Chapter 5
Desolate*
Santa Cruz, California
March 8, 1987 (Sunday)
Hyde tried to rewind himself to where he was before he heard message #8, message #6 was his chance to fly
to Canada, with his tape recorder and typewriter. What could be done about message #8?
Nothing.
Now he was going to have to bail on his obligatory phone call, because she'd
make him go somewhere that he didn't want to be. If they weren't in person, they couldn't make him. It was
for the best. He hands slightly shook when he took Sid's leash off the small hook next to his bookshelf. He
never would have put a leash on the dog, but it was for his 4-legged friend's own safety. If one kept moving,
the realities of message #8 would not come bubbling to the surface, like leaving a sauce pot full of milk on the
stove with the lid on at a high temperature. It was a short distance to take the dog for a walk and to go get
some fresh ink on his left bicep.
The dog cried as if he wanted to talk to his owner.
"You worry too, don't you?" He pet his head.
Hyde grabbed his wallet out of his inside jean jacket pocket that was draped over his desk chair, and of course,
the clear plastic picture insert fell to the ground.
I don't want to look….
He took out the pictures and he figured the least he could do was look. The first picture was Jackie's freshman
year class picture. She wore a black dress with its now gaudy '70s floral motif. She appeared like a child, such a
little girl who was in such a damn hurry to grow up that she went after the older guys. She didn't need the
mascara and lipstick. Of course, she was a conquest to Kelso. He might have loved her on some friendship level;
it wasn't for him to judge.
She wrote on the back of the photograph in her bouncy happy writing with the heart circle to dot the 'i' in her
name.
Steven,
Thank you for the prom.
Love,
Jackie
He went to the other picture Mrs. Forman took. This one was of him, Kelso, Forman, and Fez as they were on for
their second trip to Canada to get beer since the first trip didn't work out, the Forman's thought they were
seeing a concert in Milwaukee without the girls.
He cut around the Forman backyard so the picture would be the same size as the others ones he
carried. Then the other picture was the combined present from him, Forman, and even Laurie (probably with
the money she stole from Kitty's purse) to pay for Red and Kitty to get their photographs professionally
done for their anniversary. Mrs. Forman loved it, and Red was off the hook for having to remember, although as
Hyde recalled, he did take her out to the Vineyard for dinner, so his gruffness was mostly just a dog and pony
show.
The next picture in the line was on Mrs. Forman's assistance that after Red and Kitty got their photographs
taken that she was going to put in the extra money, but then Red said he would pay for it and would everyone
please shut the Hell up so they could have their damn happy family portrait. Kitty knew the opportunity to get all
5 of them in a formal photograph was as a rare as a snowstorm in July in New York. They all seemed happy,
even Red. Forman wore a green sweater with his white shirt with the light brown checks underneath.
He ain't heavy, he's my brother. **
He wore a black suit with a green tie that Kitty surprised him with, "because every young man needs to have a
suit, Steven!" and she laughed and made all of them cookies and hot chocolate when they returned
home. Mrs. Forman gave all of the kids (and Bob) the extra wallet sizes to keep.
Damn it. I'm not going to cry.
Hyde changed the order. There was Donna in her last class picture taken in February of 1977. She put a fancy
barrette in her hair and she wore a lilac colored blouse with a scalloped neckline. She was feminine and soft
when she wanted to be. He remembered that there was a time when he did love her, or at least he thought he
did.
To Hyde,
Thank you for being one of my best friends. I treasure our late night talks at the water tower. You keep Eric
in line when he needs it.
Love you,
Donna
p.s. Future class of '78 PPH.
Go after your dreams.
You Matter.
God bless her for ending her paragraph on a lie.
The last picture was Jackie again and she looked so mature than the first one and it was only one year later.
She wore her hair up and he loved the ringlets that framed her face. Her dual colored blue and green eyes
sparkled even in the 1 dimensional photograph.
She was so beautiful.
Fuck. I don't want to cry.
Dear Steven,
I know I'm not the easiest person to love, but thanks to you I'm learning to not be so superficial. And you're
letting love in. See we are meant to be together. I will always love you, more than a touch can do. More than
words can say.
You will always have my heart.
I Love You, xoxo
Jackie.
He let the photos fall out of his hand.
Hyde didn't realize Sid was gone to sit by the entryway. He grabbed the lamp and forgot that it was plugged
into the wall when the cord loosened itself and the chunky square plug popped out of the socket, he threw the
lamp as hard as he could against the wall.
The pleated white glass base broke into a million pieces, as did the light bulb. The lampshade landed on his
unmade bed. The dog ran in to make sure everything was okay.
Hyde picked up the photographs that were on the plush white rug and stacked them like playing cards in his
hand, before swiftly ripping them in half.
He silently gasped, horrified at what he had done, Hyde put them in drawer of his end table later, he would
tape them after he cleaned up the lamp, but first he and his faithful companion had to get out of here before he
completely lost his mind. The artists at the tattoo shop loved the dog, so he could spend all night there getting
wasted and one of the girls would take him out for his nighttime stroll.
His "trick" was to be a walk in, not that he wasn't above anyone else and didn't want to make an appointment.
He figured if he had some small brand of niche fame in the underground music scene that he might as well take
advantage of it. There were worse things he could do than to walk into his regular tattoo studio without a
precious appointment, he was a journalist (from the school of hard knocks) and author S.J. Hyde after all.
Tonight was going to have to be quick as he had made his decision. He had a job; he couldn't just walk away
from his professional responsibilities. Of course, he'd go to Canada, he was always able to take Sid with him, it
didn't surprise him how easy he was able to get laid having his loveable German Shepherd with him.
It wouldn't be right to be there and have people think that he was the man that they would all feel sorry for
and then disappear under the phoniness umbrella of "anything you need" and "call anytime" and not Forman.
It was all down to whatever one needed to say to themselves so that they could all sleep at night and
Hyde realized his that his whole life was nothing but a big lie, but it was how it had to be.
Author's Note: *Chapter title from Marla's Lost.
**Lyric by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell.
Hollies version (1969)