:)

Beautiful Music
THAT 70's SHOW
Jennifer Ryan
06/08/07

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I did not think the girl could be so cruel

I should have gone back to bed after my bowl of alphabet cereal cussed me out, because it was all downhill from there. I wanted a quickie before breakfast, but my parents were up and there's no lock on my door. Everyone else ate pancakes and bacon; Laurie in slow motion as she sized me up and down and announced I was going to be a geek in an alligator shirt for another four years.

I tried to defend the fact that I want to look nice, but I want it to be casual nice so no one will think I'm going out of my way to look nice. Hyde spent at least fifteen minutes trying to convince me that making a good impression on my first day of school would require wearing his Zeppelin shirt. I sat between him and my mother as they argued how a decent young college man should dress. Unable to take it and unable to win, I ran up the stairs while trying to pull off my polo shirt and wiggle out of my trousers. I dug until I found one of Steven's concert shirts in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper and matched it with one of my nicer pairs of jeans. When he walked in, I was lingering in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out how to look dirty but cool and not dirty but stupid. I want to appear intelligent, but not seem like a know it all. I don't want it to look like I'm trying too hard to be not a geek when I really have been something of a geek my entire life.

Hyde puts both hands in my hair and messes it up real good. "Now that's what I'm talking about, Forman." I whine that I look like a homeless person, but Hyde disagrees and says I just look like I belong with him. I counter that's because he looks like a homeless person, a compliment that makes him grin.

I can't seem to make him understand that any one of my teachers could be a carbon-copy of my father, deciding I'm a dumb ass the second we meet. All I need is an army of Red's riding my ass until I die.

Hyde undoes his belt and before he can hand it to me, I draw the line. I'm too nervous to eat, so I'm sure as hell not going to suck him off, even if I've suddenly fulfilled all his fantasies by dressing like a hobo.

"I'm not begging for sex, Forman. I figured I'd save that for tonight when you're trying to study. I want you to wear my magic Canada belt."

"Canada belt? You don't really think my parents are stupid enough to believe that's a maple leaf on the buckle, do you?" Oh man, if I went to my first day of college wearing a giant dope leaf - we'll, I'll never be too old to wear my own ass for a hat. "I promise you can loan it to me on my first day of graduate school, should I attend."

Instead of looking disappointed, he pulls out a box from under our bed and demands that if I won't wear his lucky belt, then I have to at least take this. I place the box on our bed and open what is none other than an impossible to find Star Wars book bag with a picture of Darth Vader's bad ass self on the front.

"I can't believe you found one. Nobody has one of these!" He shrugs, saying bashfully that he beat the hell out of a fourth grader to get it. "It still has the price tags on it, but that's a nice story anyway."

"Your dad had people at every Price Mart in five states looking for it," he says quietly. "But you're not supposed to know that, so don't say anything."

My dad? I can't believe it. I remember how excited he was when one of his friends called from the store in Iowa. I made one of my generic smart ass remarks and handed him the telephone, never suspecting a thing. G-d, if there's anything my dad hates more than people, it's communicating with them in any form. He can't stand it and that's one of the telephones many hazards. Hyde rolls his eyes and warns me not to get sentimental like a sissy little girl, so I sling the pack over my shoulder and ask how I look.

"Not half bad for once, kid."

When we hit the kitchen, my mother is all over the both of us. She reprimands a beaming Hyde for dressing me like a little rebel and the two of them go at it again. I try to fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my bag lunch, but I can't find the bags. They're little brown ones, sometimes with pictures on them, but hopefully not the Smurfs. My mother, who I didn't realize was paying a bit of attention to me, pulls the bags from a drawer without pausing her conversation. She then hands me a Tab cola from the refrigerator and a baggie of carrot sticks she cut up for me special.

"They're for good eye sight. You're going to be straining your eyes in front of a black board all day long, so sit as close to the front as you can." Hyde complains that the front rows are for nerds and other losers, which elicits a chuckle from my father. "No, no, no. The front rows are for well behaved young people whose parents taught them proper values and manners." Hyde warns me to sit in the back or I'll be the target of the cool kids spit wads, but Kitty is adamant that I not associate with those types. "You know what kind of hoodlums you'll find in the back row? Those greaser boys from Sha-Nah-Nah."

I laugh until I'm afraid I'll piss down my leg and all the while my mother demands to know what's so funny. I'll turn blue if I don't get out of here soon and it's then that she notices my new back pack. "Well, isn't that just sweet. It has a picture of that machine guy you play with in the bath tub."

My dad flashes me the I told you those are dolls look, but before I can defend my honor, mom asks where I got something so sharp. I look at Red when I tell mom it was a surprise from someone who loves me. He puts down the newspaper and tells me to get the hell out of his house with that kind of talk.

Hyde sits in the car with me while I wait on Donna and even though it only takes her a few minutes, it seems like an eternity. I don't know why I'm so nervous. In my life I've had plenty of first days of school and they all turned out fine. Of course, they all ended in a circle. And Hyde was always there; not just in the circle but occasionally in math class. He was always by my side to encourage me with a What the hell are you looking at, Forman? or to use me as a distraction or a patsy whenever Kelso was not available.

Donna appears in front of us, hair drawn up in an uncharacteristic french bun and donning a pink sweater and black knee length skirt. Her look is completed by a strand of small pearls, no doubt real and a family heirloom. She looks amazing, always does when she dresses like a fine lady. It serves as a reminder of just how much better than me she really is.

Hyde opens the passenger door and gives her his seat, a gesture she acknowledges with a thank you and shy smile. Then he asks her why the hell she's dressed like Jackie Kennedy and she flushes a bright red. Noticing my choice of attire, she tells him that some people want to look nice on their first day of school to make a good first impression.

"Not Forman, if anybody so much as looks at him, he's been trained to go off like a bottle rocket. He's my apprentice now, Pinciotti."

She rolls her eyes and tells me to step on it and as we turn onto Western Avenue I see that Hyde is still standing in the driveway, pretending he's too cool to wave goodbye to me. I should have turned the car around right then.

Donna and I have math and anthropology classes in common and will ride together Mondays and Wednesdays. Now our anthropology class is taught by a three hundred year old Brit in a tweed jacket who is extremely hard of hearing, something that was not entirely unexpected. Most of our classmates are familiar faces - Point Place is a small town - but I overhear a couple of people claiming to be from Summersville or Westerly. They pay a generous amount of attention to Donna and a few minutes into class they begin trading up seats until they are next to us.

Our professor, Mr. DeWitt, speaks dispassionately of the many African countries we will discuss this semester, such as Rhodesia and Egypt. Ted and Roger lay on the charm in a gambit to get their hands down Donna's pants and I try hard to tune them out. A few of the girls notice me and one gives me quite the suggestive wink, but none are as forward or rude as the guys who've claimed Donna. Our one hour class feels like it drags into three and I find myself fantasizing about how Kelso would alleviate the boredom by farting and blaming it on Rodney Francis, who is conveniently here.

Roger or Ted, I don't know which, finally asks Donna to give up her phone number - unless, of course, she's with me and that's when Donna nervously blurts out that I'm gay. Every head in the class turns in my direction, even Mr. DeWitt's, oddly enough, and I look to Donna in shock. She covers her mouth like she can't believe she's said it. I slump down in my seat amid the heckling of the guys who were our high school football team and the giggling of the girls who flirted with me just moments ago.

Mr. DeWitt silences the class and writes the word HOMOSEXUALITY on the chalk board in large capital letters. "Homosexuality is but one of the many topics of concern for the SOCIAL ANTH-ROP-OLO-GIST," he enunciates. "The phenomenon is treated from a CULT-UR-AL PER-SPEC-TIVE and is investigated using the SCI-ENT-IF-IC METHOD." His furious scribbling seems to have distracted everyone but me as the class copies down the vocabulary words and writes out their definitions. Mr. DeWitt explains the scientific method in detail, then in good nature says, "of course, some of us do literally take our research to bed with us."

Laughter erupts in the room - even Donna can't help but to smile, but I feel an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Hyde and I don't really run around advertising they way we feel or the things we do. Our families and our friends know what little information we share, but we've certainly never walked into a public place or made a spectacle of ourselves in front of strangers. Does that mean I am ashamed? I don't think I'm ashamed.

I wish this had happened in psychology class, then maybe I'd get free help analyzing it. I can't believe Donna would just say stuff about private things and stuff and just - use private information to make fun of me. I shove everything into my book bag and head for the door, only to be stopped by the instructor, who grabs my arm gently and leads me to the front of the class room.

"Young Mr. Forman will assist our class in a brief experiment, if he doesn't mind, that is," he says gently. I nod and he motions for me to sit atop his desk while he takes to the black board and draws two columns; PERCEPTION and REALITY. He asks the class to suggest traits that conjure the image of a homosexual and he writes them out in the first column, then he allows me to tackle them one by one, as if playing an insane version of the Family Feud.

"Number one, Mr. Forman. It has been suggested by your peers that a homosexual gentleman might like to listen to Judy Garland or perhaps watch one of her many fine film works. Using yourself or if you rather, your friend, as an example, is this to be considered accurate information?"

"My boyfriend likes Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath," I tell the class as I stare into a spot on the floor. "His favorite actors are Steve McQueen and Jaws."

That draws a few laughs and really boosts my confidence. Mr. DeWitt smiles and tells me in his persistently patient voice, "very good. Number two. It is the theory of several of your classmates that pink is a favorite color and that a young man such as yourself might like to carry a little purse. Are either true?"

"He prefers black. I've never seen him with a purse, but he never leaves the house without a bottle cap opener and a switchblade." A couple folks in the back actually clap at that one, probably because they know exactly who I'm talking about and find it irresistibly hilarious.

"And number three, Mr. Forman, does your boyfriend perhaps enjoy talking on the telephone with his mother?"

I look straight ahead and without flinching tell the entire class that his mother abandoned him. I realize I'm daring them to laugh at that, ready to kick the hell out of anyone who makes a peep. I know most of these spoiled kids from high school and every single one of them has two living, married parents, whether they're happy about it or not.

"And finally, Mr. Forman, it has been suggested by several people in this very room that it is typical for homosexual persons to display such abhorrent behaviors as clothes shopping at the mall and hanging out with girl friends. Have you noticed this?"

"Um, we're not welcome at the local shopping mall for reasons I'd rather not go into." I get some suggestive looks and a few whistles, so I confide that an innocent trip to the pet store resulted in all the lizards escaping captivity. That was all Kelso's doing, but the rest of us got kicked out along with the moron.

"Excellent, Mr. Forman, thank you. You may take your seat."

I do so in triumph, unashamed to make eye contact with each and every person I pass. Everyone claps for me and I take my chair next to Donna, relieved. Mr. DeWitt scrawls several famous names on the board, including Freddy Mercury, Elton John, Rock Hudson and Charles Nelson Reily; all entertainers I recognize to be gay. Our last fifteen minutes of class are used to talk about the treatment homosexuals can expect to receive around the world, which actually turns out to be interesting. I feel pretty good about myself until I get to the john and all the guys take turns calling me sweetheart and smacking me on the ass.

Donna and I eat our bagged lunches together outside and she can't seem to apologize enough, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "Eric, you know when I get nervous I ramble and unexpected things just fly out of my mouth. But it turned out all right. You were, like, amazing in there. I mean you stood up in front of everybody and dared them to get in your face."

"Yeah, I think Hyde's shirt has given me superpowers." She tells me good thing it's not a Queen shirt and I blanch at the embarrassment that would have caused. "You're not going follow me around all week and call me queer are you?"

"Eric! This isn't easy for me you know. I dated you for almost three years and now people know that my ex-boyfriend left me for a guy. Do you have any idea how humiliating something like that is for a girl?"

I tell her I imagine it feels like when your best friend since you were four years old kicks you out of the closet and into a room full of judgemental strangers. I walk away, mentally conjuring scenarios of what will go wrong when we hit math class. I hope Hyde is having a better day than I am.

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Musical Interlude

Even though I saw this episode of Donahue two months ago and I know what is going to happen, I can't resist the urge to yell at the TV set. I should be in bed or something - I have to work later on - but I can't sleep. Eric should be sitting in front of the tube with me, making fun of these assholes and all their idiotic, stupid ass problems. Fez is at school, Kelso is at school and Eric is at yet a third separate school, leaving me to my own wicked devices. A guy like me can get in a lot of trouble in this town, I'm telling you that right now. Of course, finding it would require getting off the couch.

I wonder what Leo's doing, man. I'm gonna have to learn to knit or cook casseroles or do whatever it is unappreciated housewives do. I go just far enough into the kitchen to retrieve the pan of brownies Kitty made for dessert tonight and drag them back to my lair to finish watching the show. I fall asleep with the half eaten container resting on my belly. Man, I hope I don't get fat.

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El Señor Fernando Eduardo Zayas-Bazán de Sally Hughes Academy of Beauty

I am the only man in this room, a situation that is often the star of my dreams. Well, except in my dreams all the ladies are throwing tootsie rolls at me, not carrying scissors. My classmates consist of frumpy house wives, not that I discriminate when it comes to the girls, but I do not prefer married.

In 1978, I, Fez, became an American citizen and in this new year I shall become a world famous beautician! I circled today's date, January 20th, 1979, in my new pocket calendar so that it may be forever commemorated. If only my dear old, crazy uncle Van Der Wylde could see me now, the son of a bitch. I came to this country with a dream he didn't support, to become a wealthy American man with his own apartment and many girlfriends. The glamorous life of a Wisconsin hair stylist will be my springboard to popularity, sex and all good things.

I unroll my new supplies on a counter top, organizing my combs and making sure everything is in it's place, when the cruel bastard that is fate slaps me upside the head. My ex-wife, the no account whore who humiliated me by refusing my affections and dating another man on our honeymoon, breezes into the room and boy is her tummy getting fat. Ay, Dios mios, I love her so much!

She hands a slip of paper to our instructor, Mrs. Conner, who puts her hands on her hips and decides to make an example. "It seems your class mate, Ms. Forman, did not come to her first day of school prepared. Despite the specific instructions given to each of you in the admission packet, Ms. Forman has failed to produce the $36.50 needed to purchase her required supply kit." Laurie seems a little embarrassed, but mostly bored by the dramatics, which continue. "This sort of irresponsibility might fly in the dental hygiene program at the junior college, but at the Sally Hughes Academy of Beauty ..."

Laurie puts up her hand and motions for Mrs. Connor to stop, asking if this speech will take much longer. "My father left for work before I could ask for the money and my brother's stupid boyfriend only had 7 bucks on him. I promise I will bring it tomorrow."

"What good is tomorrow, Ms. Forman, when class begins today. What good is a beauty consultant who can't properly handle a pair of shears?"

Laurie rolls her eyes and places her pink book bag on the counter. "Listen here, you ol..."

"I will buy another from the front office," I interrupt. I hand an ungrateful Laurie my treasured supplies, which are carefully sorted and customized with many optional accessories and she says no thanks. We ignore Mrs. Conner's gasp, as she tells her class I am a gentleman. Instead, my attention is on Laurie, as I place the supplies on the counter top before her and whisper in her ear, "because we were once married, I have no problem telling you the things this gentleman's tongue could do to you body if given the chance."

To my great surprise, she's taken aback and seems aroused, but before I can continue I overhear our instructor asking my classmates if there's any chance at all that I am a heterosexual. ¡Carajo! Laurie hears her, too, and yells over me that I live with a guy. I hear a few groans as I head toward the office for new supplies. I make to you this promise, Laurie Forman, you mean spirited woman, that one day you will belong to Fez in every way. Before I go to the office, I seek out the candy machine.

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My old School

Today's circle is the sweetest I can remember in a long, long time. The entire gang is home from school by four pm and Hyde doesn't leave for work until five. Usually I can't wait to get out of this house, but today couldn't wait to get back. Mother and father dear are at work and I found Hyde sleeping on the couch with a giant pan of iced brownies, almost half of them eaten and chocolate smeared at the corners of his mouth. Man, I hope he doesn't get fat. I no sooner place them at the center of the table then Fez and Kelso fly through the door and attack them.

Fez spent his entire school day flirting with desperate, overweight housewives who hung on his every word and Kelso learned how to fuck up fruit drinks in a frightening number of ways. I bypass the mornings humiliation and skip straight to the unbelievable surprise that was intermediate algebra. I warn everyone to pay close and careful attention to the mind blowing details and Hyde calls from the couch for me to get the hell on with it.

"Gentlemen and Fez, my math teacher - believe it or not - is none other than the late, the great, the long forgotten Leon 'I got my dick caught in a root beer bottle on a dare at Michael Kelso's birthday party' Miller."

Kelso jumps up and down excitedly, yelling how he loved that guy, then gets confused. "Wait, everyone knows that Leon Miller died. One day he didn't show up for school. I heard that his entire family was murdered by a serial killer. It's common knowledge."

Hyde drags himself to the table to get his toke and says, "Wow, Kelso, are you sure his family didn't just move away?"

"No chance. Leon Miller is dead."

"No, Kelso, Leon Miller is my algebra teacher." He asks how that's even possible, since Leon is our same age. "Well, at the age of fourteen, he and his entire family were not murdered by a serial killer, they moved to Illinois. He started the University of Chicago the exact same time we started the seventh grade and got a master's degree in physics."

"I though you said he was a math teacher?" I hand Fez the joint to keep him busy and tell the gang I invited Leon to join us for a circle sometime. Kelso is beyond thrilled and Hyde says cool. I tell him that Donna outed me to our anthropology class and Hyde looks concerned at first, then smiles and yells, "BURN!"

"You prick, I was completely humiliated." Hyde and Kelso high five and agree that complete humiliation is an absolute requirement. I guess they're both right. "You guys need to help me figure out a way to get even with her."

Kelso suggests I tell every one that Donna used to date a homo and you know, I think I've smoked just enough pot to call that a fine idea.

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To be continued ...

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For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) My Old School by Steely Dan