them, saying their behavior dishonored Kim's memory, did they grow the hell back up.

"Man, that was some scene, huh?" Forman said afterward. He was weaving through a cluster of tombstones toward Hyde, but he wasn't alone. Donna walked close behind, and Red was carrying three-year-old Isabella. Mrs. Forman had Izzy's supply bag, clutching it to her stomach. She seemed cold, but she'd brought only a shawl to keep her warm.

Hyde moved from the trees and met them in a clearing of grass and dandelions. "Mrs. Forman, take this." He pulled off his suit jacket and gave it to her. She put down Izzy's supply bag and draped her shawl over Red's shoulders, drawing giggles from Izzy. "Wisconsin in May?" Hyde said as Mrs. Forman slipped on his jacket.

"I know," she said. "I just didn't think it would be this cloudy today." She hugged herself and shivered. "Thank you, Steven."

"Don't thank him," Donna said. "He just wanted to show off." She grasped Hyde's left biceps, and he flexed it, mainly to get her to quit touching him. "You're a freaking beast."

He wasn't really, but years of hauling steel, rigging up lighting trusses and the like, had built up his arms and back. Unlike Forman, he didn't hit the gym. Hell, even Red worked out more than Hyde did. Hyde just worked.

"Hyde, Hyde!" Izzy stretched her small hands toward him. Red brought her over, and Hyde held her. "Can we play Wonder Woman?" she said, and he positioned her so that she was lying in his arms, stomach-side down. He dashed with her through the grass and around the Formans, and she extended her arms as if she were flying.

"Be careful with my grandkid, Steven," Red said. "I only have one." His voice had thinned through the years, but it still carried power.

The same strength applied to Donna's watchful eye. Hyde felt it on him, but he'd earned back her trust years ago. Otherwise, he wouldn't be holding her kid right now. "I can't believe Ax actually threw a punch," she said.

"I can," Forman said. "Casey's an—" He caught himself, before saying a word inappropriate for Izzy's ears. But Hyde had Izzy well distracted. Forman probably could've gotten away with it. "Casey's like a super villain."

"I feel so bad for Helen," Mrs. Forman said. "First to lose a child, then to have her other children fighting like that?"

"They're Kelsos, Kitty," Red said and slid his arm around her shoulders. "You know, D-U-M-B-A-S-S-E-S."

Hyde continued Izzy's flight, altering her altitude in a smooth, wave-like motion. "Wonder Woman! Wonder Woman!" Izzy sang between elated screams and giggles. Her red hair had fallen over her face, which was the perfect mesh of Forman's and Donna's. No mistaking whose kid this was.

"Okay, Wonder Woman," Donna said after another minute, "I think it's time for a flying break."

Hyde maneuvered Izzy upright before passing her off to Donna. She swept hair off Izzy's forehead, and Forman kissed Izzy's flushed cheek.

"Why don't we let Famor and Farfar take her for some Goldfish and juice?" Forman said. Famor and Farfar were the Swedish terms for one's paternal grandparents. Forman had come up with the idea, to distinguish herself and Red from Midge and Bob, Izzy's nonna and nonno.

"All right," Donna said and hugged Izzy close. "You're gonna have snack-time with Famor and Farfar, okay?" She returned Izzy to Red but held onto Izzy's hand. "Remember the benches we passed by, beneath the pine trees?"

"We'll find 'em." Red bounced Izzy in his arms, making Izzy laugh.

Mrs. Forman started to take off Hyde's suit jacket, but he waved at her to keep it. "Later," he said, and she moved back through the tombstones with Red and Izzy.

Forman's casual demeanor shifted once his folks and kid were gone. He slouched and stared at his shoes. Though he'd gotten better at putting up false fronts, they usually crumbled at the first safe moment.

Hyde had purposely chosen an isolated bit of the cemetery for a meeting spot, in case Forman needed to talk. It was far from Kim's burial site and the most cultivated part of the gardens. The grounds even had a pond. Most of the funeral attendees would likely take a look at it before heading off.

"Forman," Hyde said, "what's up?"

"Casey's an asshole," Forman said. "And so am I."

Donna jostled his suit jacket sleeve. "No, you're not. Why would you even say that?"

"Moooo," he said, slowly and drawn out.

"Eric, come on. That was over twenty years ago."

Hyde's craving for a cigarette burned his throat. He'd left his pack in the suit jacket he'd lent Mrs. Forman. His gum was in the jacket, too. He'd chewed a bunch during the service, as surreptitiously as he could. The spat-out remains were wadded up in wrappers and shoved inside his slacks pockets.

"Yeah," he said. "Pam Emaciated was the main problem." He plucked out a chewed piece of gum and removed its silver wrapper.

"Hyde!" Donna jabbed him in the stomach, hard enough that he dropped the gum onto the grass.

"What? It's ABC gum."

"That's disgusting, and so is what you said about Pam Macy. She was sick—"

"And now she's better," Hyde said, "unlike Kim, who's six feet underground."

Donna shook her head. "That's not entirely Pam's fault. Yes, she taught Kim the wherefores and whatnots, but Kim would've figured them out on her own."

"Maybe not," Forman said. "Maybe if I hadn't called her a heifer and the Kelso Family pig. … I mean, if some dick said that to Izzy, I'd kill him."

Hyde pulled out another piece of chewed gum. He popped it into his mouth before Donna could stop him, and he peered at the gray sky. He hoped it wouldn't storm. His flight for Switzerland left tonight. Degenerate Matter had a gig in Zurich two days from now, and he had to get back on the road, back to his life. Away from all this death.

"Let me put it this way, Forman," he said. "Calling her names behind her back was shitty, but Casey and Chris did the real damage. We don't know everything that went on in that house, and I got a feeling their parents don't either."

"You're right," Forman said and lost some of his melancholy. "But I can tell you this: Izzy will value herself from the inside-out. None of this superficial business."

"Eric—" Donna brushed her fingers through his hair and pecked his lips—"I've taught you so well."

Hyde turned away from them. His gaze wandered past the dandelion patch, and it landed on a pair tombstones. Maybe they belonged to a husband and wife. Forman and Donna were liable to wake their corpses. Noisy lips made for noisy kisses, and Hyde focused on a murmur of voices through the crisp air. Amid a cluster of tombstones farther away, two people were talking.

One looked like Kelso. The other was a blond woman.

Hyde stepped forward to get a better view. The woman patted Kelso's arm but only with her fingertips. A chasm of distance existed between their bodies, as if they were magnets with the same poles, repelling each other. Kelso spoke a moment later. Hyde couldn't make out the words, and she gestured to the tombstones. Kelso spoke again then left her, disappearing down the same path Red, Izzy, and Mrs. Forman had taken.

"Why don't you go say hi?" Donna said.

Hyde turned back toward her. "Why the hell should I?"

"Because I'm tired of having to pretend you don't exist when she visits, and this is the perfect opportunity to—"

"When who visits?" He wasn't purposely being dense. That blond chick couldn't be Jackie. Kelso must have been screwing with him before.

Forman pointed over Hyde's shoulder. "Her."

"Her who?" Hyde said and chomped his tasteless gum. He chewed and chewed until his jaw hurt.

"Jackie," Donna said, "and cut it out. I'm not asking you to reestablish ties. Just to acknowledge her existence—so I can acknowledge yours around her. She's staying with us after you leave." She heaved a breath. "You may have trained Betsy to keep mum about you, but I'm not putting that kind of pressure on Izzy. So rip the Band-Aid off."

"Yeah, maybe that's not a good idea," Forman said. "Some Band-Aids serve a purpose. You know, to keep blood from spilling."

Forman's concern was understandable, but Hyde wouldn't snap. He wasn't an overwound guitar string.

"See ya in a minute," he said and trudged through the dandelions. His boots crushed the weeds beneath them, but the petals and grass didn't stick. That was better than after a show, where he was used to ripping gig turds off his heels. Gaffer's tape was notorious for hitching rides.

Beyond the clearing, the closest tombstones rose from the ground like a mute, gray audience. He wended between the graves but didn't approach the next grouping. The blond woman was going from tombstone to tombstone and reading epitaphs. Her lips moved silently as she read, the only familiar behavior about her.

Hyde pressed forward but didn't come too close. He left several graves between them, and his tongue shoved the gum into his cheek. "Jackie?"

Her body jerked like he'd threatened her, but she didn't bolt. She glanced up with wide, brown eyes. They were full of terror and a distinct lack of recognition.

"It's Hyde," he said. "Steven."

Fear lingered in her eyes. He didn't appear all that differently than he used to, at least to himself. Or maybe this wasn't really Jackie, despite his friends' claims. Her features were smothered in makeup, and the bridge of her nose seemed slightly off center. But after fifteen years, his memory could be faulty. He never looked at old pictures of her, hadn't seen any new ones.

Her clothing was funeral-issue. A shapeless pea coat masked her figure. … If only she'd talk. Her voice would give her away.

A smile lifted his lips, a peace offering. "Never did find the car that runs on water, but it's out there, man. Government's just keeping it from us."

She still said nothing, but the fear in her face faded, leaving her eyes dull. Their lack of light was so startling it punched Hyde's heart to his knees. The woman standing before him, whoever she was, had become a living ghost.

Jackie's purse dangled, untouched, over her shoulder. She wanted the Valium inside, but she wouldn't reveal that part of herself. Not to him. Anxiety had burst through her numb shell. She didn't do well with the unexpected, but cemeteries were often the final stop on the Unexpected Express, so she was in the right place.

Steven should've been fat, his belly distended with years of beer. But his waist was slimmer than she remembered, and his arms were far more muscular. Gone were his eyeball ring, leather watch, and ever-present aviator sunglasses; but a chain of silver peeked out from his shirt collar. He also wore a bracelet of black, braided leather.

Most striking of all, though, was his hair. It was thick and reached his shoulders, with a fully-intact hairline. He wasn't balding, but the weight of his hair stretched the curls into waves. The color had changed, too, darkened from golden red to deep russet, like his mother's.

He was unrecognizable with that hair. Not until he'd mentioned his old conspiracy theory did she comprehend who he was.

Steven. Steven Hyde, but the name didn't stick. The man standing only feet away remained stranger, as if her mind couldn't process his physical appearance. Before this moment, she'd had no concept of him as a grown man, just clichéd theories. Among them, she thought he'd be covered in gross tattoos, but none were visible. He was clean shaven, too. All her assumptions about him had included a mountain-man beard.

He was obviously waiting for her to speak, but no words came to her. The lines around his eyes and mouth weren't deep like Michael's were. But Michael had been beaten into a coma by a mugger years ago. Maybe life had been gentler to Steven, keeping him from aging too fast.

She had to give a profound response, to be just as foreign to him as he was to her. To have an effect—God, that was all she really wanted, to have an effect on him. But she had no idea how he judged or interpreted people's behavior anymore.

Her anxiety grew into panic, and she looked at his eyes. They used to calm her when she was young. In her most frightening moments without him, they still did.

But only in her memory. It was an unhealthy, psychological crutch. One she'd halfway broken, and the other half broke now. His eyes were still the color of a winter sky; but they held nothing for her.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I don't think we know each other."

She fled past the tombstones, raced through black hills spruce and fragrant sumac to the cemetery pond. Bodies were buried in these gardens, laid in their final resting place. Her own life had ended years ago, but she wasn't resting. The road ahead was full of shattered glass, and her feet were already bleeding.