Passage of Time

A different look at what happened to Starsky after Terry.

Episode related: Starsky’s Lady

It had been six weeks since the greatest tragedy of his life, and he still hadn’t regained the spark he had had, even before Terry.

His return to work had not provided the escape he had hoped. It was just the same old thing, and each day reminded him of the influence his work had on his life and the people in it.

Hutch stood firm beside him, letting him settle and work it out for himself. Without that strength, he knew he would have caved a long time ago. But it wasn’t enough.

He no longer knew which way to turn, where to look for what he missed. At first, alcohol had numbed him but he was too much of a realist to allow that to last long. As he emerged from the frozen agony of loss, he looked around and could find nothing that convinced him of the value of his current life.

One night he dreamed of open roads leading him on and on, without end, but with a faint glow always on the horizon tempting him. Two weeks later he had his essentials loaded in the Torino, and with promises of eternal friendship and love for, and from, the only individual he really cared about, he went looking.

Time folded into days, into weeks and months, then into years. Against all his former zeal for life, he slowed his pace to a minute-by-minute evaluation of all he saw, experienced and felt. It amazed him at times how, despite his past life, he had missed so much of how others lived, survived and dealt with life’s blows. He knew the worst people could be, but had little exposure to the best they could be.

He slowly found the way to let go of the values that had directed his fate for so long; the rules that had locked him into an impersonal role, and the twisted interpretation of how he should react to forces beyond his control.

And when he found David Michael Starsky, he found a man whose pride in who he was had taken a back seat to the pride in his job; a man who allowed himself to be manipulated to respond only to the demands of that job, and a man whose value of the people he met had also been warped by the job, a man locked into a routine that did not allow for new experiences and revelations.

When this evolution had finally produced the solid reality he sought, he was ensconced in a small adobe hut in the mountains of northern Mexico, a stranger welcomed into the family enclave of Enrique Hernandez, and ten years had passed.

Ten years that had seen the demise of the Torino, the softening of the hard core of his past and an energized perception of himself.

Occasionally, aches from the past caught up to him and he needed to reach out. At those times, he would sit down and write long epistles to Hutch detailing the rambling of his journey, including photos, letting him see the inner workings that brought back memories of what he still longed for.

He was still alone, although not lonely. He contributed to life in Enrique’s community with hard labour, with his ability to keep the antiquated mechanical equipment in order, and with his frequent forays into the big city. And he had a son.

The child wasn’t his natural son, but he had married his dying mother to ensure the child would have a future. He couldn’t face the death of another woman who had a special place in his life and not take steps to prevent more tragedy to the innocent. Enrique’s sister had become his family and her unwanted pregnancy had affected the whole family, threatening more than just the economic stability of the group. Religion, and prejudice, is a hard adversary to overcome.

It was another two years before the lure of home and friendship drove him back to where he had started.

Two weeks of driving saw him parking his Jeep four-wheel before a renovated brownstone-style home-cum-office. A small, discreet bronze plaque announced that this was the home of “Hutchinson Investigations”.

He thought he’d worked out all his nervousness and trepidation with his early morning pacing and coffee, but here he sat with jelly in his belly, and no energy to move until Miguel’s constant pulling at his arm forced his attention to focus.

He and his son walked hand-in-hand into a sparse but homey waiting area and boldly listened in on an obvious running argument/complaint between a slender blond woman and Hutch. His breath caught at the sudden emotion that swept over him, interrupting the discussion.

It took only one look for Hutch to erupt from behind the desk, charge forward and sweep Starsky into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet and holding on for dear life.

“Oh God. You made it,” Hutch cried, wiping tears from his eyes and stepping back. “Damn you Starsky, I haven’t cried in years.”

Starsky was no better off, tears flowing and both hands refusing to release Hutch. His voice was lost somewhere. Only a small, frightened “Papa” disrupted the intense concentration they were both lost in.

Hutch immediately sank to his knees, the biggest smile in the whole world on his face drawing a timid smile in return from the boy.

“You must be Miguel Nicolas Enrique Starsky. I am Kenneth Hutchinson, your father’s oldest friend. Call me Hutch, O.K. Miguel?”

At the child’s nod, Hutch opened his arms to the boy and rose with him in his arms, the smile still decorating his face as he glanced at Starsky.

“We got a lot of catching up to do buddy. Come upstairs. Please.”

Starsky finally found his voice and responded to the questioning hope in Hutch’s voice. “I’m back Hutch. I’m done, and have come home. To stay.”

Hutch said over his shoulder, “Alice, is the guest room all made up?”

“It is Ken.” the reply coming from the smiling blond woman who was standing right next to him, hardly able to control her own excitement. Unable to contain herself any longer she threw herself into Starsky’s arms. “It’s so good to see you David. I’m so happy you’re back.”

Starsky was bewildered for only a moment. “Alice? Sweet Alice?” The past suddenly enveloped him and he returned Alice’s greeting with genuine joy and humility, the tears once again blinding him. It was only in the past few years that Hutch had been sending occasional replies to his infrequent letters, having figured out they all come from the same place, but Alice had not been mentioned. It seemed Hutch was still a practicing ‘White Knight’.

Miguel broke into the soapy scene.

“Papa, tengo hombre y tengo que ir al lavabo!”

Hutch roared, and teased, “He’s a Starsky all right.”

Hutch delighted Miguel by assuring him, in Spanish, that a bathroom and food where only a few steps away, and gathering Starsky to him with his free arm he started them all on a new road.

Life was good, and the passage of time had built new wisdom without destroying the essential strength and goodness that the past had created.