June 17- A Midsummer Night’s Resolution by M H E Priest

Click here to read the prequel. 

Starsky

Well, Pop, it’s almost 1:30 and I’m still awake and it ain’t for lack of tryin’.

I can blame the heat, but it ain’t that. Hutch knows I’m hiding something. I was kinda quiet tonight. But I’m not really hiding anything. Am I? Naw. Just tryin’ to get things sorted out. Ever since we moved into this house to save money, the way I think about Hutch has, well, kinda sped up. Nope, it’s more like it exposed a secret I can’t keep to myself any longer. That’s why our little talk now, I guess.

Damn that Mary Polanski! She’s a great snitch and she sometimes gets these kooky intuition things that help once we can figure ‘em out, but now she’s made it personal. Said when she cast some spell — what the hell is a Wickin, anyways? people who really like candles? — this morning at sunrise — some summer solstice thing — so she said I popped into her head and she chanted some sort of mumbo-jumbo on my behalf, then apparently Hutch popped in her head, too. Her head musta got pretty crowded, if she has much in there to start with. Okay, Pop, I know that’s not real nice. But she is… different. I like her.

So she says I need to resolve the unresolved. What the hell does that mean?

Okay, so if I’m honest with myself, which you always said I should be, it’s Hutch. This is all about Hutch. My whole life is about Hutch. Hell, my whole life is Hutch. I love him. More than anyone or anything. Maybe even more’n you, Pop. Well, maybe not, ‘cause my love for you and Ma feels real different from what I feel for Hutch. I’ve loved Blondie since the first day we met.

It’s weird, though. When I think of love, I see him even when he’s not around. Smell him. Hear him, even, in my head. And I show him every day that I love him, like I pat his fanny or let him eat my fries or take most everything he dishes out, you know, stuff like that. But it ain’t enough no more — oh, Christ, what I am thinking? The only way I don’t show him is with… s-e-x.

Naw, naw, that ain’t right. With him, I know it’d be… making love. Sex is what I had with other grunts in ‘Nam, ya know? There, it meant we were alive and sex was one of the few nice things we had over there. The local beer sure wasn’t nice, and beer should be real nice. And with a lot of girls — I mean ladies — back here, but it was mostly like-making, except for a couple women. I told you about ‘em, ‘member?

Anyway, that’s what I need to resolve, I guess. Get over this, this ingrained… what’s it called? Oh, yeah, taboo. Of making love with another guy. Yeah, that’s it. You wouldn’t think less of me, wouldja, Pop? It would kill me if you did.

But how do I resolve this? I can’t say any of this stuff to him. It’s — ugh — way too soapy. Even now, my brain feels like it’s sudsing up. So what am I gonna say?

Oh, hell. Maybe I’ll just show him. Now. Or I’ll chicken out if I wait any longer. Good thing we’re housemates.

Oh, crap. That’ll change, won’t it? We’ll probably share a bed from now on if he doesn’t kick me in the nuts and toss me out on my butt. You don’t think he’d do that, do you, Pop? His bestest pal?

Gotta take that chance. I can’t deny what I need and want no more, ‘cause I gotta be honest. Been dishonest about this way too long. Hope you can forgive me, Pop, for me lyin’ to myself and for lovin’ a man that way. Ain’t nothing wrong with love, right, Pop? I figure you will forgive me, ‘cause you love me and want me to be happy. And if I have that type of love with Hutch, I’ll be, well, on-top-of-the-world-over-the-moon-and-through-the-woods happy.

Here goes nothin’, Pop. Or maybe it’s everything. Thanks for listening and talk to ya soon, ‘kay?

Hutch

Almost 1:30 and can’t sleep, Granddad. It feels like the air is humming. And there’s this powerful sense of anticipation, like something great is coming. Hmm… Never thought I’d personally relate to that song.

So the sandman is staying away. Remember when you used to tell me about him coming to see me when you tucked me in bed? Those summers with you and Grandma were the best times. Until you… Okay, I don’t want to talk about that right now. You already know anyway.

I can blame the heat or the humming air for not sleeping, but that’s not it. Starsky’s hiding something. When I came back from court, he looked at me in a way I never saw before. Kinda sad and frightened and determined and well, vulnerable. He was too quiet tonight. Maybe he’s just working through something and will tell me later. He’s done that before, more than once.

There’s something else. Something I’m working through. For a couple of years, at least. Well, a lot more than a couple of years, to be honest. I’ve loved Starsky since the first day we met. And I’ve been trying to figure out that love.

Yeah, yeah, I need to stop this endless analysis already and admit it. I love him. A lot. More than can be measured on any scale. And in a special way. I want to make love to him. No, with him. It’s not just sexual attraction. Maybe it’s a spiritual connection that needs an outlet? I know sex with Starsky would be very different than the few hand jobs Jack and I gave each other. That was kind of a rite of passage, horny teenager experimentation. With Starsky, it would be… right and natural, no matter what anybody in this society says.

Would it, Granddad?

It’s getting harder and harder to date women. I still love ‘em, but I keep wanting whoever I’m with to be Starsky. He’s in my head almost constantly. And when I’m aware he’s not there, I feel I’m missing the better part of me. The part that is indomitable, full of life and joy. Full of love.

I’m ready. I think. Oh, for crying out loud, I have to stop this… pussy-footing! I am ready. The thing is, how do I bring this up? Will he laugh at me, accuse me of pulling a tasteless joke? Or will he take me seriously and kick me to the curb after he whups my ass? Uff da!

I can’t think that way, Granddad. Like you told me, take a chance and you’ll never regret it, even if what happens isn’t what you want. So true when I took that chance to be a cop, and I got what I wanted. It’ll be true again when I take the chance with Starsky. I just hope I get him. Oh, Jesus, he’s in the doorway…

Starsky and Hutch

Starsky walks into Hutch’s bedroom, barefoot and silent as a thief except for fast, soft, ragged breaths. He stops at the bed’s edge. Stops breathing when he sees Hutch’s hopeful expression in the dim light coming from the hallway. Gathers up all the courage he has to tell Hutch everything, but all that comes out in a whisper bursting with everything is —

“Hutch.”

Hutch gasps audibly, unable to see Starsky’s back-lit face but he doesn’t need to see because he hears so much in his name. Devotion. Loyalty. Need. Desire. Warmth. Lust. Faith. Passion. Hunger. Life. Home. Love. So much love.

Hutch struggles to speak around the knot of emotion in his throat and to put everything — a duplicate of what he heard from Starsky plus an invitation — into the name of the most important person in his life: “Starsk.” When he sees white teeth split the shadows of Starsky’s face, he knows Starsky has read him loud and clear.

Starsky jumps into bed and he laughs with unbridled joy, pulls Hutch into a bear hug and Hutch immediately reciprocates. Both laughing, they roll around on the bed for a few moments. Then they stop, look at each other, grin like the smitten fools they are. A few more moments, they kiss, the start of the redefining of their partnership.

Author’s Note:  Thanks to Suzan for her input. The song Hutch refers to is Something’s Coming from West Side Story (click here for the lyrics).  Uff da! is an expression of dismay, bafflement, or surprise. Of Norwegian origin, it’s frequently used by Scandinavian Americans, including those in Hutch’s home state.