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Beautiful Music
THAT 70's SHOW
by Jennifer Ryan
08/25/07

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Running on Empty

We drive aimlessly, burning too much gas and playing the radio too loud. Our quest is to stay occupied, since our only night in a hotel room this week was wasted fumbling with our clothes. My arm's around Eric and he leans close, singing along with Jackson Browne and me. I try not to crack up when he asks me for the fifteenth time, "Are you mad?"

"I'm not mad, Forman."

"You look mad."

"I'm not mad," I explain in a patient voice uncharacteristic of me. "I'm sexually frustrated."

"I've seen you sexually frustrated for years - this, this looks more like mad."

I reach over and smack him in his arm, which he immediately rubs. "See, if I was mad that would have hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault."

"It's not? Really?"

"No, it's Edna's. I saw her boyfriends do it to her all the time. I guess they made it look easy." He winces at that. I used to wince at the sight when I was little, but it didn't take long to become accustomed to it.

"You're joking, right?"

"One of her friends told her she couldn't get knocked up that way and that's all she needed to hear."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch." I can't count the number of times I walked in on her drunken orgies to ask for my morning cup of milk or to go outside and play. It didn't take long to learn how to fix it myself without spilling it or to realize I didn't need to ask to go out, since she would never notice. Years later she would tell me that she had made me self-sufficient. Well, that she did.

I break from my thoughts when I notice that Eric is staring at me oddly and I don't know what I've done. I tell him I wish I knew how to get Edna on the phone and he laughs. If there was ever anyone I could ask detailed questions about sex, vanilla or otherwise, it would be my mother.

Eric shrugs and says that maybe we could get a book.

"Where, like at the library?"

He blushes and backpedals."We SO can not get a book."

"Don't worry. We'll figure something out by the next time we get the room."

"Hyde?"

"What?"

"Will you sleep with me up in my room?"

I have to smile. "Forman, you're a naughty boy."

Before he's able to form any words, he does his usual shrugging, hand waving I don't know how to say this spiel then complains my basement bedroom is a little cold and that a giant spider lives there. I tell him that giant spider is my pet and that his name is Robert Plant. He graces me with a bewildered expression, which I ignore. "Love me, Forman; love my spider."

"You named him Robert Plant?"

"I did."

"Every time I try to go into your room he just," Eric points to his eyes with v shaped fingers, "stares right through me."

"I trained him to do that!" I laugh and then he doesn't, but it's damn funny.

"Seriously though - I mean, it's a really big spider who's probably been mutated by years of second hand pot smoke and it's not the best idea to sleep in the same room with it."

"Not IT; Robert Plant. And not years; months maybe, but they don't live years."

"You're not funny; that spider could just - turn on one of us at any moment and - you know - crawl on us and bite one of us with giant mutant spider fangs."

"Not one of us, Forman - YOU. And he's barely the size of a damn dime and his teeth are like paper."

"I am not sleeping in the same room with that spider."

"Forman, not only are you going to sleep in the same room with that itty-bitty little spider, I am going to fuck you senseless right under his web until you scream my name."

"Yeah, it's more likely I'll scream OH MY GOD, IT'S A GIANT SPIDER!

I not only smack him in the arm for that, but I hit him on the exact same spot as before.

Billy Joel comes on the radio as we pass the old Sycamore road and I turn into the woods. It's isolated enough here that we can park and not be noticed. I want to make him dance with me, but I haven't got the guts and it's kind of a lame song anyway. I turn up the radio and smile at him. It's all a bit of a blur after that and all I can be sure of is by the time the song says ... slow down you crazy child ... Eric is pinned to the back seat and my tongue is down his throat to keep him from singing along.

I've decided that if this is all we get to do for awhile, then we have to do it a lot - maybe twenty or thirty times a day.

... cool it off before you burn it out ...

One hand is tangled in his hair and the other runs up and down the back of his shirt. I'm smashing his body to mine, as close as I can but not close enough, before we startle at the sound of a snapped twig. Out the window we see nothing but wind-blown trees with fall colored leaves touched by moonlight and old rain. The eerie competition between two hoo-hoo owls drowns out the radio and, other than our pounding hearts and sighs of relief, is all we hear for several moments. I lean into the upholstery, out of breath, and tense involuntarily when Eric's fingernails dig into my t-shirt in an attempt to to stave off hyperventilation. Within my line of vision are fireflies that glow pretty and last short; their tiny fire lights a reminder of soft beauty and simple joy.

... dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true ...

We both relax and Eric breathes an uncomfortable laugh, ashamed to have been so afraid. He lets me kiss the tip of his nose, then buries his face in my neck. I give him a chance to regain his composure, pretending not to be disturbed by his reaction. If that had been a cop ... or Red; let's just say I would have been more pleased to see a serial killer.

Before I can tell him it's alright, something loud hits his window full force and fast; and this time I am as terrified as he - in other words I almost piss myself. We both flinch away from the door, Eric on my lap, as Kelso opens it and triumphantly screams "BURN! MOMENT OF MAXIMUM IMPACT!"

I push Eric off me and he jumps into the front seat. I glare at Kelso, who is laughing hysterically, and wonder how he can think this kind of shit is funny. He demands to know if he caught us fucking and I find I'm unable to form words until I hear an angry and drawn out YOU SON OF A ... come out of nowhere.

I don't remember lunging at him or punching him in the eye, but suddenly we are both lying on cold, damp dirt and I'm screaming words even I can't understand and beating the shit out of him. Leo pulls me back and tells me to keep it down or else he and Kelso won't be able to sneak up on Hyde and Eric. That calms me a little; it was only a joke - a really bad one. Michael Kelso is not a threat, just an idiot. Now I realize I'm the one about to hyperventilate.

"Damn, Hyde," Kelso covers his eye with his hand, "that freaking really hurt bad. What the hell!"

Eric is sitting in the drivers seat, shaking and laughing softly, but in a frighteningly irrational manner, trying hard to figure why he can't start my car without a key. After too many futile attempts, he grips the wheel tightly and repeatedly whispers take me home ... take me home ... take me home.

Only fools are satisfied

We park in front of the house for at least forty five minutes before we get it together enough to sit on the porch. Michael Kelso struck a serious dent in my calm, but other than the insane outburst I had a little bit ago, I think I've been covering for it pretty well.

We kick back and watch in silence as the sky begins to light. The dawn is always a beautiful thing, even here in Point Place, which is bordered by three different factories that send their toxins into the ground and the air. But our little suburb resists ruin. The air is still clear here and crisp in the morning; not heavy and humid like when Edna and I lived in Florida or dark and stormy like in Illinois.

Any minute now, our neighbors will begin wrestling with their alarm clocks and arguing with their families over who gets the mornings first shower and who makes the coffee. I'd like to be in that happy little place - where trivial domestic squabbles are my only concern. That life doesn't seem boring to me anymore; it seems free and unbearably light.

I smile at the thought and then at Eric, who doesn't appear to share the same concerns as I. He looks at me like I don't understand what will happen. First, his father will shove his foot so far up my ass that it could be wedged permanently. If, by some miracle it's not, Eric will be next. It suddenly strikes me as hilarious that the consequences be the same whether I nail his son or forget to take out the trash. That's messed up and just plain wrong.

"First, my dad will kill the both of us," he fidgets. "OK. Maybe even to death. Then, my mother will leave him; she'll divorce him for murdering us."

"Christ, Forman - will not."

"I don't want my parents to grow old and die all alone. You don't understand - it would be my fault."

"That can't be what this is about. It's not going to happen. They'll get over it. They'll get past it."

"Then so will we," he looks up. "I mean YOU. So will you."

"You said WE." I can't help but smile as I pull him closer to me. He's quite adorable when he's a nervous idiot, which actually he is most of the time. I remind him that we have a hotel room on Sundays and Thursdays, and even though we work there, we can still take the towels. "I know you're really scared, but I'm with you. I'll always be with you."

"My father loves you way more than he has ever loved me."

"Ah man, that's bullshit. Don't do this!" I feel the universe crumble around me and though I repeat to myself that this can't happen, it not only can, it is. A feeling of hopelessness and dread spreads throughout my body. If he denies me, what can I ever do or say to change his mind. I'll bet this is just how he felt all those times Donna jerked him around. In fact, I know it is, because I was there.

"It's not, though. It's true. We can't do this anymore. It's crazy."

"You know what, Forman - if the thought of us being together makes you sick, just say it does. Don't hide behind you dad and don't fuck with my feelings." His once trusting eyes are so wide now. I'm a cold-hearted, selfish prick and I know it, but only fools are satisfied with anything less than forever. I leave him sitting on the porch alone.

It took every ounce of courage I had to take him to that hotel room. I matched my socks and brushed my teeth. I wore a clean t-shirt and splashed on some of Red's cologne, so what the hell? Everything was supposed to be perfect last night. The room was ours for nine entire hours. I cooked spaghetti and we got stoned by the fireplace. It was going to be the two of us against the world, stuffed full of pasta and weed, listening to a Pink Floyd album on tacky berber carpeting. It doesn't get more tender or romantic than that. What is this my parents will be disappointed in us shit? What about me? I'm terribly disappointed and absolutely pissed off.

Yeah, it's going to be hard going. Red will probably pop a few vessels over this, but Eric is a little too paranoid; something I've found attractive up until now. There is no way his father would ever disown him. I'm not saying he won't be mad - he will. There's a definite chance he'll even shit battery acid, but after a decade or two of extra yelling things will be all right. Eric follows me to the door, which I open for him like the fucking gentleman I am. Red is sitting on the couch waiting for us.

"Where the hell have the two of you been all night? I looked everywhere."

Eric looks at him and at me, then runs up the stairs to his room. Red ignores it, probably because he doesn't really care. "We worked an extra shift at the hotel. Is something wrong?"

"You're damn right something is wrong. A couple of hookers got arrested for lifting your wallet at that dive you two live at." I sit next to him on the couch, acting like nothing in the world is the matter. "I want you both to stay far away from that damn road house. It's crawling with situations you're too young to know exist. And what the hell were you doing close enough to one of them that she could get your wallet?"

I shrug and swear I must have dropped it. Red looks at me funny and is disbelieving when he says, "Right. You stay away from those kind of girls, Steven. They only want one thing and it's not what you want them to want."

I smile and he pats my shoulder and laughs. "To think, just the other day I was worried you and Eric were turning queer."

I put my feet on the coffee table, cross my arms and lean back into the sofa, laughing sarcastically. "To think, you would have been right."

To my surprise, he doesn't flinch, just turns his head back and yells, "Eric, get your ass down here!"

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To be continued ...

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For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Running on Empty by Jackson Browne
:) Vienna Waits for You by Billy Joel