Audrey
It wasn’t that he wanted Starsky to be
upset. There was plenty of crying and carrying on at the funeral, almost more
than his stoic Midwestern upbringing could bear. But he was increasingly
puzzled as they made their way through what had to be the longest fucking state
in the union.
Starsky wasn’t talking. Or sighing. Or
reading, normally a favorite pastime on long car rides. Hutch knew he was
awake. He could always feel the man’s presence and moods as surely as some dogs
could predict seizures or Collandra could find a yellow rose. But at this
moment in time, he sensed no real thoughts behind the face, no processing of
the scenery before them.
“Pennsylvania has to be the longest
fucking state in the union,” he said, in hopes of prompting a response.
Starsky turned away from the window
and fiddled with the radio tuner. “No fucking radio reception either.”
Well, it was a start. But not much of
one. Starsky turned his head back to the window. Hutch turned his attention
back to the road.
“Deer,” Starsky said a few minutes
later, pointing at the side of the road.
A
gaggle? A herd? A bunch? Hutch
settled on a bunch. A bunch of deer gathered on the shoulder. Hutch quickly
swerved to avoid them.
“Remember Bambi’s
mother?” Starsky asked.
“I remember she died,” he replied,
unthinking, and then mentally kicked himself.
Starsky didn’t even flinch. “After she
got shot, Bambi wandered through the woods yelling for his mother. Ma says .
. . said . . . I was hysterical. She had to take me out of the theater.”
Hutch had a fleeting picture in his
mind of a curly-headed little boy, tears streaking his face, being towed out of
the theater by his mother.
“You know, she took me in the alley .
. . I remember she yelled at me. Said I was ruining the movie for the other
people. She said it was just pretend, and I’d better calm down or Dad would
slap the crap out of me when he got home for wasting the ticket money. Then she
took me back into the theater since Nicky was still in there.”
Starsky paused and fiddled briefly
with the radio knob, turning it off again after nothing but static filled the
cab.
“I don’t remember crying in the movie
much,” he continued. “But I remember that alley, and Ma being all mad at me.”
“It didn’t bother Nick?”
“I don’t really remember. But I guess
not.” Starsky reached into a bag behind the seat for a pop. “The thing is,” he
said as he withdrew his pocketknife from his jeans, “it stuck with me, what Mom
said.”
He unfolded the bottle opener from the
knife and opened the pop bottle. “And when Dad died, I tried my damnedest not
to cry. At least not in front of her and Nick. I didn’t want to . . . I
don’t know . . . ruin the movie. You know?”
He took a swig from
the bottle and held it out to Hutch. His partner grabbed it and drank deeply,
ignoring the burning in his throat and eyes.