Letting Go
Ken Hutchinson walked out of the kitchen and stopped at the doorway to the living room. He regarded the other occupant of the room, and for a moment, his eyes clouded with pain. Then, before David Starsky noticed him, he wiped the expression from his face, replacing it with a cheerful one. He crossed the room and sat in the chair beside Starsky’s recliner.
“How are you doing, buddy?”
Starsky stared out the large window at the grounds of the Shady Oaks Assisted Living complex. The tubing that supplied his oxygen snaked down to the small tank beside his chair.
“I’m cold.”
Hutch pulled the comforter up and tucked it in around Starsky’s shoulders, taking care not to disturb the tubing.
“There. Is that better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The two men sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence.
Hutch searched for something to say. “Hey, are you hungry? You didn’t eat much breakfast.”
“Nah, maybe later. Don’t have much of an appetite these days.”
“Well, if you want something, just say so.”
“OK.” Starsky sat for a moment then said softly, “I had a dream last night, Hutch.”
Hutch turned to face his friend. “Yeah, what did you dream about?”
“Gunther.” Starsky kept his eyes focused on the scenery outside the window. “I was back there, in the garage. You were yellin’ at me to get down, but I wasn’t fast enough. I heard the guns going off before the bullets hit me. Only, this time, I died.”
The look of pain came back in Hutch’s eyes. “Starsky.”
Now Starsky turned to Hutch. “Look at me. I can’t do anything for myself. I can’t even walk to the john without getting winded. I can’t take a shower without sitting in one of those stupid chairs. I had to give up my apartment and move into this place because I couldn’t climb up a few lousy steps. You know what the doctor said. Hell, he talks to you more than he does me. The damage Gunther’s goons did finally caught up with me. We knew it would happen eventually.”
“Starsky, you make it sound worse than it is. Yeah, you’ve lost some of your lung capacity. I know it’s gotta be a drag carrying that tank around, but you’re not the only one that has to do it. You’re just down, buddy. It’ll get better.”
Starsky shook his head, ashamed of the tears that swam in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to die on the job. I don’t want to spend the next five or ten years just marking time, just existing.”
Hutch stood up stiffly. He moved away and kept his back toward Starsky. Finally, when he thought he could speak past the lump in his throat, he turned back.
“And what about me, Starsky? Did you think that just because we stopped being cops, we stopped being partners? How am I supposed to throw away thirty years? You’re more my family than my own family. I don’t care if I have to spend the next ten years wiping your ass and your nose; I’m not ready to say good-bye.”
Starsky smiled through his pain. “I know that. You didn’t have to move in here with me, you did it because you wanted to. I love you, Hutch. I know you love me enough to want me to stay. Do you love me enough to let me go?”
Hutch stared at the blue eyes filled with sadness, the grey hair that still curled around Starsky’s ears, and the frail body sitting in the chair.
“I guess I’m a selfish bastard, Starsky. I’m not ready to do that yet.”
One month later
Hutch came into the living room, carrying a basket and Starsky’s favorite sweater.
“Here you are, buddy. Slip this on. Time’s a wasting.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a beautiful day out. I thought we’d drive down to the beach and have a picnic.”
Starsky sighed. “I don’t know, Hutch. I gotta drag this stupid tank with me, and all my medicine. It seems like a lot of trouble for a couple of sandwiches on the beach.”
“You haven’t been out of this apartment in weeks, Starsky. Come on. Please? I promise a little fresh air will make you feel better.”
“Well, I guess it won’t hurt. It’s better than staring out the window, anyway.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Hutch took the basket out first then came back and bundled Starsky into his sweater. Carrying the tank with one hand and supporting Starsky with the other, he helped him into the van he’d bought the year before. Starsky’s beloved Torino was tucked in storage in Huggy’s garage, waiting for Huggy’s grandson to get his license. Since neither Hutch nor Starsky had any kids, the car went to their extended family. The van was a better choice, easier for trips to the doctor with all of Starsky’s paraphernalia.
Thirty minutes later, Hutch pulled off the road and drove in the sand until he was a few yards from the water. He parked the van under a tree and left Starsky inside while he spread a blanket on the sand and unloaded the basket. Then he helped Starsky out and settled him on the soft, cotton blanket, his back against the tree with a pillow between for comfort. They ate their sandwiches in companionable silence, watching the waves gently bump against the sand. After they finished the apple pie Hutch had sneaked from the kitchen, Hutch scooted up beside Starsky, pulling the sweater together to keep out the breeze coming off the water.
“Are you comfortable? It’s not too chilly, is it?”
“No, it feels good. This was a good idea, Hutch. It’s so peaceful out here. If this was the last thing that I saw, I’d die happy.”
Hutch sighed once then dug into the basket and pulled out a small carafe. He poured the frothy liquid into two glasses and handed one to Starsky before putting his arm around Starsky’s shoulder.
“Here you go, buddy.”
Starsky eyed the concoction with distrust. “What is it?”
“Oh, a little something I whipped up.”
“I’ve had some of your little something’s, Hutch. I think I’ll pass.”
Hutch smiled a strange smile then dug deeper in the basket and handed Starsky two objects. One was a worn, leather wallet with a badge inside. The other was a small replica of a car, painted red with a white stripe, resembling the Torino.
Starsky laughed when he saw the tiny car. “Now you’re talkin’. But, it’s not my birthday. Why the presents?”
“Oh, I thought you might like a couple of mementos, of happier times. Now, drink your drink. It’s good for what ails you.”
Starsky stared hard at Hutch. “I don’t understand.”
Hutch closed his eyes then opened them and met Starsky’s. He moved closer. “I told you I was being selfish. You’re all I have, Starsky. I can’t imagine a life without you. Maybe neither one of us was meant to live this long. Maybe it is better to die with your boots on.”
Starsky thought for a moment then his eyes widened as he looked at the two glasses. “Hutch.”
“You asked me not to keep you here, Starsk. I’m asking you not to make me stay.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure there’s nothing left for me here if you go. If you don’t want to stay, then I’m going, too. Me and thee, partner. Remember?”
Starsky looked at the glass in his hands then at Hutch. He reached up with one hand and took the small line from his nose, letting it drop. “Me and thee, partner, all the way.”
They clinked the glasses together then drank the liquid in one long drink. Starsky put the glass down and leaned comfortably against Hutch. After a minute, he sighed.
“It was a good life, wasn’t it, Hutch? We had some ups and downs, but it was a good life.”
“Yeah, it was. We did good work. We put some nasty people away, Starsky, including Gunther.”
Starsky nodded his head and was quiet. Seconds later, he fidgeted. “Hutch?”
“Yeah?”
“How will they – I mean…”
“I left a note for Huggy. They take the grandkids to the beach on Tuesdays, but they’ll be back before dark.”
“He’s gonna be sad.”
“Yeah, I know, but he’ll understand.”
“Yeah, I think he will.”
Starsky let his head fall against Hutch’s shoulder. His eyelids were getting heavier and it was easier just to let them close.
His voice was soft as he stirred again. “Hutch?”
Hutch chuckled as a feeling of amused frustration stole over him, the same way it had for thirty years whenever Starsky bombarded him with a thousand questions. The feeling was like an old friend coming home for a visit.
“What, Starsky?”
“I love you.”
Hutch’s heart filled with emotion. “I love you, too, Starsky.” He slipped his hand into Starsky’s. “I’ll meet you on the other side, partner.”
And as he closed his eyes for the last time, Hutch thought he saw a car, a red Torino with a white stripe down the side go by. The driver had dark curls, the passenger was blond, and the full, throaty roar of an engine broke the stillness as it flew past. Over the noise, a sentimental refrain came from the radio.
“He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.”