stranded! [that 70's show]

prologue

dec. '86
point place, wi.

Sitting at the counter top of a diner, I wrap my hands around a cup of coffee, desperate for the much needed warmth that Wisconsin is deprived of at this time of year. I gaze at the foggy window, in awe of the light snowfall outside. To anyone who grew up here, it's just a normal part of December weather, but it's so strange to someone like me, who can count the amount of times she's seen snow on one hand. In the background a song plays from the radio placed on the windowsill. I think it's This Charming Man by the Smiths, but I'm not entirely sure. As the diner is almost empty, save for me and a few employees, the sound bounces off the floor tiles creating this eerie, unsettling atmosphere.

"Miss, would you like anything else?" The waitress asks me, focused on wiping down the counter top. I read the tag pinned onto her uniform; her name is Brandy.

"Not at the moment, thanks for asking though."

She looks up at me, "Your accent, you're not from around here, aren't you?"

I nod, "Yeah, I've actually just flown in from Australia."

"So what brings you to Point Place then? Wouldn't a tourist like you want to go somewhere interesting like New York or Los Angeles?" Brandy quizzes.

"Oh, I wish," I say, New York sounds much more exciting than here, "but I'm here to meet someone."

"Oh really, who is it?"

Reaching into my pocket, I grab a small strip of paper. It has his address on it, scrawled messily across the page, the black ink smudged. I gulp, it's nauseating just thinking about seeing him again. Is he still mad? Will he want to talk to me after all I'd done to him? But I can't back out now. "He was a very good friend of mine, back when I used to live here."

Brandy rests her arms against the table, "A good friend... I'm assuming he was your boyfriend then?"

Ahh shit. Got me. "He was. We had to call off the relationship because I needed to leave the country. I think he was a bit hurt from it."

What an understatement.

"Would he be over by now?"

"Hopefully he is, it was quite some time ago," I turn away from her to stare at the snowflakes again. I hate lying, I really do.

Brandy's silent, tapping her fingers against the wood. "So, umm, what are you planning to say to him."

That, I don't really know. I've had seven years to figure this conundrum out, but I'm still stumped. "I'll probably just say hi, I guess. Tie up loose ends."

"Hmm..." Brandy has seemed to shift her attention to the couple walking in, "I'd love to talk more miss, but I need to get back to work. I hope everything goes well."

I smile at her and fish in my purse for some spare change. I leave a five dollar bill on the counter, hoping it's enough. Tipping is a foreign concept to me.

Before I have a chance to leave the diner, the radio advertisements fade into a song. It's a familiar sound. The distorted, messy guitars, the energetic drumming and the raw vocals - all of which characterised my once favourite genre of music. I'm Stranded, by the Saints. Usually I'd ponder why an American radio station would play an underground Australian punk song, but my mind lingers to other matters. I'm drifting over memories I've kept suppressed for so long. Isolation comes to mind, so does uncertainty. But alongside those, there are also traces of warmth, excitement and fondness. Man, seventeen year old Addy Mackenzie was a strange, strange girl.

Because in 1978, I was stranded. On my own.