:)

Beautiful Music
THAT 70's SHOW
by Jennifer Ryan
01/06/07

:)

Crossroads

The fire is burning and the lights are made low. I feel as if I've been planning this forever - tonight I use all my moves. I tossed four dollars worth of fried chicken and cherry coke down Eric's throat, a gesture I was sure would make his clothes fall off. Since it would be tacky and rude to demand he undress, I play it smooth and throw my beer on him.

"Hyde, what the hell?"

"Oops," I smile. "Now take your clothes off so we can fuck."

"I can't believe you just poured your beer all over me."

"Calm down, there's a robe in the bathroom." I stand behind him, wrapping him in my arms to trap him. With escape impossible, I pull his shirt up quickly, not giving him a chance to wiggle or whine. Unfortunately, I can't get the damn thing over his giant head and he squirms free. Before I know what has happened he closes himself in the bathroom. Drats - foiled again. It's a good thing I'm a patient guy.

I gather every pillow and every blanket in the room and make a pile in front of the hearth. As I lay watching, the little sparks remind me of stars and I think of my grandmother. She told me the stars are really pinpricks in the sky; tiny holes through which we can reach Heaven. I've always remembered because it's strange to me that such a thought could come from the same woman who called my mother a whore for cavorting with nigger boys. I'd never heard that word before then and I didn't know that a mommy - an adult - could get yelled at and slapped by her mother. I think I was five or so and they lived in the country - where I had no idea then and have no idea now. My father was looking for steady work at the time, which was Edna's code for Bud's in the lockup again.

I think often on the time we spent with her family and remember it as vividly as if I were there again. I'm not sure why exactly, but it's one of my first big memories. We stayed with her family for three weeks of nonstop fighting until one night Edna pulled me out of bed and we walked about a mile to the highway and waited too many hours in the cold. I had two new sets of clothes - the only I owned save what I was wearing - and a stuffed bear packed in to a small bag with a picture of a cowboy on it. It was the first new store bought stuff I remember, given to me by gramma and aunt what's her name.

That was a really happy day for me because we went without Edna and I remember thinking that when I got home she wouldn't be there and voila - she wasn't. What little she owned was gone and grandpa and aunt what's her name got in the pickup truck looking madder than I've ever seen anyone, even Red. An hour or so later, her father drug her through the front door by her hair. She had a black eye and I remember thinking that Grandpa had rescued her from some bad guys. Sadly, I know now he beat the shit out of her for trying to dump me on them. She was too stubborn and angry to let him see her cry and she put on a good show after that. Every minute of every day for the next week, she was heavily guarded by relatives so escape would not be possible. I can remember her sisters teaching her to cook the right way and that she wore the ugly housewife dresses they'd lent her. Grandpa had appointed them to turn Edna into a presentable lady - a wife and mother - so that when Bud came home from his job hunt she would be prepared to cut out all her nonsense and care for a family.

That last day gramma was on Edna's case nonstop, following her around the house and yelling at her. Before I went to bed my gramma told me I would be starting school soon, then turned to Edna and said, "Did you hear me, girl? Tomorrow you're enrolling this baby in the school." That was my last memory of gramma and it's quite possible I'm better off for it. After everyone was asleep Edna pulled me out of bed and had my little cowboy bag packed already. We stood along the deserted roadside and waited forever. She sang every song she knew and rambled back and forth between Bob Dylan and Pat Boone before she ran out of cigarettes and steam. It was then she finally let go and started to cry.

Looking back on her with grown eyes, I'm surprised she wasn't near as fucked up and she could have been. It wasn't long after that, by some miracle, that crazy "Uncle" Rudy found us despite Edna's crappy directions. I went right to sleep between them, lulled by the radio and the familiar smell of the joint they shared. We drove for several days until we got to Florida, where I met the beach and fell in love with shells and sand. That was a good place and I'd like to go back one day, take Eric there and maybe even stay. The thought of it suddenly fills me with sadness, because in the back of my mind I don't think we'll ever have enough money to make it there.

"Forman, if you don't get out here I'm going to break all your toy robots!" The door flys open and he's tying the bathrobe around himself tight, telling me I wouldn't dare. I pat the spot next to me and he sits obediently, arms folded protectively across himself.

"Lord Vader," he takes my hand, "without my battle droids I am at your mercy."

"Don't be sad, baby. Your robots are safe from me," I promise and kiss his palm. He smiles wickedly and I hand him a bottle of champagne. "It's the cheap stuff. I thought it would be romantic if we downed it straight out of the bottle before we do IT for a couple of hours."

"You're way too excited about this."

I wiggle out of my pants and throw them across the room. "Yeah, well you're way too nervous about this."

"Have you done this before?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?"

"I mean with a guy. Have you done this with a guy? You should be nervous. I don't want to be nervous by myself!"

"Forman, everything makes you tense. I knew this wouldn't be any different. I got us a jug of shine, didn't I?"

"I thought it was champagne."

"It's all in your perception, now guzzle it. I need you as far out of your mind as possible if we're gonna do this thing." It was meant to be funny but just makes him more anxious. "Don't worry. If you can't relax tonight, we'll watch the Family Feud."

That makes him smile. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath while I turn on the radio. I slide my hand into his robe and rub his belly while we make out for awhile. Finally, my chance to corrupt him completely has arrived and it's almost too much for me to handle. Dare I be so dirty as to force him to make the first move? To remind him of his strict I don't feel completely comfortable touching another guys weenie policy? We roll and he's on top, as in charge now as he has been since day one. G-d help me, I'll never survive all this.

The Allman Brothers serenade us and I ask if I am loved. I run my hand up the side of his face and he covers it and sings to me in a slow whisper " ... the gypsy flys from coast to coast ... "

" ... knowing many, loving none ... ", I counter

He whispers back, "sharing sorrow, having fun ..."

Then I topple him, attacking with more desperation than finesse. Of course, if anything like that mattered, he wouldn't have chosen a total dickhead like me for a suitor. We nibble and cuddle, kissing and singing along to the music. He's pushes his hands down the back and my shorts and is slowly sliding them off when our party is interrupted by banging at the door. Dammit.

The Ballad of Michael Kelso

Two hours later, Kelso's blathering hasn't become any more intelligent or less annoying. I watch him from across the small dining table, wishing for laser beam vision to zap him to another dimension. I can't believe I finally got Eric relaxed enough to be half-naked - which was a lot more naked than I'd expected to get him during the first few years of our relationship - only to be foiled by Kelso's boredom.

Eric is dressed again, tee-shirt inside out and missing his socks which are who knows where. Sporting the worst case of bed head I've ever seen, he paces the room with Kelso's bong, studying every commercial that plays on the television. He repeats the announcers verbatim or sings the theme songs softly and seriously, munch-a bunch of Fritos brand corn chips, 9-Lives presents Morris, Meredith Baxter-Birney for Preference by L'Oreal, the Atari video computer system: twenty different cartridges with thirteen hundred game variations that you can play on your home tv set! Kelso doesn't appear to notice because he's seen us both worse for wear, even before we got together, and accepts it as a natural thing.

And then Kelso's voice cuts through Forman's soft, happy chatter like a foghorn. "I'm just saying that if we ever did start a band, the Doobie brothers is the all time perfect name. THE DOOBIE BROTHERS, MAN!"

"Dumb ass, it's the perfect TAKEN name."

He rolls his eyes in ever present exasperation, "There's no law that says they get to be the ONLY Doobie Brothers. I mean, other people in the world can have that last name." He pauses and I can almost imagine the little hamster in his brain, running as fast as its feet will carry it, but never quite fast enough to make a difference. "There could even be another Michael Kelso somewhere right now."

"Hey, there could be. And maybe he's got a spot on his forehead just like yours."

He looks up and before he can ask what spot, I hit him directly on said nonexistent mark with the heel of my hand and he topples backward. He laughs and thanks me for the excellent burn. I cross my arms and wait, because when he gets up, I think I'll do it again. If he doesn't get up I'll find another way to entertain myself at his expense. "Kelso, man, you and Fez need to speed up the apartment hunt or we'll have nowhere to do the circle. The basement is no longer a private place."

"Well, damn, Hyde," he calls from the floor, "it's not like you guys don't have this hotel room. Plus there's Leo's house and the Hut and like, a trillion other places."

"Yeah, the problem with this hotel room is every time Eric and I want to be alone, some asshole shows up and ruins it."

"Well, my brother's back at the house for two whole weeks. You know the kind of stuff he does to me!"

I know the kind of stuff Casey does, indeed. It's the petty cruelty that is the result of being one of five brothers too close together in age. It starts as a fight for resources and attention and culminates into the well practiced methods of torture which are as genius in simplicity as they are flawless in execution. Every torment is more inspired than the next, from the vicious murder of Snorkey the goldfish to sneaking into his room at night to piss on his sheets. There are too many to list, but they have truly been a joy to behold all these years. "Kelso, if you don't want to end up with permanent emotional damage, get that apartment! He'll be back again for Christmas and I don't want to have this conversation over again."

He looks wistful, as he often does when high. "Yeah, getting my own place is going to be super great. My parents were so excited they even said they'd pay my share of the rent for a few months until I get on my feet, you know."

I take the bong from my idiot beloved, who's already high flying. "My dad doesn't want me to move out. He LOOOOOOOVES me. You hear that? LOOOOOOOVE."

Kelso laughs. "Your brain is toast!"

"He said you're my sweet baby. That's what he said. He said this is hardly a surprise."

This makes Kelso laugh louder, so before somebody calls the front desk, I pull sweet baby out of his chair and tell him I'm cutting off his supply. He thanks me with a kiss and falls backward across the sofa.

Now at breakfast the other morning, Red did mention repeatedly that none of this was exactly a shock. I believe his exact words were something along the lines of ... I knew this would happen when you cried for dolls every time we went to the store. And do you know why I bought you those dolls, other than to shut you up? Because I'm a grade A father, damn it. He may have said something resembling a declaration of love, but all I heard was ... why don't you two take your family of dolly babies outside to help you clean the garage.

Needless to say, Forman thought this an excellent idea and his legion of GI JOES were dispatched throughout the backyard. We actually had a lot of fun playing with them for hours and so many of the neighbors stopped by to comment that I think I saw a little tear in the corner of Red's eye. We never did clean the garage and I have a feeling we will never be asked to again.

"Kelso, you need to apply here and work with Forman and me. You need some direction in your life and frankly, I could use the gas money."

"No way, man. I'm eighteen now. It's time to think about a career, not a job. That's what my dad told me. He said it's my job to establish a career, so basically I'm already working full time. I was watching the Love Boat the other night, right, and I was thinking, I could be a bartender just like Isaac. You only have to go to school for six weeks and you get to meet all those drunk women. I mean, bartender-ing is a career, right? You go to school for it and it pays money, so it counts."

"Serving booze for a living isn't a career, moron, it's a calling."

"I like it. I've never had a calling before. What about you guys, you going to school with Eric?"

"There's no money for Eric's school; that's why we're working here. Maybe he can start next year."

I cast my eyes upon my scrawny inamorato and think we'll both be damn lucky if we're not working here for the rest of our lives. I never wanted this for him. Finances were tight at home before Red's heart attack, but now it feels like we're drowning. I was so sure Eric would be the one to break that cycle in his family; be the first to get a fancy degree and bring home some serious bread.

I wouldn't turn down a shot at that life myself. Book work always came to me easy and I've actually pictured myself as the headmaster at a Catholic Girl's School. If things don't start looking up soon, I wonder what Eric would think of me working for the Bertrand Brothers. He'd probably think something along the lines of sticking his foot in my ass. A few years ago when Edna left, I almost did. Nobody knows this secret, but the Bertrand brothers are the reason I studied french in high school. I used to say it was to get laid or because my family came from there or just anything that sounded good at the time, from playing hockey to working as a photographer at a foreign porn magazine.

The sick truth is the Bertrands' pay a significant amount of money to insignificants like myself. Despite my need to convey a hard attitude, I've little doubt those fucked up Canadians would swallow me alive. Now I have to face the fact that I took all that french for nothing.

I hear soft snoring from across the room and see Eric still draped across the sofa, unmoved from where I left him. There goes my night of dream sex - romantic yet bordering on the unimaginably weird. I know Berry Bertrand - the least threatening of the five - is in the next room with his one of his girlfriends, just like every other Saturday night. I take a deep breath and tell myself I can never allow myself to get involved with those people. Even if baby Berry is just a crooked accountant, his brothers are dangerous, greedy people; maybe even killers.

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

* Sweet Melissa by the Allman Brothers Band (go for the regular and the live versions)