Balls in the Air

Hutch has too many balls in the air. What happens when they all crash down?

The summer he turned eight, Kenny went to the county fair with his grandma and grandpa. They gave him one whole dollar to spend on whatever he wanted.

While Grandma went to see the pie judging—Kenny didn’t know why she went-she always won the blue ribbon—Grandpa took his sister, Jenny, to see the cows in the barn while Kenny was allowed to go to the children’s show all by himself.

The juggler entranced him, juggling balls and hoops and even handkerchiefs. When the juggler offered a set of three juggling balls for seventy five cents, Kenny spent his birthday money and bought Jenny a snow cone with the rest.

He spent days trying to juggle, throwing the balls in the air one after another but never quite succeeding. Grandpa found him in the barn one day, his face smudged with dirt, the balls thrown against Lola’s stall, and tears of frustration running down his face.

“I can’t do it. They all fall down.” He sobbed the words into Grandpa’s shirt.

“Show me what you’re doing,” Grandpa said.

He did and Grandpa took the balls from him and placed one, only one, back in his hand.

“What you need to remember, Kenny, is you can’t have all your balls in the air at once. One has to always be in your hand.”

He started over with that one ball, tossing it, catching it as it arced towards his other hand.

It took him until Christmas until he could do all three. But he learned to juggle those three balls.

Over the years, he used the juggling to impress girls—and even some boys. He never progressed beyond being able to toss and keep more than three balls going, but it didn’t matter.

Hutch went to college, and then to California to go to law school. The now worn balls got set aside as he married Vanessa, tried to please her, his parents, and himself. He took classes, worked nights at a grocery store, and studied.

All his balls were in the air and he felt defeated just as he had all those years ago when he tried so hard to learn to juggle.

He quit law school, went to the police academy, and disappointed his parents and Vanessa. He didn’t know if he’d made the right decision until he met David Starsky who told him they were going to be the best cops Bay City had ever seen. Hutch believed him even though more and more balls kept being thrown in the air.

Time went on, as it always did—he and Vanessa divorced, shit happened on the job and at home—and he fell in love with Starsky, even though Starsky didn’t know it.

The sheer amount of balls—sometimes he thought they were all glass and fragile– he had in the air overwhelmed him. He knew he couldn’t catch them all—and he knew sooner or later, they would all come crashing down around him, and he’d lose everything as they shattered on the ground.

And of course they did one day in the police garage. Everything stopped as he sat by Starsky’s bed, the shattered glass of his hopes, dreams, love, and life piled around his feet. Too many balls in the air, he thought. He’d been a fool to think he’d ever succeed.

But Starsky finally woke up and would be okay. Hutch sat by his bed late one evening, feeling like he needed to start picking up those balls again and try to juggle them all. He dreaded it—knowing they would all shatter again.

“What’s wrong, Hutch?” Starsky asked one night in his hospital room. “You look tired. You gotta go home and hit the sack.”

He frowned at Hutch in concern, and without thought, Hutch reached over and rubbed his thumb over Starsky’s lips.

“Too many balls,” Hutch muttered, and then reddened when he realized both what he said and what he’d done.

Starsky glanced at Hutch’s crotch and then made a show of lifting his blanket and peeking at his own. “Nope. Seems like just the right amount to me.”

Hutch laughed. He couldn’t help himself. He looked at Starsky, felt a rush of love, affection, and overwhelming need. He loved Starsky, loved him more than he’d loved anyone in his life. His heart beat faster, his palms sweated, and he knew what he was about to say would change his life—and maybe Starsky’s—forever.

His grandpa’s voice came back from all those years ago. Always keep one ball in your hand. That had been the problem—he’d thrown everything in the air, forgetting to keep Starsky in his hand, forgetting the weight of Starsky’s friendship and love.

“Starsk.” He licked his lips.

Starsky looked at him, his blue eyes dark and intense, his lips curved up in a familiar crooked smile.

“I love you. I want…I need…damn it. I love you.”

The ball arced, high in the air, and Starsky reached out, pulled him close, and kissed him, as the ball came sure and true into his hand, exactly where it was meant to be all along.