Chapter Text
1976
Buddy Morgan’s Car
Point Place, WI
Riding in Buddy’s car, wind whipping your hair back and forth until it’s a tangled mess, but knowing there’s no point in fixing it since Buddy will inevitably tangle himself in it later. Singing along at the top of your lungs to the music blasting on the radio, your eyes squeezed shut, but knowing that if you opened them, Buddy would be sneaking glances at you instead of keeping a steady gaze on the road ahead.
You feel lovesick, loopy, overwhelmed. Buddy is unlike anything else in Point Place, anything in this world, probably. Riding in his car alongside him is almost like attending a place of worship, and his lips are the prayer you so desperately search for.
Maybe you hate him a little for that sometimes. Maybe. Sometimes you think about the life you should’ve had if you had never crossed paths. The All-American teenage dream that could still be yours, if you really wanted it to be.
But then, he meets your eyes in the rearview mirror, catching you before you drown in your thoughts. He smiles that secret, reserved smile, the one that’s saved only for you, and everything that isn’t him melts away.
You can’t help but feel lucky. You can’t help but feel like it was meant to be.
So, fuck that straight, bland, lifeless teenage dream. There isn’t anything else in this life that you could want, besides Buddy.
Just him, by your side.
-
1988
Eric Forman’s Car
Point Place, WI
Eric Forman, working his way through the last few miles up to his childhood home, dreading every minute of this trip. Regretting saying yes when he got the call, doubting every item of clothing that he’d packed, already sweating with anxiety over the judgmental gazes from people he could care less about, whose names he can’t even begin to remember.
He thinks to himself that he should have stayed home, catching up on work, because lord knows his students need their teacher to put in some extra effort. But, he also knows that he only gets to see his parents so often. Nobody is getting any younger, and he can’t live with the subtle guilt trips from his mom every time he calls home.
Visiting Point Place for a high school reunion means seeing his old friends too, but it’s only a small comfort. He sees them more often. Kind of. They visit him every now and then, even if he doesn’t return the favor.
The familiar frost of the Wisconsin air threatens to sneak in through the cracks of his windows and car doors, making him freeze down to the bones. It’s dark outside, and even though he’s definitely in an area that should feel familiar, since he’s no more than twenty minutes from home, he can’t help but feel like he should be constantly checking some map, or asking for directions.
Nothing feels the same. It never does. Whenever he visits, it’s like somebody has taken over and changed the whole town. Nothing has moved an inch though, and it probably never will. Point Place is the Peter Pan of towns, where everything stays the same and nobody grows up.
Maybe if they did, he wouldn’t feel so claustrophobic every time he visits. Maybe then it wouldn’t be such a heartbreaking relief to say goodbye.
He blinks firmly to keep himself alert, to keep his eyes on the road, to keep his mind off of this sudden existential dread, and turns on the shitty car radio. Anything to keep him awake.
It stutters on quietly, then seemingly remembers it’s supposed to be loud, and starts blasting some Donna Summer song that he hasn’t heard in years. He yelps to no one, then turns it down to start switching through the stations. He sorts through all the regular hits, the synth-pop and glam rock with ghosts of disco still hanging on, until he settles on some staticky station playing the Beatles.
Funny, he thinks, how these days his Beatles records are collecting dust at the very back of his collection, but as soon as he’s back where he grew up, it’s the only thing he’s comfortable listening to. He feels too small and too big all at once, just like when he was an irritable teenager. Every time he visits, his past grabs him by the throat and tries to drag him down with it.
He doesn’t immediately recognize the song, but it’s almost achingly familiar, and he’s trying to place it. He can tell it’s one of their earlier albums, and they’re singing about falling in love, something about ‘his girl’, and the longer it plays, the more it hits him.
He’s fully in it now. There’s no avoiding his past.
-
1977
Buddy Morgan’s Room
Point Place, WI
Buddy pulls a brand-new vinyl out from its plastic sleeve, and carefully places it on his record player, making sure it’ll play correctly. Everytime you come over, he picks an album to play while you two… hang out. It ‘sets the mood’ as he likes to say.
The album is white and blue, with the faces of the Beatles members plastered all over it, and you’ve definitely seen it before, but you’ve never been as big of a fan of their earlier sound, so it’s never been on your radar.
Music starts slowly filtering through the room, filling up the space with that warm, crackling undertone, and Buddy turns around to look at you, satisfied with himself.
“So? You proud of me? I picked this album up last weekend, when I went to look for new music. It’s the Beatles! You love the Beatles!” He exclaims, big, goofy smile on his face, walking towards where you are, sitting on the edge of his bed, right next to you. His leg is just barely pressing against yours, and he’s leaning back onto his elbows, looking up at you with that effortless, cool-guy look of his that you’re so jealous of.
(But also so, so enamored by.)
You smile back at him, nervously trying to think of how to say that you barely know anything before their ‘psychedelic’ era, but just as you open your mouth to say something, he cuts you off. It’s like he read your mind from one look.
“You’ve never listened to this album before, have you?”
You sheepishly shrug and look down at the hardwood floors of his bedroom, and then shake your head no.
“I haven’t really listened to much of their earlier stuff, to be honest. It’s good, don’t get me wrong! It’s just always felt… old. I don’t know!”
“Didn't they start making music in the 60s? We’re older than The Beatles!” Buddy smiles at you good naturedly, and you know he’s probably just excited to show you something new. He’s sweet like that.
“Well,” Buddy starts talking again, sweet and soft,”I’m still learning, I guess, but, like, I get some points for that, right? Buying a record from a band you love so we can listen to it together? That has to count towards the attentive boyfriend awards.” He awkwardly cringes at himself, and you can’t help but laugh at that.
He’s looking down at the ground now, and you know he’s probably blushing. You’d be able to tell for sure, if only you could see his face. Reaching over, you hold his hand in yours, stroking your thumb over the skin of his palm, softly tracing over the lines. Your heart feels like it’s breaking free out of your chest.
You listen as the songs change in the background, and for a second, you wonder if you two will always be shy like this, tiptoeing around each other, even when nobody is around. The thought makes your heart ache more than it should. You’ve been official for a few months now- it shouldn’t be this nerve wracking just to talk to him, to hold his hand. Right?
Suddenly, Buddy shoots up from his spot next to you on the bed, finding the sleeve for the record, and pulling out a square, colored sheet of paper from it. He inspects it for a second before stepping back over to you and dropping it in your lap, and pointing at a section in a corner.
“So, it came with a lyric booklet, but it’s really more like a lyric sheet? It’s just a piece of paper but, ya know, whatever. It has all of the lyrics and uh, some art too… I thought it was pretty cool. You can read them if you’d like, but like, don’t take them too seriously. Unless you want to! But, like. Yeah.” He’s bouncing back and forth on his feet, not able to stand still, clearly anxious that he’s saying the wrong thing.
Him being so nervous is making you nervous, especially since it seems so out of left field. You start to look down at the paper, but seeing him having so much anxiety over something so endearing is making your heart ache, so you gesture at him to come over to you before you can actually process any of the lyrics. He complies, but doesn’t sit, just stands above you, looking down.
“Buddy, is something going on? Usually you just play an album and we don’t even pay attention to it. And, I know you’ve played bands that I’ve liked before. You’ve never made such a big deal about it like today.”
He’s looking at you with those big brown doe eyes, wide and dazed, and almost like he can’t stop himself from saying it, he blurts out, “EricILoveYou!” Leaving you sitting there, stunned. You had a feeling that one of you was going to say it soon, but now that the words are out there, it feels different than you thought. A lot more real, vivid- and before he can think anything else, before Buddy can doubt his feelings-
“Buddy, I love you too- I love you, for real.”
Buddy smiles at you, goofy and bright, eyes crinkling in the corners, and you decide to be brave, reaching up to pull him in for a kiss. He’s never taller than you, not like this, so it makes for a slightly awkward angle, but it’s okay, because Buddy puts his hands on your cheeks to keep himself steady, and it feels like a real romance. Like something out of the fantasy books you had grown up reading.
After a long while, he pulls away from the kiss, grinning like an idiot.
“I have a boyfriend, and I love him!” He almost yells, and you can’t help but laugh along with him, grabbing his arms and shaking him around a bit.
“It’s so funny that you say that Buddy, because I have a boyfriend that I’m in love with, too!”
You fake gasp at one another, pretending to be shocked, but can’t stop giggling from the natural high you’re each hooked on.
“By the way, which song is this? It’s so pretty. I’ll have to look at the lyrics.” As soon as you mention it, Buddy is blushing, clearly trying to not look embarrassed.
“And I Love Her, by The Beatles. I may have chosen this album today because I knew I wanted to tell you to this song… which probably makes me a loser, but I just really love you!”
You smile even wider at that, not knowing how you got so lucky to have this boy in your life, by your side, loving you. A boy who will plan to tell you he loves you to a song by one of your favorite bands, just because he thinks it’ll make you smile.
God. You’re in love with Buddy Morgan, and lord almighty, he loves you back.
-
1988
The Forman Residence
Point Place, WI
Eric slams the front door shut behind him, using that as his announcement to his parents, hoping that they’re still awake. He may be a grown adult living states away from home, but the wrath of his father still terrifies him sometimes. Waking him up with no warning isn’t something he would exactly be excited to do, although in a situation like this, it might not be a problem.
As he starts to unbutton his coat, still shivering from the chill outside, he notices a light turn on from the top of the stairs, followed by the familiar sound of soft, quick footsteps coming down towards him. As he looks up from the last button, he sees his mom, her face warm and familiar, albeit a little more wrinkled, her hair more gray than blonde, but still with that shining smile that screams ‘home’.
“Eric, honey!” She whispers excitedly, definitely louder than she is trying to be, “I’m so glad you’re home safe, how was the drive up here, are you feeling okay? Do you need anything to eat? I think I have some pasta in the fridge, maybe some snacks in the pantry still, oh, sweetheart, you’re so tall, I feel like a little Keebler elf standing next to you!”
She’s rambling in that way attentive, middle aged moms do, the way he would’ve found so annoying as a kid, but misses more than he should now that he lives far from home. Before he can even say anything, she’s already off to the kitchen, on her way to prepare him a meal, knowing him better than he knows himself. He would have said no to eating and gone straight to bed, but now that he seemingly doesn’t have a choice in the matter, a meal is probably what he needs to make him feel better.
(Seeing his mom makes him feel better, too.)
He hangs up his coat and puts his shoes away by the front door as well, the feeling of having been constricted in them while driving for almost two days being too overwhelming now that he’s in a place where no shoes are allowed. As soon as he’s comfortable, he walks over to the kitchen, where he can hear his mom trying, and failing, at staying quiet while preparing food for him. He walks in and sees an assortment of bread, deli meats and cheeses, chips, and sandwich spreads, with his mom hovering over the counter trying to get everything assembled as quickly as possible.
“Mom, thank you, but, you don’t have to make too much, just a ham and cheese. Or like, whatever you have will be fine,” he tells her, “and is it possible for a guy to hug his mom after not seeing her for a year?”
She turns around and laughs when she sees that he’s smiling, and goes to give him a tight, teary eyed squeeze.
“Sorry! My head’s all over the place, goodness, it’s so late, and I was just so focused on making sure you were okay I didn’t even realize!”
He shakes his head at her and gives her another hug, squeezing her tightly, and goes to sit at the kitchen table while she completes her task. He can feel her eyes following him, and he knows that she’s trying to soak in every detail that she can, before he inevitably goes back home to Richmond. As soon as he turns his head up to look back at her, she spins around quickly, ready to continue his midnight meal.
After having wiped her hands clean on a kitchen towel, she picks up a knife to continue spreading the butter across the slices of bread in front of her. Eric watches her, noticing how the movements of her hands are more calculated than before, more thought out. She has glasses on to see what’s in front of her better. Not just reading glasses, but everyday, all the time, prescription glasses. It’s weird, he thinks, to see his mom as an older woman now. Someone who has lived his lifetime almost three times over.
Before he can get into too deep of a spiral and start looking up nursing homes, not for his parents, but for himself, Kitty sets down two plates; one on the placemat in front of him, and another on a placemat in front of the seat across the table. She sits down, inviting herself to join him for a late, late dinner.
“Your ham and cheese, as ordered,” she winks at him, “and I have a couple flavors of chips, I just put some plain Lay’s in the sandwich the way you like, but if you want anything else there’s a ton of others on the counter, I saw some new type of Doritos at the shops the other day, cool ranch? I don’t know if you’ve tried them yet, but they’re really good!”
Looking down at his plate, he’s filled with a childhood nostalgia that makes his heart constrict. It’s so stupid to him sometimes, how such small things will suddenly make him feel like he’s exploding, but looking at this sandwich that was made by his mom, and seeing that she’s made herself one as well, to eat alongside him, it makes him want to cry. He hates feeling like a kid, hates not being listened to, but sometimes, it’s all he wants to go back to. His mom babies him like no other, infantilized him for years, and as much as he used to resent her for it, sometimes he just wants to lie down next to her and be that little boy again, as awful as it once sounded.
Now that he’s an adult and has seen the real world, he hates it. Knowing who he is.
He smiles at her though, and thanks her warmly, not letting her in on the whirlwind of thoughts he’s spinning through, and she smiles back, teeth and all, running a soft hand through his hair quickly, affectionately.
They sit there and eat, with Kitty asking occasional questions about the drive up from Virginia (long and boring), how work is doing (students are good, but the school board has been insufferable, as usual), and finally, the dreaded questions about the reason he came up in the first place.
“So, this reunion! That’s fun! Anyone you’re excited about seeing? You know, I called Steven when you had told me you’d gotten an invite, to see if he was going? I let him know he could come stay with us but he said no, and I get it, I do! But oh, I wish I could’ve seen my boys together this year, you two haven’t been in the house at the same time in a while, haven’t you? When was the last time you saw him?”
Eric laughs at that one, because of course Hyde wouldn’t dream of coming to some dingy high school reunion. Eric can be snarky and knows how to stand up for himself if absolutely necessary, but in the end, he’s always scared of letting people down, of having those with a good opinion of him grow to resent him. Hyde, on the other hand? That “anti-authority” fuck-the-world attitude never left. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll go through every obstacle just to avoid it, so, yeah, it makes perfect sense that he didn’t show up this trip.
“Mom, I still see him, we talk, I promise you. I’ve known him almost twenty years at this point, I’d have to get him surgically removed like some sort of tumor if I really wanted him out of my life. We just have different lives now, that’s all. And, don’t act surprised he’s not showing up to this, he was never the poster child for Point Place High, you know that,”
She rolls her eyes at him affectionately, and he can tell she misses him, really. But, he can also tell she’s not dropping the subject of the reunion yet like he’d hoped she would.
“So, don’t ignore my other questions mister, I’m sure you’ll see other friends. I spoke to Bob the other day actually, still the same if you’re wondering. But, he said Donna would be coming up this week too, so I’m sure you’ll see her! And Fez still lives here, he might show up too, which speaking of Fez, I’ve got to get my hair done soon actually…” her sentence trails off as she stands up quickly to grab a piece of scrap paper to jot down a reminder to schedule a hair appointment, and sticks it to the fridge.
While she’s busy with that, Eric grabs their now empty plates and takes them to the sink, starting to wash them before Kitty can protest and insist she do all the work. “I’m sure I’ll see some of the gang there, yeah, Kelso actually called me the other day to ask if I was going,” he says over his shoulder.
“Oh, lovely! That’s almost everyone! So fun- oh, Eric, you don’t have to do dishes right now, it’s fine we can leave it till the morning-“ but he cuts her off, and puts the plates on the drying rack.
“It was two plates and, like, a single knife. It’s fine, my hands won’t break from this extreme manual labor, I promise.” After wiping his hands dry, he gives her a kiss on the cheek, and looks at their clock. 12:37 AM, and suddenly his exhaustion hits him like a pile of bricks.
“Mom, love you, I have got to get some sleep, and lord knows you need it more than I do too.”
She laughs kindly, seemingly agreeing with him. Kitty lets him go to bed; only after five minutes of Midwestern mom over-attentiveness, of course, while he just stands there, awkwardly accepting it.
Finally, after she’s gone, he’s able to grab his bags for the week, and head to his childhood bedroom. He trudges slowly up the stairs so as to not make any noise, since he’s left to assume that Red slept through all that talk in the kitchen, and is most definitely still asleep. When he finally opens the door, pressing against it slightly so the hinges won’t squeak loudly, he flicks the light on and takes a look around.
It’s definitely not his childhood bedroom anymore, but elements of it are still scattered around if he looks hard enough. The walls are the same color, and even though the posters have been taken down, the marks from tape and thumbtacks are still stuck to the wall, like a ghost of teenage angst past. Shelves still remain, but he took most collectibles with him when he moved, so now they’re mostly filled with generic, guest-friendly tchotchkes.
His bed is the same, though. Tan, striped bed sheets on a twin-sized mattress, definitely too old to be comfortable. The pillows might be different, he can’t really tell, but, a white pillow is a white pillow.
Either way, regardless of how much this room changes, it’s filled with memories, some better than others. He can go to the waste basket in the corner and think of all the candy he’d sneak in as a kid, he can look out the window and remember how often he would look through and yearn over Donna, look at his bed and remember-
Well. Remember what he’s trying to avoid. Remember the reason he’s really here in the first place; the false hope he’s given himself. Unfortunately.
He puts down his bags for the night, shuts the door, and immediately starts stripping off everything besides his boxers. He changes quickly, breathing in the stale air that fills the room, and sits down on the edge of his bed. After a few seconds of staring at the floor, he falls backwards to look up at the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d stuck on the ceiling.
He’s exhausted, but he still isn’t under the blankets. His mind is racing, spinning in circles thinking about Buddy, which normally rarely happens when he comes up to visit.
But.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t come here out of some hopeful dream that Buddy will also be at this ten year reunion. What he wants out of possibly seeing him again, he doesn’t know. Or, maybe he does, but just can’t form the words. At this point, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.
It’s been a decade since they last saw each other, and he can’t even remember the last time they’d spoken, but the moment Eric had gotten the invite, all he could think about was Buddy.
Buddy, over the past few years, has been a buzzing fly in the corner of the room that is his mind. He feels him everywhere he goes, in everyone that he meets, but isn’t ever able to find him.
(Not that he ever really thought that Point Place would be the place to look for him again; Eric always knew Buddy was destined for something bigger than this, something greater.)
Eric sighs and rubs his hands over his eyes until he sees glittering specks of light, then finally, after two days of nonstop travel, gives himself permission to turn his brain off, and go to sleep.
-
1977
Eric Forman’s Bedroom
Point Place, WI
Buddy is kneeling down to look at your shelves, covered in all sorts of nerdy figurines and memorabilia that you know are embarrassing, but can’t seem to be able to let go of. You’re standing behind him, trying to look cool, but secretly freaking out over if this could be what makes Buddy look you up and down and realize ‘oh my god, he’s freakish, I have to get out of here as fast as possible!’.
You’re not always sure what he sees in you, but you’re so glad he sees it, because you’re nothing if not completely infatuated with him.
He stands up and looks over his shoulder at you, floppy brown hair falling smooth over his face, your hands feeling magnetically drawn to mess with it. You just want to touch him all over, all the time, and you know you can’t. You’re sure that being a teenager in love has never felt more frustrating, crazy, and dizzying for anybody else on the planet. Buddy Morgan and Eric Forman have invented true love, and everything else that goes along with it.
“You have like, every piece of Star Wars merchandise ever, I think.” He says, sounding surprisingly impressed with your collection, especially for someone who knows next to nothing about the series.
You let out a sarcastic chuckle, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, and stride confidently over to him, “why, thank you… if you think that’s a lot, just wait until I pull out my bins of Spider-Man comics from the attic.”
Buddy rolls his eyes at you, but still turns his body around fully to wrap his arms around your waist, making your chest feel like it’s been sparked with a bright, burning flame. You wink at him before putting a hand on the side of his jaw to pull his face up towards yours, looking into his eyes to ask for silent permission before going in and giving him a deep kiss.
He kisses you back, and you can feel his smile sneaking up against your lips, almost as if he can’t control how happy he is in this moment. Here he is, in your bedroom, this room that is the epitome of geekiness, kissing Point Place High’s resident pothead nerd. Wrapped up in your arms like there’s nowhere he’d rather be; not with his gaggle of rich-kid popular friends, not cruising through town in his Trans-Am, not with any other boy in the world. You feel so lucky, especially now that he’s tightening his grip around your waist, turning his head to the side to deepen your kiss, breathing heavy through his nose- and you remember, you’re the one who’s doing that to him.
You’re the one who gets to kiss the lights out of Buddy Morgan, the boy all the girls in school want. You’re the one who gets to run their hands through his hair, messing up the hour it takes every morning to complete his meticulous routine. You are the one lucky enough to love him, to be loved by him.
Before you can get too mindlessly poetic though, you feel Buddy start to push you backwards towards your bed, nudging you firmly until you’re lying on your back, with him fitting himself like a puzzle piece on top of you.
He breaks away from your kiss to look at you, a silent question in his eyes.
“This okay Eric? You’re good?”
You nod breathlessly, pulling him back in, because yes, god, yes, of course. You know it’s not going any further than making out either- it was established a month or two after you had started going together that you’d take it slow, and if anything were to happen, it definitely wouldn’t happen when there was a chance of family or friends barging in.
(Obviously, it gets a little frustrating for you both, seeing as you’re a couple of teenage boys, but you’d rather stay safe. You can’t be sure how family will react, or whose friends will tell the wrong person what.)
It’s hard to keep your hands off each other in the rare occasions you’re completely alone though, and a little making out never hurt anyone, right?
Until there’s a knock at the door.
-
1988
Eric Forman’s (childhood) bedroom
Point Place, WI
Eric wakes up with a start, dazed and confused when he sees where he is, until he remembers the past week. He sits up in bed quickly, hearing a firm knocking on his door, eerily similar to the memory he just woke up from.
“What, did the bombs just drop on us?!” He croaks out, knowing it’ll get a rise out of Red, who’s now banging loudly on the other side of his door.
“Oh, come on, get out of bed already, it’s almost noon. Your mother and I have been waiting in the kitchen for hours! Get up!” And with that, the sound of his steps start to trail away, getting softer.
No ‘dumbasses’ or foots-going-up-asses in that sentence. He’s been getting softer in his old age, it seems. It should make Eric feel relieved, but it gives him a sense of uncanny valley, the feeling that his father has been replaced by some old-man-robot. Red is actually older now, though, it’s something he can’t deny. He just has to get used to it, as strange as it may seem.
He lies on his back for a few more minutes, contemplating the science of understanding how you can grow older, but not the people around you, until it starts to make his brain hurt too much. He squeezes his eyes shut, and decides to actually join his parents for a late breakfast. He gets up to brush his teeth, and it makes him feel weirdly giant, going through his daily routine in his childhood room.
(He already had the room freak out last night, he thought, but it snuck its way into the afternoon. The ghosts of his teenage self that haunt this house cling onto his shoulders like they’ll never let him go, like there’s nowhere they’d rather be. He wishes he could forget.)
“Eric, what is taking you so damn long!?”
He sighs, and does a quick check at himself in the bathroom mirror before going downstairs. He looks the same- that is, the same as he has these past few years. Ever-present smudges under his eyes from late nights up grading papers, shorter haircut that isn’t quite as fluffy as it once was, maybe a grey hair or two that he’d hate to admit have grown. He doesn’t really know why he checked his looks in the mirror though, since he knows Kitty will say he looks as handsome as ever, Red will say he looks too skinny, and there’s nobody else he’s planning on seeing today, seeing as the reunion isn’t until tomorrow evening.
Regardless, he gives himself a quick smile to calm any stray jittery nerves, and heads downstairs. As he’s descending the last steps though, he realizes that he’s hearing three voices instead of the two that he was expecting- another woman’s, and it sure as hell isn’t Laurie’s.
“Donna?”
“Hey, Forman, nice of you to finally join us,” she’s sitting across from Eric’s parents in the living room, seemingly making friendly chit-chat while having been waiting for Eric, definitely longer than she had intended, “I was trying to surprise you during breakfast, but I guess I should’ve considered the fact that crossing state lines for two days will wipe a guy out, huh?”
Eric stumbles over his words for a second, but quickly goes over to hug her. He has never been happier to see her, especially since all of their awkward past relationship… mess.
“Hey, don’t get too excited, I like, just got a tattoo on my back and it really hurts when I put any pressure on it, please get off of me like… now.” She’s wincing slightly but still laughing, clearly happy to see him and his family as well.
“Oh my god, you got a tattoo?!” Eric and Kitty both shout at the same time (Eric sounding much more excited than his mother).
“Yeah, my boyfriend works at a tattoo shop, he’s gotta practice on someone, and I’m not turning down free ink. I only get them in places I can hide though, don’t worry Kitty!” Donna makes sure to pull up her sleeves, as well as show off her hands, as if to prove that she’s staying professional at all times.
Kitty gives her a look up and down, and shares a glance with Red that definitely contains an entire conversation, to which he just sighs, and continues on with sitting there, silent.
“Well, as long as everyone is happy and safe honey, who are we to judge!” Kitty gives a strained smile and stands up, pulling her husband up with her, and points to Eric, “you two go catch up, okay? I’ll get out of here in a sec- There’s still some leftovers in the fridge in case you’re hungry, you know where it is, and Donna, you’re always welcome to anything here, you’re family as much as Eric is.”
Then they walk off, leaving Eric alone with his childhood best friend, turned college girlfriend, turned mildly complicated adult friendship. The kind where you get a Christmas card every year, but don’t know what their favorite color is anymore.
“So, Donna, very nice of you to come see me in these trying times. Incredibly kind,” he starts, trying, and failing, to be his usual sarcastic quirky self, “is- is it weird sitting in chairs and not being able to like, sit all the way back? Because of the tattoo? I’d be so uncomfortable. Like, at that point, why get the tattoo on your back? You won’t even see it! Just get it on your stomach!”
She stares at Eric with a blank expression, eyebrow quirked up on one side. He knows that face well. The ‘stop rambling to pretend everything is fine, everyone can see right through you’ face, because she’s always been able to tell when something’s up.
“Forman, what’s your problem this time? Don’t tell me you don’t want to see me. I thought we were over this. It’s been years.”
Eric has to roll his eyes at that, because while he is ‘over’ their relationship, it’s never not going to be a little awkward talking to Donna now. Knowing that he broke her heart, left her at the altar, and the fact that he was secretly heartbroken over Buddy for a good chunk of their relationship.
Which is the one thing she still doesn’t know.
“No, Donna, I am elated as always to be in your presence, trust me. I’m just… anxious about the reunion tomorrow. I hate the idea of all the meatheads that’ll be there who’re gonna think that they’re hot shit now since their football scholarship got them to some shitty state college a decade ago.”
She scans him with her eyes, looking like she’s trying to tap into some psychic best friend intuition, and shakes her head, disagreeing.
“There’s something else you’re not telling me, and I know it. You don’t have to tell me, but like, you should. Getting stuff off your chest feels good Eric. Ever talk to a therapist? You should try it sometime. Works wonders for balls of anxiety like you.” She sticks her tongue out at him like they’re kids, and he lets out a snort at that. She smiles triumphantly, like she’s won whatever secret game she was playing in her mind.
“On my teachers salary, I’m not getting paid enough to buy self help books, I doubt I could pay for a therapist.”
“Touché. Well, still. You can call me anytime, ya know. Or Hyde, Fez, Kelso… I’m sure even Jackie wouldn’t mind hearing from you every once in a while. When was the last time you saw any of us? I know I haven’t seen you in almost two years, not since that Easter weekend we were both here. Where are you?”
“I’m in Richmond. It’s far.”
“Yeah, but Eric, half the time you don’t even call us when you’re coming up, so we end up missing you. Fez literally still lives here, and Kelso lives in the next town over! Hyde and I aren’t that far either. Jackie’s another story, but she can get a ride here, easy. What’s been up with you? Are you okay?”
Eric is stressed, overwhelmed, and doesn’t know what to say. He came down here expecting breakfast with his parents, and is now being interrogated by his well-meaning friend, but it’s just not a good time. He knows the answer- he’s queer, he’s bisexual, whatever you want to call it, and he’s been yearning over Buddy Morgan since they dated for a year when they were seventeen. But it’s the eighties, and while things might slowly be getting more progressive, he’s still terrified to be out (or, rather, outed) and have everyone know that he likes men. (Women, too.)
His mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish, but no words are coming out, and now it seems that Donna knows she’s crossed some sort of line, because she’s going over to the sofa to sit next to Eric and calm him down.
“Sorry- I know I can be kinda intense sometimes and, I- I don’t know. I shouldn’t have pressed you. Whatever is bothering you is bad. Are you sure you want to go to the reunion?”
“Yes.” He surprises himself with how quickly he says it.
“Okay, Forman. Whatever you say, but you leave whenever you need, okay? I’ll be your backup. You and I can dip and come to the basement, for old times sake. We’ll be fine.” She smiles at him comfortingly, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
He loves Donna, still. Not the romantic love, although he definitely once did, but now he mostly loves her in a way that would be defined as admiration. She’s tough, she’s strong, she’s the definition of a badass, and on top of all that, she’s beautiful. When she wants to be, she can be kind, and when she doesn’t want to be, she’s someone’s greatest enemy. He doesn’t regret their breakup, but he does sometimes regret ever starting their relationship in the first place; they could’ve stayed close friends and never messed up the dynamic they’d always had.
“I’ll hold you to that promise, big red,” he gives her a half smile, “but I guess your hair isn’t as red as before anymore, is it?”
She does a dramatic hair flip and strikes some sort of pose, showing off her new hair, which, to Eric, looks like some sort of muted red filled with chunky blonde stripes.
“I wanted to be Madonna but then they said I would need a perm, so I said fuck that and just went strawberry blonde instead. Doesn’t look like a real strawberry blonde though, but whatever it is, it looks fun!”
He laughs at that, because he doesn’t know what half of those words mean. To him, strawberries are fruits, his hair is just brown, and perms are what the grandmas down at the church always get. He had no idea Madonna had one of those.
“It looks good, it suits you. Your boyfriend like it?”
She smiles at that, a real smile. The kind he used to see all the time when they were growing up together.
“Yeah. He’s nice, Eric. He’d probably break a twig like you in half, but he’s real nice. You guys would get along.”
After laughing at that comment, they actually start catching up on the past two years since they’ve seen each other. Donna is, of course, seeing the tattoo artist. They’ve been together for a little over a year, and they’re doing well. Like, really well. She’s still working in the music scene, but she’s living in Chicago instead of New York like she’d dreamed of when they were younger. Still a lot of people, she tells him, but probably a hell of a lot colder.
Everything seems to be going well for her, which makes Eric feel embarrassed when it’s his turn to speak.
He hasn’t been seeing anyone regularly, women, or men. (Well, he does have some semi-regular hookups for when times get desperate, but he isn’t going to tell her that.) She already knows that he’s been teaching high school English for the past few years in Richmond, Virginia. She presses him for juicy details of his life, any friends, any fun hobbies, something, anything to talk about, but it’s really just the same. He goes to work, teaches his kids about the same dusty classics every year, goes home to an empty apartment, and only occasionally accepts the invitations to the weekly ‘teacher happy hours’ held at different cheap chain restaurants.
Even though they’re both in similar places in their lives in terms of having stable jobs, a place to live, and being out of their suffocating hometown, they couldn’t be further apart emotionally. She seems well on her way to being fulfilled; in a happy relationship, surrounded by friends and cordial coworkers, and it probably won’t be long until she starts planning to settle down for the long-term. Eric doesn’t really have any of that. If he thinks of the last time he felt happy, he would have to think back to college, or all the way back to high school even, which seems so ironic. He had thought he was miserable back then, but really, it was just pent up teenage angst.
Now that he’s an adult, the teenage angst has matured into something he can’t put a name to, and it sits softly on his chest, like some sort of animal digging its claws into him before devouring him whole. He’s being cannibalized by his own melancholy, his overwhelming confusion about who he wants to spend his life with. He feels like he never got the closure that he needed with Buddy, since their relationship ended, well… the way that it did. He theorizes that he can’t continue on normally with his life until he figures out how to finally say goodbye.
(Secretly, though, selfishly, in the back of his mind he has a stupid image of reconciling things years later, of getting back in touch. Being something again, as impossible as it seems.)
“Eric,” Donna lets out a big sigh, like she’s trying to come up with the right words, because she definitely is, he can tell, “well, ya know, I already told you we can dip tomorrow whenever you need. Don’t think I’m lying about that, okay? Literally, like, if you walk in and think ‘fuck this shit’, I’m walking out with you. Trust me on that! I’ve got you, honest.”
He’s grateful to her, and he knows she’s not lying. Realistically, if he doesn’t see Buddy, he probably will leave after an hour or so of mixed drinks with washed-up cheerleaders walking around trying to sell Mary Kay products.
He nods at her, and she returns it, like they’ve just made some sort of deal. It feels secret, feels official, and it’s just vaguely silly enough to get him out of the foggy headspace their conversation has put them in. When he finally looks at the living room’s clock, he sees they’ve been talking for well over an hour, which means he’s not only gone past breakfast, but past what would be considered the normal lunch hour as well.
“Donna, as much as I loved catching up, I’m sure you know that I drove for two whole days… and a poor teacher like me only gets a warm, home cooked, midwestern meal so often!” He complains in a sarcastic tone that she rolls her eyes familiarly at, pushing at his shoulder.
“Oh my god, Forman, you can just tell me to go! Have fun eating cheese curds, dork.”
She gets up from the couch, grabbing her coat, and he leads her to the door, holding it open for her.
“Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll get here, let’s say… seven? Reunion starts at eight, we’ll have time to psych ourselves up, and you can take your precious time getting ready without worrying about getting there late, princess.” She smirks at him, but he’s starting to feel a pit of dread form in his stomach at the thought of the next day, and doesn’t think to reciprocate the humor.
“…Anyways, don’t be so nervous! Let’s have a good time! See you tomorrow!”
With that, she speed-walks off, the chill November air making her breath cloud around her until she’s a small figure in the distance.
Eric stands at the open door for longer than he should, breathing in and out until his body feels as if it’s turning into ice, frozen solid.
-
1977
The Hub
Point Place, WI
You’re sitting with all of your closest friends at a table, while The Hub is packed to the brim on a Friday night, but somehow, all you feel is a gut-wrenching loneliness that’s slowly inching its way across the entire group.
You can’t help it, you’re stressed out, and it’s more overwhelming than you could ever fully anticipate. Coming to terms with your sexuality was one thing- and it’s a road you’re still taking, because it’s the Seventies, and people are only just now starting to become even mildly progressive. But, now, thanks to Buddy, you’ve been able to put a label to what it is you are; bisexual. Girls, guys, and whatever else might be out there.
It’s one thing to accept yourself, though. It’s a whole other ride to accept the fact that other people can’t understand you, and won’t even try to. Some people will be blinded by confusion, believe that means something is immoral, and let it control all of their opinions on that subject forevermore.
You sit despondently, the picture perfect definition of gloom, and mindlessly swirl your fries around in a pool of ketchup. You know in the back of your mind that nothing bad had actually happened, not really. You and Buddy got distracted while making out, almost got walked in on by Red, but had the door locked and got saved by the grace of some forgiving God.
You’re just… freaked out. You can’t really say exactly why, there’s probably a name for what you’re feeling somewhere, but it’s so overwhelming that you’re not even sure if you’d want to know what to label it.
After you and Buddy had quickly separated, adjusting any crumpled pieces of clothing at a lighting pace, you’d answered the door to an only mildly confused Red. He’d walked in on much more incriminating situations involving you before, after all. He couldn’t give two shits about you and some rich kid, even if you were locked up in your room together. The risk of it all still shook you up so badly though, you had Buddy leave right after, with nothing more than a shaky, half-hearted goodbye. It’s been about a week now, and you still haven’t made any attempts to talk to him outside of school.
So, here you are, drowning your fries in their metaphorical blood, wishing you could dunk your head into a large vat of liquid as well. You know you’re being more dramatic than you should be, but, well. It’s been a miserable week inside your head.
“Forman,” Hyde groans, slouching back in his chair, turning his head towards you, “can you stop with the bitching and moaning and tell us what’s up? Jesus.”
You look up at him, a little confused because you were most definitely not ‘bitching and moaning’, but you do feel a pang of guilt. Your friends had insisted on going out tonight, since it was finally getting close enough to warm weather (AKA: not snowing), and they wanted to enjoy their youth while they still had it. Everyone who’s anyone is there, and they’re all trying to have a good time; but then there’s you- ruining the vibe, somehow existing without a cartoon raincloud looming over your head.
You think of a way to explain what’s been going on, without outing yourself to every teen-slash-young-adult in Point Place.
“I mean… ugh, you guys know Buddy, right? Morgan? My lab partner?”
“Yes.” Everyone says in unison, which makes your eyes widen. They catch onto that, clearly, because Jackie speaks up.
“Eric, I don’t know if you forgot that we have eyes, and a sense of the passage of time! But you’re more than lab partners with Buddy,” you freeze at that, feeling ice drip down your spine, “you’re best friends! You guys hang out, like, all the time. You two are like, basically conjoined twins, it’s hard not to notice.”
You say a silent prayer of thanks that, even if she does somehow know the truth, at least she didn’t air it out here, publicly.
“I mean, yeah, we are good friends- Wait, conjoined twins? The fuck?
“You know, close. Whatever!” She leans forward in her chair and stares at you all judgy, it’s a little creepy.
“If anyone’s conjoined with Eric, it would obviously be me Jackie! We were best friends first!” Kelso burps out as he seemingly competes in an onion ring eating contest against Fez.
Hyde raises an eyebrow as if to object, but turns to look at Eric after he realizes that it’s not a battle worth fighting.
“Okay… anyways,” you start, coming up with a story on the spot, “Buddy and I have like, this new project in science, right? And we’ve been working on it together, and- I don’t know, I feel like I’m taking it more serious than he is. Like, this… this grade is really important to me, and he just seems so happy-go-lucky about it! I’m doing more than my half, but he just sits back and lets me do it without saying a thing. Like, hey, I could use some assistance!” What you’re saying couldn’t be further from the truth than what’s actually been going on, and to some it could be an obvious lie, but something had to be said in order to get your friends off your case.
“Forman, since when have you cared about what grade you get on some shitty science project?” Hyde definitely doesn’t believe what you’re saying completely, but if he has any suspicions as to what the real problem is, he’s not exposing them in front of the group. You have a feeling it’ll come up sooner rather than later, though.
“It’s, like, for a big chunk of our grade, okay! I already don’t do too well in school!”
“We know.” At least three voices say in unison, and you don’t bother to pick out who joined in, because you’re really not in the mood for the sarcastic comebacks right now.
“Besides the point. Guys, I’m fine, just, like, totally stressed about this grade, okay? And I don’t know how to talk to Buddy about it. That’s all. You can keep doing whatever, don’t worry about me.”
Even though you immediately tucked your head back down to stare at the table, you can just feel the gang sharing weirded-out glances with each other.
“Listen, you can be a nerd all you want, but,” Kelso grabs your shoulder with greasy fingers, spinning your torso in his direction so you look him in the eyes, “you’re killing the vibe, man! School stuff stays at school! I’m failing, like, four classes, you don’t see me crying about it right now!”
“Kelso makes a good point, Eric,” Donna chimes in, ever the voice of reason, “but maybe you should start studying or something dude, four classes?” Kelso nods at her, and she shakes her head at him, but continues.
“I see why it’s stressing you out, but one class having like, a single bad grade for the semester isn’t going to ruin your chances of getting into college. Worry about it at home, okay? And if talking to Buddy is really what stresses you out, maybe ask the teacher to switch partners. Or, just pull him aside and tell him how important this is! He’s daddy’s money, grades don’t matter to him cause he’ll go anywhere he wants. Just tell him you gotta work, he seems nice enough. He’ll understand.”
You nod at her, suddenly feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the world. Your friends can be jerks, but they’re also the nicest people in the Midwest. (Even Jackie, when she wants to be.) They’re sitting here, trying to give the best advice they can on a problem you’ve completely fabricated to get them off your case, so they won’t find out you’re dating a guy.
Obviously, dating Buddy isn’t just some fun, juicy secret- it’s something that could be dangerous if the wrong people find out, but your friends are probably not the wrong people. If something happened and they found out, it would be really weird, yeah- but they’d get over it.
“Yeah, thanks Donna. I’ll try calling him tomorrow, maybe see if we can study together… or something. Thanks.”
She smiles at you in a way that just screams comfort and familiarity. Feelings aren’t your forte, but in this moment, you really love her. You love everyone here.
“Does anyone dare me to-“ Everyone immediately cuts Kelso off before he can suggest whatever asenine idea he had.
“No.”
“But-“
“No!”
Kelso shares an exaggeratedly annoyed look with Fez, who just gives him a sympathetic shrug in return.
“Anyways…” you start to stand up, “I know this is a super buzzkill move of me, but I think I gotta go home. Anyone need a ride?” You give a sheepish smile, knowing everyone is about to pitch a fit.
“Dude! You’re, like, all of our rides, you can’t just leave come on-“ Kelso’s complaints are quickly quieted by Donna seemingly kicking him under the table. Hard.
“Actually, Kelso, isn’t Casey in town this week? We can totally ask him for a ride, right?” She nods at him as she says it, ignoring his whining, trying to get him to catch the hint that everyone except him seems to be getting.
He finally seems to understand after everyone at the table turns their gazes to him, while you awkwardly stand there not really knowing if that’s your cue to leave or not, but then you see Hyde get up and walk towards you.
“They’re all gonna go with Casey, or whatever, but I’m crashing at your place, so… I will be taking you up on that ride, Forman.” He slings his arm around your shoulder, and waves his goodbye to the rest of the gang, walking out with you to your car.
You know he’s gonna ask what’s really up, and you won’t know what to say. Do you say it’s a fight between classmates, do you say it’s a miscommunication between best friends, or do you come out and tell him the truth? That you’re being a jackass who avoids his boyfriend instead of just talking to him about your feelings? That you’re confused about how to go on with a secret relationship, when you know how happy it makes you, but how unhappy it makes everyone else, not just in Point Place, but the world?
“Forman, I can see you being annoying in your head, can you stop and open the car already? I’ve got shit to do.”
Okay, true, you are just kind of standing there staring blankly through your car windows, instead of grabbing the keys to open the doors.
“Sorry, on it.”
Once you’re both in, car started, windshield slowly defogging, Hyde speaks up, before you’ve really even stepped on the gas.
“Forman, we both know you’re not worried about your grades. Something else is going on, and I know feelings aren’t really my… thing, but I’m just gonna let you know, you can like, talk to me. If you need. Because you’re being kinda annoying, okay?”
You look over at Hyde, and he’s doing his best to actively avoid your gaze, because yeah, emotions have never been his thing, but he will always be there when things are bad, and you’re grateful for that.
You start to actually drive home now, trying to think of the right words to say.
“Uh, thanks dude. I mean- ugh. It’s really more of a problem between me and Buddy, I guess, not just a project. I don’t know.”
You can see he’s tilted his head to look at you, but you can’t really look back at him since you’re focused on the road, so you don’t know which face he’s got on. Maybe it’s a saving grace, since you can’t tell if he’s judging you or not, so you keep going.
“I mean, you and I have fought before, right? It’s normal for friends to, like, argue. To not always get along. I mean, Buddy and I didn’t fight I guess, we’re more just… avoiding each other. Or I guess I’m avoiding him. I don’t know.”
“Why do you care so much about you guys fighting or whatever? What even happened? You’ve never been this broken up about any of us when we’ve argued. Maybe with, like, Donna.” Hyde sounds decently confused, and now you’re thinking you fucked up, maybe said too much. The parallel to Donna scares you. You can’t turn back now, though.
“Buddy’s sensitive, I don’t know. He’s a good friend, too, like, I don’t wanna lose that! I’ve had you guys my whole life, besides Fez and Jackie, but I care about them too! And I wouldn’t want him skipping town on me either, right? I wanna be a good friend!”
Hyde sits in silence for a minute, and you can’t do anything but sit quietly next to him, driving. He’s thinking hard, like he does a lot of the time. Hyde’s smart, like, really smart, and people rarely notice because of his anarchist attitude. He could solve any puzzle put in front of him though, and that’s why you’ve known since all of this started that he would figure it all out sooner or later.
“Buddy’s gay, right?”
It takes everything in you not to crash the car into the upcoming stop sign.
“I- uh, well, I mean, that’s not really for me to say, and it has nothing to do with this, and also how would I even know! Haha, like-“
“Okay, so he’s gay. It’s not a big deal Forman. Bowie’s gay, Elton is too. I think all the celebrities are probably in one big secret gay ring, and they all just marry each other to make it look like they’re straight. Just wait, in twenty years they’re all gonna come out- anyways, that’s not the point right now.”
Your grip on the steering wheel loosens a bit, and your heart rate slows down. Hyde is seemingly okay with gay people, so much so that he even has some sort of conspiracy theory about everyone being gay. That’s a new one.
“Yeah. I mean, yes. He’s gay. Don’t tell anyone though, I don’t think many people know, I don’t think it’s very… safe.”
“So if nobody knows, why’d he tell you?”
“I don’t know.” You hope that short answer ends his questioning, but there’s no chance in hell that it will. The answer should be obvious, anyways, at least to you.
“You don’t know?”
“Nope. He probably just trusts me, I guess. Cause we’re friends.”
“Mhm. You’re friends, so he told you, but not Jackie, who’s also his friend. Do any of his other friends know? The ones he’s known way longer than you?”
“I don’t know, Hyde. We don’t sit and talk about his sexuality all day in class or whatever! I don’t know his life story. I don’t know his other friends like that.”
“So when did you talk about being gay? Cause he had to tell you at some point.”
The car is silent. Your head is starting to spin, but you have to keep your eyes on the road. You can hear Hyde crack his knuckles next to you, waiting for a response. You feel so trapped, like there’s no way to know whether now is the time to finally tell the truth, or to keep going with this lie.
“Eric. You can tell me.”
Hyde sounds calm and collected, like usual. Nobody’s yelling, nobody’s fighting. He’s your best friend. He would have found out anyways, somehow.
“Buddy kissed me. In December. That’s how I know he’s gay.”
You really wish you weren’t driving right now. The anxiety filling up your body doesn’t even seem mental at this point. Everything feels way too real.
“Alright. You kiss him back?” Hyde asks as if he’s talking about the weather. He’s completely nonchalant.
“You really wanna know?” Relief washes over your body. You almost want to laugh at this conversation now. You never thought you’d hear Hyde talking to you about making out with a hot guy the same way he would a hot girl.
“I really wanna know why you’re a moody bitch this week, but I’ll hear the backstory if I have to.” Hyde pretends to sound annoyed, but you can tell he’s trying his best to be supportive.
“Yeah. I did. We, uh. Fuck, we’ve been going together since that week. It’s been uh. It’s been a few months. It’s been good.”
“Has it?”
That makes you go quiet again. Hyde is sneaky like that. A man of few words, but he’ll make sure they cut deep.
“Well… yeah. It has- he’s great. You can stop me if it’s, like, weird to listen to, but he’s incredible. I love being with him. I’m in love with him, I’m pretty sure. It’s just…”
You go quiet for a second, trying to think of the right words. Home is just a few minutes away, two right turns and you’re there. You sneak a glance at Hyde, and he’s sitting there, cool as a cucumber. Listening.
“I knew it was gonna be tough dating a guy. Like, I knew it was gonna suck sometimes, not being able to go out openly and show the world or whatever. But at this point, it’s not even about showing the world… I don’t know what I’m saying. Whatever. Basically, Red almost caught us making out last week, and it freaked me the fuck out that he might know that I’m dating Buddy. So now I’m kind of avoiding Buddy. But I don’t want to? Like, that’s my boyfriend!”
Hyde laughs at you like you’re an idiot, and you can’t even be mad at him for it, because now that everything has been said out loud… you are being kind of a dumbass.
“Forman, I do not give a shit about who you’re dating. You should know that. I just want you to be… happy. You need to call Buddy and get this shit figured out, because you being bummed is stressing me out, and I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken to Buddy in my life. And if Red finds out you fuck guys, whatever! It’s your life! He can’t do anything about it.”
You silently nod and turn into your driveway, parking the car and going through the motions of getting home slower than you ever thought was humanly possible. It’s like you don’t want to burst this bubble of hope that everyone could be like Hyde. In this way, at least.
In this car, you’re accepted, you’re still one of the guys, you’re whoever you want to be and more.
Once you leave, you’re exposed to the elements. Naked and afraid.
Hyde, on the other hand, seems oblivious to your inner turmoil pertaining to the fragile ecosystem of your ‘car talk’. He practically flies out of his seat, leaving you to sit there for a second, car turned off, taking in everything that happened.
It could’ve gone worse. Like, a lot worse. Hyde saying it doesn’t matter if you fuck guys is basically the equivalent of anybody else leading the pride parade while wearing a t-shirt with your big, gay face plastered all over it. So, maybe coming out to the gang wouldn’t be that bad, really.
Also, Bowie’s gay. Who knew?