“Methuselah”

by Pepper Ckua

Pepper_Ckua@yahoo.com

 

“Just sit still for a minute, would ya Hutch?” Starsky pointed a tiny black box at Hutch. “I’m not gonna be able to get a good shot if you don’t.” 

 

Hutch sat on the couch. He made a face.

 

“Quit clownin’ around, Hutch. I wanna a good one of you on this momentous occasion.”

 

“I’m not clowning around, buddy. I’m just giving you my best side.” Hutch said. “Besides, all I’m really interested in is that cake you finally bring out.”

 

“Ya gotta develop some patience. Remember Hutch, when you told me if I knew I was gonna to live to be one hundred years old, I’d develop some patience?”

 

“Yeah,” said Hutch suspiciously.

 

“Good thing I developed it way sooner than that!”

 

“And not a minute too soon,” Hutch grumbled.

 

“Stop bein’ such an old fart, Hutch.”

 

“I’m not an old fart. Or if I am, then you’re an older fart, being my senior. Guess we’re a couple of Me-two-selahs.”

 

“Ha, ha. I may be your senior all right, but not by much.  Good thing ya got me around to show you the ropes.” Starsky moved to get a different angle. “Use the word ‘senior’ in describing me though, and you’ll never get that cake.”

 

“I think I’m managing the ropes just fine after all this time, thank you very much.” Hutch gave Starsky a big smile. Starsky captured it with the push of a finger.

 

Hutch continued, “I remember you saying there was no way you wanted to live past the age of eighty-five without any ‘you know what I mean’.”

 

“Holy mackerel, Hutch, I’m glad advances have been made in that field so that I don’t have to. Better livin’ through science has never been so appealing.”

 

Starsky took a last shot of Hutch. “We’ll upload them after the cake. Or we can wait. I just want to make sure we have time for a brisk walk along the beach tonight. We gotta savor these nights; there’s not that many that are cool enough not to have to take all the safety precautions first.”

 

Hutch nodded, “Man, those were the days weren’t they, Starsk? We kinda took them for granted, the cooler weather, the smaller scale of things. Hate to sound like an old guy, but things are sure different.”

 

“You aren’t kiddin’, pal. It kind of blows me away.”

 

“Now there’s a nice 1970’s phrase. I don’t hear enough of them.”

 

“It’s because I only use them with you, blondie.” Starsky waggled his eyebrows. “Otherwise they date me considerably, which in turn makes it hard to get a date.”

 

“Right, Starsk. You wish.”

 

Both men were quiet. Hutch could hear the small chirp of the clock as it turned over the hour.

 

“Being in a reminiscent mood, I just want to say I’ve been thinking a lot about Huggy and Dobey, the rest of the gang.” Starsky put the imager down on the table. “I wish they could’ve been around to celebrate these birthdays with us.”

 

“Yeah.” Hutch sighed. “Who’d a thought, Starsk? You and me. Together, after all these years. We didn’t get taken out by a plague, or bullets, or poison, or knife wounds. Even that spectacular crash in the Torino which laid us up a while didn’t stop us.”

 

“It stopped the Torino though. Goddamn shame. That car is another thing I really miss.”

 

“Oh come on, Starsk. You wouldn’t even be able to store it today, much less drive it. Not only is our Personal Space Allotment is way too small, but there’s no way you’d be able to find fuel for it.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But our damn PSA doesn’t stop me from missing it. Even if I couldn’t juice it up, it’d be fun to just be able to sit in it.”

 

Hutch got up and squatted by the small cupboard under the window. He got out silverware and plates and put them on the low table in front of the couch.

 

“I can take a hint.”  Starsky brightened.  “It’s time for cake. Be right back.”

 

He went to the wall and punched the control panel, temporarily turning off the fire sensors. Then he flicked off the room illuminator on the left.

 

Hutch heard the whoosh of the kitchen door open. He heard Starsky open the nitrogen box. Then he heard the click-click-click of the flame stick.

 

A few minutes later, Starsky appeared. He was carrying a sheet cake. The room was dark, lit only by the candles on Hutch’s cake. Starsky’s face was illuminated from underneath. He had a big grin.

 

“Happy birthday, Hutch.”

 

And Hutch blew out his candles.

 

All one hundred and forty-nine of them.