Chapter 8
Separate Checks
(Special thanks to kashmir1, for helping me get over my writer's block)
(takes off where Eric and Mark go to the diner in Ch. 7)
The house looked tranquil from the outside, but Eric knew better when he and Mark arrived back here after their short talk at the water tower so they could take Eric's car to the 24-hour diner. Eric had wanted to talk, not pry, but was fearful that he would push Mark away if he did that. He had to be satisfied at the moment on what he did know about his only biological child. He was a mechanic, part time pizza delivery person, had a smoking habit, was in the Army for four years, and most importantly his Mother, the woman he couldn't remember because that's what happens when you let drugs rule your life, died in a house fire. They sat at the black vinyl and leather booths with an old fashioned styled jukebox housed in at the end of the booth anchoring the napkin holder and seasonings stands. They didn't speak much in the car and it was driving Eric crazy. They should've been talking about something, anything. The silence could mean his son could go back to Indianapolis and never want to see him again. But still Eric did not want to pry.
"Hello, my name is Diane and I am your server, may I take your order please?"
"I'll have the French toast." Eric and Mark said in unison.
The waitress laughed.
"You don't mind?" Mark asked again, he tried to quit smoking twice, but couldn't.
"No, go ahead," Eric thought, if he let the conversation stay there, they'd never talk, "So, how long have you been working at the garage?"
Eric hoped that didn't fall under the 'personal histories' label that Mark mentioned as to subjects they shouldn't be yet talking about.
"After I got discharged from the service."
Eric wondered if they were talking too little or just enough considering the circumstances? Mark got up to use the restroom as Eric ordered a coffee, he wasn't sure if she should order one for Mark or not. He wished he could remember his mother. Not because he loved her, he knew he did not. But because he had sex with a woman while he was in strung out on Cocaine who got pregnant with his ONLY biological child. Red would have loved Mark, a former military man who liked to get dirty and fix cars and he knew Kitty would have gave him lots of love and homemade cookies. But somehow it was his own father that Eric flashed back to. He always tried to get Red's approval, but he knew he would have taken to his grandson. He loved Megan and spoiled her like his sister, but there was just something about Mark that Eric knew his father would have connected with.
"I'm sorry that I didn't order you a coffee, I didn't know if you wanted one." Eric asked when Mark came back
"That's fine, I think I'll get an orange juice."
"Mark, I have to be honest here and tell you that I have no idea what on Earth we could talk about, without crossing any lines."
"It's all right, Eric, can't we just have breakfast together?"
"If that's what you want." He replied matter of factly.
To Mark any kind of conversation should be natural and not forced, but he still understood Eric's concern.
"We shouldn't force our conversations." Mark said as the waitress came by with their orders.
"I'd like a small orange juice." Mark asked with a smile, as he thought the waitress was kind of cute and it was easier dealing with the opposite sex.
"Get her phone number," Eric whispered
Mark let out a small laugh, "No. Sometimes a man just needs to look."
Eric thought it wasn't his business to ask if his son had a girlfriend so he just replied.
"How true, but don't tell Donna." There was a woman cashier at the Piggly Wiggly who was extremely hot and did not wear a bra. Just because you were married and middle aged, didn't mean you couldn't look. As Red used to say when they were at Pricemart together, "There's no harm in looking, I'm not dead yet you know, but if you tell your Mother you are grounded for a month, dumbass."
"Relax, Eric," Mark grabbed the ketchup bottle by the napkin holder, "Your sage wisdom is safe with me."
"Ketchup on French toast?" Eric made a face.
"Not on the bread, on the side. You should try it."
"I'd rather the maple syrup." Eric peeled the plastic seal off the syrup packet. But it was interesting to note his son's personal food quirks.
"Here's your orange juice." The young waitress said as she put the glass on the table.
"Thanks." Mark replied.
"Just like Army food—" Eric tried to make a small joke
"No, better than Army food."
"I'm certain no one's ever called you scrawny." Eric tried to analyze all the words in his head before saying them Mark. He hated walking on eggshells, but knew that he only had himself to blame for that.
"Eric," Mark stopped, he didn't know exactly what to say or how to even say it.
"Too personal?" Eric asked as he drank his coffee.
"No, it's-difficult that's all."
"I'm sorry, Mark. Maybe, I should go?"
"No, don't. I didn't mean it that way."
"I guess we both have to realize that this is difficult for the BOTH of us." Eric said.
"I wish I could tell you everything, Eric, you deserve that, but I'm not ready for that and I hope that you understand." Mark cut his French toast with his fork.
"I do understand and I won't pressure you to talk about things you don't want to."
"Good. It'll come in time." He dipped his bread slice in the ketchup mixture.
"I won't pressure you, Mark, and if you ever feel that I am, just let me know."
"Deal."
'I love you. I hope someday to say that to you.'
"Are you going to order anything else?" Eric asked
"No, this is enough for me," Mark replied as he waved the waitress back over
"Did you want anything else, honey?" she asked
"Yes, the bill—and can you write up separate checks?"
Although, Eric remembered their conversation at the water tower it still slightly bothered him that Mark would still want them to "go Dutch".
"Sure thing." The waitress replied
"Do you want to come to my motel room for awhile?"
Although, Eric knew he had to eventually go home and find out what Donna and Megan were arguing over, he knew he didn't want the night to end with Mark.
"Why not? It's more private." Eric said, leaving the tip, hoping that Mark did not want that to be split down the middle. (He didn't)
Eric was certain that Mark would not want to talk about serious, personal issues, but maybe they could just watch a movie together or something. To talk without saying a word. Still he wished the future went a little differently.
~Eric's daydream~
~Never Was~
"You're not supposed to be able to CRAWL! Donna!" Eric happily picked Megan up
"What?" Donna came out of the kitchen; his mind couldn't help it if she was wearing an apron tied around her waist.
"Megan is crawling!" The baby giggled and Eric kissed her nose.
"Why wouldn't she be? Eric, you're running late, so you better hand the baby over."
'Late. Where am I supposed to go?'
"Bye, lollipop." He kissed her on the head and handed her to Donna. He kissed her on the lips.
"Dad! Are you ready yet?" Mark ran downstairs in a Little League uniform carrying a baseball bat and a catcher's mitt.
He looked at the open date book calendar on his desk; the day was circled in red Sharpie, "Mark's baseball game."
"Yeah, come on, son. Remember what I taught you about sliding into the bases."
"I will! You're the best dad ever!"
~End Eric's daydream~
"Eric, are you okay?" Mark asked as he went through his wallet.
Eric blinked, "Yeah, I'm fine."
How he wished he knew Mark as a little boy. He didn't want to think about all the moments that they lost with each other. How could he have rejected him twice? Okay, maybe the first time he was in shock, but there was absolutely NO excuse over the second time. And yet, he knew Mark would NOT want to talk to him about this, so he had to keep it all inside. He was surprised he didn't have a lump on his body somewhere. He should've had that heart attack years ago not Hyde. God always seemed to be testing him to see how much he could take before he slept eternal.
'It doesn't seem right to pay with separate checks'.
Eric didn't know what to say to his own son but whatever the situation it was best not to make a round peg fit in a square hole. He put the key in the ignition, the fact that he wanted Eric to go back with him to his motel room for a while had to mean something. Or was Mark trying to put a round peg in a square hole?
All Mark knew was that he had to get off the radio station Eric had on and put on something that he actually liked to listen to. But all he got was a commercial for car insurance.
"Hey," Eric tried not to sound in desperate need of this conversation, "What's wrong with Aerosmith?"
The classic 1975 "Sweet Emotion" off the album Toys in the Attic.
"I'm not an Aerosmith fan."
"So, who do you listen to, Mark?"
"Hate."
"Hate?"
"That's just the name of the band, they're not skinhead's. Just aggressive music like Stalwart and Blood."
"What kind of MUSIC is that? And I'm not showing my age, either!" Eric made a scowling face as he was almost jolted out of his seat when he heard the single, "Abandon" by Blood.
"You just have to allow yourself to get into it." Mark said
"It sounds like a car being smashed," Eric admitted, "This is 'not' music. You can't understand the singer, and he's not even singing! He's screaming amongst the crunchy sounds of the smashing guitars. This is NOT cool."
"Just because you can't define it?" Mark flickered his lighter on and off, as there were no ashtrays in this car.
"No, because and god help me from sounding like my own father, but that's not music, it's only noise, don't you like normal music?"
" Eric, by normal do you mean verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, fade out, chorus?"
He waited to see if Mark would do any quote gestures with his hands, but there was none.
"Are you going to make fun of me, Mark?"
He smiled, that they had in common, the same smile. No wonder Donna fainted and Eric hoped that had absolutely nothing to do with the lump on her breast?
"No. I like some quote unquote," Still no hand gestures, "normal music. I used to be big on Led Zeppelin."
"What's your favorite song?" Eric asked, wishing the ride to Mark's motel was longer.
"Kashmir. I bet you thought I was going to say Stairway to Heaven?"
"You don't like Stairway to Heaven?"
"Not much, Eric. Too cliché, too make out-ish for my taste."
"Is this the same song," Eric could not believe his ears, "Or is this something different?"
"Same song," Mark switched off the radio, "You don't have to suffer through it on my account."
'Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years'.
"You don't collect Star Wars memorabilia do you?" Eric quickly changed the subject
"God no! Only nerds do that."
"Well from the self-proclaimed geek---"
"Boba Fett Ate My Hamster?" Mark questioned with a smirk
"Oh my old IM user name?"
"Were you high when you created that?"
"No." When he was high on Coke all he cared about was staying high.
"That's one strange user name."
Eric couldn't tell if Mark meant his comments in-jest or if he really thought 'this IS my father? This sad old Star Wars geek who hates modern music?'
"We're here." Eric said as he pulled into the parking lot.
Eric wanted to know everything about his son; he wanted to absorb it like a sponge as if the knowledge was within him all along. But Mark didn't want to talk about personal things so he couldn't go into General Foods International Coffee mode. Why did he reject him the second time? Eric Forman would never reject a child—but he rejected his OWN SON twice! The first time could be excused as a shock to the system after all these years to find out that he actually had a biological child, but there was no excuse for the second time. He copped out. (Pulled a Hyde? Nah, that comparison wasn't fair, Eric thought, maybe pre-Jackie, but Hyde was a very different man now than the young, afraid-to-be-hurt soul that he was when he was a kid.) He hurt Mark. He probably waited for the right moment to try and orchestrate a meeting with him and all he wanted was one hug and what did Eric do? He rejected his son.
"Eric," Mark said through the open passenger side door, when he noticed that Eric did not get out of his car, "Are you all right?"
Eric coughed, "Yeah, I'm fine." Just like his Mother.
He wanted to tell him the truth, but it wasn't fair, because it wasn't about him feeling better, it was about Mark feeling better. As soon as Eric got out of the car and out of his zombie like state, Mark took out his cigarettes. He needed a smoke bad.
"Here," Mark threw the room card key, but being thin Eric couldn't catch it and it fell to the ground, "Room 211. They gave me a non-smoking room."
Eric picked the card off the pavement as he gave Mark a nod that he'd open up the room for him.
'Favorite color?'
'Favorite food?'
'Do you have a picture of your Mother? It makes me feel like the scum of the Earth that I have no recollections of her.'
Eric wasn't paying attention to the movie that they were supposed to be watching with his son. But they weren't watching a movie; the film was just a distraction so that they wouldn't have to talk with one another. It was almost time that Eric felt it was time to go home. He was gone for an awful long time and the reason why that he didn't call home was he didn't want to wake up anyone in the house. He hoped that Donna and Megan were all right, but they fought so much more intensely than Kitty and Laurie. They talked a little bit during the commercial breaks, but it was just stale conversation. Although they were just general questions so they could get to know each other a little bit more. Watching paint dry would have been more exciting. Maybe, it was due to the late hour. Or Maybe, Eric had to realize that he messed up and deep down Mark did NOT want a relationship with him.
"Well, I should be going home, it's been a long day," Eric cupped his mouth as he yawned.
"And I have to pick up my car."
Eric saw a stock painting of a lighthouse above the bed. It was as bland and mass produced to a state of nothingness.
"Before you leave, come inside the house so I can give---"
"No presents," Mark stated
"It's not a present—I have a photo album I want you to see."
"Oh." Mark replied with his head down
"I don't know where it is though---you can stay for awhile while I look?"
"Sure, Eric." Mark figured Eric stayed here for what probably felt like infinity while they barely watched a late late show movie. He could recipicate in kind.
Mark didn't have any plans to come inside the Forman house, he just wanted to get his car and come back to the motel so he could get some sleep, but Eric wanted to give him a photo album. It wasn't something he could say 'no' to.
Mark McAdam paid a price for being cryptic and it wasn't like him to play mind games. If he didn't sneak into their house while they were gone, if he didn't leave Eric that anonymous note, maybe it would have gone better. He studied the soft lines around Eric's eyes and wondered if that's what he was going to look like when got older? They both risked something and what did it do? If they were in combat they both would had shot each other dead already or they both would have been hiding, shivering in East-West caves. Just waiting for the other one to come stumbling out holding a wrinkled white flag tied to a long stick.
"Breakfast was good, we'll have to do it again?" Eric asked softly, with his hands on the steering wheel in the 9-3 o'clock position.
"Sure," Now it was Mark's turn to cough, "If you want?"
'Don't you want to?' Eric thought
Maybe this was it for Eric and Mark? How could he live with himself if that were true? What if his SON NEVER wanted to see HIM again?
Mark took out a book of matches that he had in his inside jacket pocket and tore the book in half.
"Eric, do you have a pen?" Mark asked
"In the glove compartment." Eric replied
Mark opened up the small drawer and took out a simple ballpoint pen. It was yellow and the blue lettering on the side said: Get More From Your Bank—At The Point Place Savings & Loan. FDIC. He clicked the pen open and scrawled something on it and put it down on Eric's empty cup holder.
'Should I ask?'
Eric tapped the steering wheel when he got to a traffic light. He wanted to risk it and run it, but with his luck a cop would come out of nowhere and issue him a ticket and say with a sneer in his voice, "Aren't you a little too old for that, Sir?"
"What did you write, Mark?" Eric asked and let out a deep breath when he was done with the question.
"My phone number."
Eric gave a slight smile as he turned the corner to his house. His son gave him HIS phone number, like going one day without putting intoxicants into his system; it was one day at a time. It was progress.