"Between stimulus and response, there is space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom." - Victor E. Frankl

o-o-o

Wednesday, November 30th

I pull open the refrigerator door to find that all that is left of our leftovers from Mrs. Forman's Thanksgiving dinner is a half-eaten slice of pumpkin pie and a small Tupperware of sweet potatoes.

I sigh and pull both these items - the only items, save for a carton of nearly expired milk - out of the fridge. It had quickly become apparent that my hopes for making the leftovers last two weeks were never going to work when it came to sharing the food with Bud. Every night that he worked the closing shift at the bar, he'd come back to the apartment grumpy and petulant, but most of all, ravenous. He'd grab more than his fair share of the food from the fridge, plant himself in front of the TV, and eat mindlessly.

Any time I tried to bring it up, his gaze would harden for a moment before relaxing. "It's just that late night shift at the bar," he'd say by way of explanation. "And they don't let the bartenders eat any of the food, so I'm starving."

So now, not even a week later, I find myself barely able to stop the gurgling in my stomach with a small side of sweet potatoes and a half-eaten slice of pie. I guiltily hope that Mrs. Forman has extra food.

When I finish, I'm searching the small living space for my coat when the phone rings. "Hello," I say into the receiver.

"Hey, Steven. Did I leave my smokes on the counter?" Bud's voice comes in scratchy.

I glance up and find his pack of cigarettes next to an ashtray by the sink. "Yup. Need me to drop them off? I'm on my way to the Forman's."

"Nah, that's all right," he says. "I'm about to go on break. I'll just go pick up another pack at the convenience store."

With what money? I think.

"If you say so," I reply instead. I'm about to hang up when I think of something else. "Oh, hey. Bud. Have you happened to see my coat lying around anywhere?"

"What's it look like?"

"It's tan. Fleece on the inside," I describe it.

Bud is quiet for a moment. "Oh, jeez, Steven. I'm sorry. I'm wearing it."

"But don't you have your own coats? That's my only one," I say, trying to keep my temper in check.

"Yeah, but none of mine are as warm as yours," he replies charismatically. "And it's always so cold in the bar. Just uh, borrow one of mine. There. Problem solved."

We disconnect, and I let out an annoyed breath. Bud had done nothing but make my life more difficult since asking me to move in with him. I was seriously starting to miss my basement bedroom.

My coat may have worn elbows, but Bud's coat is probably older than I am. If it weren't late November in Wisconsin, I wouldn't bother wearing it, but the low temperatures force me to shrug the coat on. I do, however, eagerly discard it once I arrive at the basement.

"Hey, Forman. Did I leave my denim jacket here?" I say by way of greeting.

"No, but where did that jacket come from?" He points to Bud's coat that I'm still holding.

I toss it by the record player. "It's Bud's. He borrowed my coat, so I had to wear his."

I head to the back of the basement to my old room, thinking maybe I left my denim jacket in there. How did all my coats and jackets keep disappearing? But other than the cot and Mrs. Forman's afghan that I sometimes used when it was really cold, there's nothing back here that belongs to me.

When I head back out, Donna and Kelso have arrived as well. Donna looks up at me, concerned. "Hyde. Eric said you're looking for your denim jacket?"

"Yeah." I lower myself onto my chair. "Bud probably took that, too."

"Huh," Donna says, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

"You all right, Donna?" Forman touches his girlfriend's arm.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I just uh…forgot that I made plans with Jackie." Her eyes quickly dart to mine and then to the door. "I better go."

She gives Eric a quick peck on the lips, grabs her coat and disappears.

"Man, that's the third time this week Donna's left to go hang out with Jackie," Kelso observes as he makes his way over to the deep freeze. "This basement has never been more lacking in hot chicks, and it's all your fault, Hyde."

"Excuse me?" I say scowling. I was not in the mood.

"Ever since you kissed Jackie, she's been AWOL," Kelso explains waving a fudgsicle around dramatically. He grins. "You must've been a pretty bad kisser to run her off like that."

I kick up my feet on the spool table and refuse to take the bait. "Whatever, man. At least I didn't hide from Jackie for a week after sleeping with her."

"Wait, what?" Kelso pulls the fudgsicle out of his mouth, his smile falling. "Jackie said you guys never had sex!"

"We didn't. That's what you did, you moron."

"Nuh-uh." Kelso shakes his head emphatically and settles back in his chair. "I haven't had sex with Jackie since we broke up."

"That's not what I - never mind," I say, letting it go. I didn't care for this conversation anyway.

Forman, on the other hand, felt differently. He'd been cracking up listening to the two of us bicker. I'm about to frog him on the arm when he speaks.

"Man, could you get any more stupid?" He addresses Kelso.

"Yes!" Kelso says, scoffing in offense. "Wait, I mean no! Wait. Now I'm confused."

o-o-o

Bud beats me back to the apartment later that night. He is, of course, sitting in front of the TV. I'm just glad it's the living room TV and not his bedroom TV that shares a wall with my bedroom, so I'll be able to maybe get some sleep tonight.

"Hey, Steven," he says without looking up from the TV. "How was the Forman's?"

"Fine," I say. I take off his coat and toss it next to him on the couch. "Uh, thanks for letting me borrow that, I guess."

"Sure thing," he says. "Oh, by the way. Did you eat the pie that was in the fridge?" He hedges.

"Yeah," I say, pausing on the way to my room. "So?"

Bud finally pulls his focus away from the TV. "That was my piece. And you know how hungry I am after a late-night shift at the bar." There's a slight hint of a challenge in his voice. "I had to come home to an empty refrigerator."

I refuse to feel sorry for him. "Yeah, that's because that's all that was in the fridge, and I gotta eat too, man."

"But I thought you went to the Forman's?" Bud runs his hand through his hair.

"It's not their job to feed me," I snap.

I was done playing this delicate game of walking on eggshells around each other. Hit me up for money? Fine. Don't stock the fridge? Also fine. But I drew the line at Bud acting like I was the responsibility of the Forman's, especially after he took me out of their home.

"Steven, listen," Bud says, holding his hands up in surrender. "It's just - "

"It's your job, Dad."

It's the first time I've called him Dad since moving in with him, and it's effective. Bud clasps his mouth shut in surprise.

"I'm going to bed." I turn toward my room, but turn back to face Bud once more. "Where's my coat?"

"In your room," Bud says quietly.

Without another word, I close myself in my bedroom and flip on the light switch. Sure enough, my coat is sitting on my bed. I pick it up and inspect it. One of the elbows has now completely worn through and the whole thing reeks of booze. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that being a bartender is the worst job for a recovering alcoholic to have. I consider the possibility, also not for the first time, that Bud may not be as clean and sober as he claims. But that was an issue for another day.

o-o-o

I toss and turn all night, burdened and unbalanced by the liminal state of the relationships and setting of my life as of late. Living with Bud, but in a state that felt impermanent, like it couldn't last. Tonight, we saw the first cracks in the glass.

And then of course, there was Jackie. It was nights like these, when sleep eluded me and I was beyond the point of exhaustion, that I had the most difficulty denying my feelings for her. She'd invade my thoughts without permission. But the truth was that of course I'd developed feelings for Jackie. She was a completely different person when it was just the two of us and she opened up. She was thoughtful in a quiet, contemplative way, which I liked, but also funny, and witty, and a lot smarter than she let on.

Maybe she didn't feel the same way about me, but this tension couldn't last much longer. I'd seen her in the halls at school from afar over the last few weeks, her fake smiles and laughter becoming increasingly more strained. If she wanted to go back to pretending like nothing ever happened between us, then I was fine with that. But it was time to get Jackie back where she belonged. In the basement, with us.


Author's Note: That concludes Part One! The first chapter of Part Two, Chapter 9: Arguments & Sabotage, will be posted in two weeks, on Friday, March 29, 2024.