:)

Beautiful Music
THAT 70's SHOW
by Jennifer Ryan
01/10/06

:)

Seasons don't fear the Reaper

The afternoon finds me at Leo's, where I go when in need of grass or a mystical vision. I place Donna's old, plastic pool in the middle of the floor and fill it part way, figuring Leo must still be asleep. I put on coffee, then busy myself with the strategic placement of candles, excited for Benny to like his new home. If I can gain favor with the benevolent pond fish G-d, surely all the answers I seek will be revealed to me. But I refuse to touch his slimy, over sized form, so I'll have to wait for Leo to move him. As the coffee brews, I close my eyes and try hard to clear my mind, singing to myself that we can be like they are. We'll be able to fly.

Clearing the mind of one's current problems and worries is the hardest part of meditation, and the only way I'm able to settle in is to fixate on an old memory or image. I select the day I met Leo in the park. He was there with Jesus and his shepherd dog, Penny, the only blonde he could ever get to hang around with him. I was seven years old then and he taught me the art of meditation using a combination of techniques he'd learned from the Buddhists, Hindus and Sikhs he associated with in college and at retreats. He does it to get closer to G-d and achieve enlightenment, but it's peace that I am seeking. I don't bother with formalities like posture, which irritates Leo to no end, because he claims if the spine isn't straight, nothing groovy can flow. Using an over stuffed beanbag for a pillow, I lie on the floor next to the pool and slow stretch my limbs while deep breathing. The single-minded concentration relaxes me and frees me from the unhappy and distracted state I've been stuck in, allowing me to focus on the true, simple things for which my heart is so desperate. I want Eric to love me back. I want his parents to accept it. I want no one to think twice about such a thing or even care - in other words, I want a miracle.

As I feel myself drifting, I picture Eric and me together. My vision is hazy, but in it I'm looking down into his eyes, though he's as tall as I. I know it's not real because I'm neither embarrassed nor nervous and he's not freaked out completely. Our eyes are locked in unbreakable connection, at standstill until I can figure out what to say. I love how we're able to hold our own with each other, to never back down. He puts his arms around my neck and asks if I've any dreams to tell. I pull his body closer to mine and delight in my dream Eric, always the smooth operator. I open my mouth, eager to declare my undying love and lewd desires and though he's surprised, he's not afraid at all. He even yields to me and I cover his body with kisses until he falls back, taking me with him. One hand covers my cheek and the other tangles in my hair and he looks into me like no other ever has, with such absolute trust and adoration. I kiss him, but something seems off and makes it difficult to concentrate. I begin to feel doubtful, suddenly sure that in real life Eric would have to trip over the sofa to ever land in my arms.

When I meditate, my visions are often a pastiche of beauty and strangeness, but never filled with negative feelings and apprehensions. Though I've grown stronger in my ability to single out individual emotions and yearnings, the fact that a splashing sound interrupts it only serves to demonstrate how much I've yet to learn. I open my eyes to find Leo burning incense. He hands me a mug of coffee and extends Benny's heartfelt thanks for his new home, promising that I can ask him anything.

Benny circles his new digs slowly, breaking the surface to eat the dried cereal pieces Leo offers him. I yawn and notice it's dark outside now, meaning I actually slept and dreamed. "That's why you're not supposed to meditate lying down, man. You fall asleep."

I tell him I wasn't asleep, but he informs me that I was snoring and he had to put Dr. Zhivago in the yard because he wouldn't stop barking at my wad. Alright, so I fell asleep.

Leo passes me the "ceremonial" bong - the green one with the dragon on it - and never one to be ungrateful, I accept. I eye the other bongs locked in his armoire as I greedily inhale my share, coveting the sole pipe I've not yet been allowed to use. She's quite an artful object, actually; tall and blue in the form of a naked woman. Leo told me the name he gave her once, but I no longer remember it. She does little more than taunt me from the security of her display. I used to fantasize that if I ever got married, Leo would pull it out of the cabinet and we'd have one vicious celebratory circle. I realize, sadly, there is a better chance that Leo and the gang will pull it out before my funeral. Accepting that I'm forever doomed to use the dragon bong, I blow the smoke toward Benny and speak to him on a psychic level, asking him to make my vision come true. Not only doesn't he answer, he doesn't acknowledge me in any way. I guess you have to lace the pot with angel dust before you can get those sort of results.

Leo sets the bong next to him and looks at me so seriously, it's almost unnerving. "You know what sounds good, man. French toast."

It pains me to even think this, but I'm pretty sure french toast will never sound good again. I'm starting to worry that maybe nothing ever will. "Leo, I'm thinking about taking off."

"No, you're not. You'll never leave the Forman's, man."

"Yeah," I pass him the bong. "Well, what do you know about it?"

He smiles at me like the total dickhead he is. "Plenty. I know plenty."

"If you know so much, you think Eric will go with me?"

He pours a little of the bong water into the pool and watches Benny investigate it, finally deciding that Forman would never follow me anywhere - not in a million years. "But you should still ask. I mean, don't just take my word for it."

"Leo, man, I have never taken your word for anything and I promise I won't start now."

"Whoa, that's a really good policy. I wish I had one of those."

"Yeah, well, you work on it. I'm going home to check on Eric. Tell Benny I'll be back when he's in the mood to deal with me."

I close the door and Leo sounds almost bereft when he asks Benny, "Why'd you have to shine him on, man?"

I'd never really leave here, though I like to think about it. Or, I'd never really leave here without him. These past few years - having a home, a family and my own stuff - it's more than I ever imagined.

Jackie could leave. Her father is in prison and her mother's a conceited bitch who tends to forget she has a daughter. Donna could leave because her parents have money and love her from afar in Sunday evening telephone conversations. I can't leave because Eric and his parents are all I have in the world and life is too short to not be together. It doesn't hurt that Mrs. Forman makes waffles and bacon on Saturday mornings; waffles with chocolate chips on them just for me.

I almost hesitate to count Leo since he now has Benny. For all I know, the two of them are spread out across their living room floor right now, smoking my weed and listening to my Zeppelin albums. And this is what's wrong with me: I'm actually obsessing about whether or not a monster sized, reefer addicted, Buddhist goldfish has taken my place in Leo's heart. The ghost of Edna's selfish voice tells me I'm pathetic if they are really all I have.

I park behind the Toyota and before I can switch off the ignition, I hear beautiful music and pause, talking along with it more than really singing. Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say.

I wish I knew the words to say, the magical ones that would make him understand what my heart wants my mind to tell him. It's so easy with music, its beautiful lyrics as charming as nonsensical, yet understood with so little difficulty.

Until you've seen this trash, can dreams come true.

I've seen a life time of trash, so much I never thought I'd know anything else. Things would be better if I could work up some nerve. I need the courage to sit Eric still and say, or pull him to me and demand, or scream it across a room, or spray paint it on his dad's garage. If I was ever so bold, he would probably avoid speaking to me for the rest of our lives. His dad would call me a queer, his mother would be disappointed, and his sister - as if challenged - would double her efforts to seduce me, then discard me like everything else she's used up.

If I stay, I'll drive myself even crazier and maybe even ruin Eric's life. If I leave I'll only destroy myself. No matter how much meditation I devote to this issue, I see no way to come out of the situation a winner. It's much more likely what will happen is that I will lose everything I have, and I already know that I will never have anything this good, ever again.

I back out of the driveway as if I'd never made it home. I need to drive a while longer; to think a little more and listen to my music. I need to figure out a way to live with all of this and if I can't do that, then I need to drink until I lapse into a coma. I push my eight-track into the player so I can hear the words which I become lost in easily and which allow me to block out the entire world without fail.

All our times have come. This whole situation is fucking ridiculous. I used to fantasize that the minute I turned eighteen everything would suddenly be perfect. Forman and I would toss our clothes into a pillow case and just take off, man, because we'd be eighteen and no one would care what we did.

Here but now they're gone. Eighteen was this big magic number in the distance that felt like it would never come, maybe that's why I thought my goal would be so easy to attainable. I had these stellar plans that revolved around a year of new beginnings and when Donna split I figured it was a sign from G-d. It was Eric and me, maybe in Florida or California, on the beach and free. It was the happy, yielding Eric from my vision, not the real life one who would probably just be pissed.

Seasons don't fear the reaper. Nowhere in my dreams were blackmailing whores and the things they might have done to both of us. Things to which I'll never admit and hopefully Eric will never remember.

I can be a bad guy, but I've never wanted anyone dead. I've wanted to hit and knock out and humiliate and hurt so badly it consumed me as a burning, hateful lust. So many times in my life, I've wanted to do these things, but never to kill. Right now, I'd like to find those three whores and their boyfriends and slowly murder each of them. I don't realize I'm doing 85 mph until I slam into Kelso's van.

And we can be like they are.

:)

Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

In retrospect, a serious head injury was exactly what I needed today and my only regret is that Kelso didn't join me. I do take solace in the fact that I fucked up the passenger door on his van. I lean into the sofa and press a bag of frozen lima beans to my forehead, laughing not because we're poor and I'm using the expensive beans as a compress or because I put a serious dent in my friend's car, but mainly because I'm an asshole and I deserve this. As much fun as I'm having watching him freak out, I do feel a slight disappointment that I didn't solve all my problems by flying through the windshield. I know that's a horrible thing to think, but I'm not much in the spirit of giving a damn these days.

"Sorry about your van, Kelso. If it makes you feel any better, you broke the tuner knob off my radio and busted a headlight."

"I guess I do feel a little better, yeah." He throws himself down next to me and slings his arm over the back of the cushion. "But man, the van is totally trashed now."

"A smashed door won't keep you from getting laid and that's all you use it for. Hey, maybe you can tell Noreen you did it drag racing. That'll turn her on."

"Noreen was three days ago, I'm after Chelsea now. Yeah, drag racing! Hyde, you're like, the best friend ever."

It warms my heart that he would actually thank me for busting his toy, not only confirming my belief that funny things do happen to stupid people, but they happen to Michael Kelso twice as much.

I close my eyes for a quick second and begin to drift, startled a moment later when Kelso yells BOOM KABBAM! in my ear. Eric has come up behind me and Kelso is describing our collision in exaggerated detail, as if it is suddenly the coolest thing he's ever experienced. Eric places his hand on my shoulder and asks if I'm OK, so I nod.

He looks a hell of a lot better today; not pale and shaky or sick and sad. Things are looking up after all; maybe I'm lucky to be alive and just don't realize it yet. He's concerned for me, so I show him the big bruise on my head and assure him that I didn't even break my glasses. I figure Eric is the type to be impressed by an injury, even just a little bruise, and I secretly hope he kisses it. After all, Kelso's stupid drag race story is likely to get him unlimited muff all week long, so the least I can hope for is a little sympathy.

"So," he smiles and takes the place beside me, "did you hit Kelso's van on purpose?"

"Nope, I accidentally hit it before I had the chance to do it on purpose." I hope I sound resigned and not shaken, angry that I can't drive down the street without getting lost in my own head. I can't let things affect me. The world around me counts on my ability to maintain in any situation, despite the severity of the freak out.

"Are we OK?"

The question surprises me and I struggle for a believable reply. "I'm great, but you're going to be fucked up for quite some time." My smile fades as I realize he's too tired to bother with a come-back. I think to myself how sorry I am. I'm so sorry I wasn't watching out for you.

Fez comes down the stairs and sits between Eric and I, cramming his body where it doesn't belong and crossing his legs like a lady. "So gang, what are we all doing tonight?"

"Well, I was thinking I'd hold you down and let Forman kick your ass." He looks at both Eric and myself, dejected little pout firmly in play, and asks if it is true. Kelso reaches over and frogs me, claiming that I'm an insensitive person. He ruffles Fez's hair and promises we'll have a circle instead.

Eric falls asleep while we set up the table with all the necessary supplies, so we each take a beer and our seats, rambling on about the trivial events that made up our day. Only after my third toke does it dawn on me that I've been burned by Kelso. "I'm insensitive? Fuck you, man, you're insensitive."

He laughs at me, ignoring the insult completely, and continues chattering. "Heh, OK. I'm not lyin'. This one time I got drunk, OK, and I farted really bad and I pooped my pants." He leans close to accent his point, "It happened!" He is so unbelievably fucking wasted that he's starting to make perfect sense. I say that level, attainable to few, is Zen."

I pass the joint to Leo, who I just realized is here. He nods to Kelso in agreement and says as if it is a matter of fact, "I did that a couple of times, man, but I wasn't drunk."

When it's my turn for a drag, I volunteer that I've never actually crapped myself, but am more than willing to learn. Fez rolls his eyes at me in disgust and swears that if any of us does that here, he is prepared to kill. I chuckle, silently and to myself, at Fez's delicate sensibilities. You'd think that foreign people don't break wind, but I've noticed sophistication is important to them. Wouldn't mind getting a little culture and sophistication for myself, actually, but only if I don't have to give up farting the theme song for The Flintstones.

Kelso runs his fingers through his hair repeatedly, as if bewitched by his own bangs, and tells me I need more fiber. "If you're mother hadn't been a whore, she probably would have made you eat beans. You're lucky she took off."

Leo is shocked, as usual, "No way, man, your mom took off? Do you need a place to stay?"

"Leo, she ditched me almost three years ago."

"Wow, I thought I just saw her upstairs. I'll be honest with you, man, sometimes I have hallucinations. That's why I quit drinking." I pass the roach to Kelso and sigh, warning Leo that I doubt alcohol was ever his problem.

"Oh wait," Kelso flies out of his chair, "speaking of alcohol - this one time I got drunk and when I farted, I totally crapped my pants. It's a true story!" When I remind him that he just told us that, he looks blankly at me and says, "... told you what?"

I hit him in the arm as hard as I can, because I really, really like to. Dillhole. "So Fez, while I'm nice and mellow you want to tell me what you did to my El Camino the other night."

"I don't know what you mean. I did not notice the strange smell."

"HA! You admit it. Fez, what the hell did you do?"

"You and Eric left Fez all alone, so I simply took the El Camino to troll for pudding, as you taught me."

Kelso's laughter is odd, because he's as confused as the rest of us, but isn't sure if it's just him, as usual. A light bulb appears over my head and I choke on my beer. "Merciful G-d, man! Do you mean trolling for pussy?"

Everyone looks at him and we all know damn well Fez cannot be put on the spot - he can't take it. Instead of sweating profusely or pleading an ignorance of the language, he changes the focus of the conversation, not intending to stick a knife in my gut. "Speaking of pudding; Michael, did Steven not tell you about the Polish whores with whose acquaintance he made without US!"

Kelso jumps out of his chair, knocking it backwards. "Whores? Hyde, man, you're holding out!"

"Sit your ass down, Kelso. It's not like you've never been with a whore before." My smile is large as I announce, "Laurie Forman is their queen."

He grins and attempts to nod, which is clumsy and overly exaggerated. "But wait, Laurie's not Polish! Don't change the subject. I've slept with every foreign exchange students at our school; French, West German, British, Mexican - not one single Polish girl."

Fez shifts Kelso's attention from me as unthinkingly as he directed it. "I am a foreign exchange student. You have not slept with me, you son-of-a-bitch."

Kelso knocks Fez to the floor and attempts to frog him to death, and as much as I would normally enjoy watching, I've only to open the basement door and guide them out. The last words I hear are from across the driveway; Kelso's grim reminder that he hasn't forgotten what we talked about tonight. Dillhole.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult
:) Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters by Elton John