June 10th- Yellow Ribbons by mvernet

Author’s Note: Fun History Fact. The origin for Tie a Yellow Ribbon dates to the Civil War. A soldier returning from Andersonville prison to Pennsylvania on stagecoach had written his girl saying if she hadn’t married and still wanted him to tie a yellow kerchief on the ole oak tree at the stagecoach stop on the main road. Everyone on the stagecoach yelled their congratulations when they spotted the kerchief. The story was written in Readers Digest in 1970 and read by the songwriter, L. Russell Brown. It became a mega hit for Tony Orlando and Dawn in 1973.

Hutch POV

I’m comin’ home, I’ve done my time
Now I’ve got to know what is and isn’t mine
If you received my letter telling you I’d soon be free
Then you’ll know just what to do
If you still want me
If you still want me

Being released from prison is a surreal experience. It took weeks to adapt myself to prison life. To live for survival. A cop who looks like me sucked into the prison population. You can imagine I didn’t get much sleep.

It’s strange what you can adjust to. This morning I woke and found the same drab clothes from that devastating night three years ago piled on my bed and a bus waiting to take me to my designated address. I dressed and felt the lack of shackles like an aristocratic lady might feel naked without her jewelry. I was released from my three-year sentence for drug possession. I never once said it wasn’t a fair charge. The death sentence would have seemed fair to me at the time.

I betrayed Starsky. I deserved everything I got.

After everything Starsky had done for me while I kicked my heroin addiction–taking me into his very soul and sharing his strength and integrity with me when I had none of my own; cradling me like a sickly child; giving me a safe place to fall; loving the living shit out of me like only Starsky could–I had to go and screw him over.

So I pay my debt to my partner who saved my life by coming on to him one soft night when we shared his bed for my comfort. He could deny me nothing that sainted man. He let me stay with him when the nights were immeasurably long and let me rest in the cocoon of his arms while he prattled on about oddities of the animal kingdom and fun facts of history.

Did you know that the wild Hutchinson could screw up his life with one kiss?

Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon ’round the ole palm tree
It’s been three long years
Do ya still want me?
If I don’t see a ribbon ’round the ole palm tree
I’ll stay on the bus
Forget about us
Put the blame on me
If I don’t see a yellow ribbon ’round the ole palm tree

I felt so needy and vulnerable that night. I heard the siren call of the heroin. That sweet release from pain and pressure. Starsky doesn’t know how much I want him. How much I love my darling imp of a partner. And there he was. Warm and comfortable in my arms. There was some sort of illogical logic to petting him. Better than drugs. A chaste kiss while he smiled and wiggled in his sleep, turned to moans as I plunder that slightly open mouth and fondled him through his pajama pants. He responded beautifully. He was so beautiful as I rubbed myself wantonly against his strong thighs.

He woke as I came. Bright blue startled eyes changed from aroused to pissed off in a matter of seconds. I don’t remember what I said. I remember running. I remember someone naming a price. I’d pay anything, fair street value be damned, in that dark alley. I remember the Mars lights and sirens. Being pushed to the ground and cuffed while my life as I’d known it ended in a whimper of despair.

Dobey tried to get me off, going as far as to suggest he perjure himself by saying I was working undercover. But I decided to plead guilty and denied counsel before Dobey could do what might destroy his career along with mine. I refused to see Starsky; I knew he would offer any sacrifice to my altar of selfishness.

The only contact I made with him was one last desperate letter. A fantasy I had played out many a night on my bunk. One last selfish try. I could only be released to a legal address. To where some slob might still care. Most cons picked a relative’s home where they would have an awkward cup of coffee and throw a few promises around before taking off again. A few lucky ones had a real home where a loved one waited and hoped for redemption, too.

I gave them Starsky’s address. I’m not even sure he’s still there. Three years is a long time to stay in one place. I’ll find out soon enough. I’m the next stop.

Bus driver, please look for me
‘Cause I couldn’t bear to see what I might see
I’m really still in prison
And my love, he holds the key
A simple yellow ribbon’s what I need to set me free
I wrote and told him please

Man, I’m regretting this decision. What a stupid romantic idea. I spoke to the bus driver. If no one shows up for a con, or if he thinks the address is a false one, it’s standard procedure to take the inmate to a halfway house downtown. I start making plans. I’ll stay there for a while and test the waters. Call Huggy Bear and my old landlord. I wonder where my stuff is? Funny, except for my guitar, there is nothing I miss. Oh, God. There it is! Starsky’s place and that ole palm tree still out front.

Now the whole damn bus is cheering
And I can’t believe I see
A hundred yellow ribbons ’round the ole palm tree

I wipe at my misty eyes and take in the glorious sight. There must be a hundred yellow ribbons wrapped around that tree. I can’t help smiling for leaning against the tree, arms crossed and the biggest smirk on his face is Starsky. He looks so good, like hope incarnate and I feel resurrected.

Yellow ribbons flutter in the sweet scented summer breeze and I am reborn.

Epilogue

Two Years Later

“Huggy, oh man. Look at that house. Standing room only and teenyboppers crying outside the stage door trying to sneak in to catch a glimpse of our Hutch.”

“It is so out of sight, Curly. I have to admit, hooking my starwagon to you two clowns was the best career move of my life.”

Starsky placed a hand on Huggy’s shoulder as they both watched as Hutch, resplendent in a bedazzled denim suit, fussed with his guitar and microphone stand. They knew to leave Hutch alone right before a concert, to let him deal with his stagefright in his own way. They also knew to stay where Hutch could see them. Smile, wave, and reassure his fragile ego that would inevitably break down right before the stage lights came up.

“We couldn’t have done it without you, Hug. I had managing the blond superstar down tight. Well, after I took him in and talked some sense into the blockhead, that is. I still can’t believe blondie thought I didn’t want him. It never even occurred to him that I never would have let him in my bed if I wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah, he could have just asked me how you roll. Dumb blond. But we got him sorted out. You wrangle him and the finances, and I get him the big gigs.”

“You were right about pushing him into the crazy Hollywood limelight, too. It’s a better life for us being a couple and Hutch with his record he could never go back to being a cop. I had quite a time convincing him that I was more than willing to give it up. I was sick of being on the streets with no one I trusted at my back. How many times in that three years did I wake up in the hospital with you at my bedside? Managing my man and keeping him safe is what I call a lifelong gig.”

Huggy nodded. “True ‘dat. Our boy is no flash in the pan. I got lots of ideas for when the girls and boys stop screaming their lungs out whenever he throws that glitter smile over the audience. I’m thinking we pull out the piano next. Get him to sing a few Cole Porter tunes with Tony Bennett.”

Starsky’s face lit up like Christmas. “You are always thinking, Hug. I like it. Maybe I’ll buy us a smoky piano lounge to showcase Hutch. Tuxes and Champagne?”

Huggy chuckled and crossed his arms. “Sounds like a plan. But for now we can rake in the moola on that number one with a rocket hit, Don’t Give Up On Us.“

“I never did, Huggy. I never gave up on us. Oh, here we go, showtime!”

The stage was dark but for one spotlight on a wooden stool with a microphone casually laid across it. The jaunty notes of Tie a Yellow Ribbon made the audience go wild. Hutch sauntered out on stage, head down, smiling at his shoes. He reached for the mic, threw his blond hair back and began to sing.

I’m coming home; I’ve done my time….

Many members of the audience wondered why Hutch always began a concert with that corny pop song. It wasn’t his style. Some devoted fans speculated it had to do with him being an ex-con. But Hutch would never answer the question except to say that everyone deserves a second chance.