G Sharp is Blue

Hutch sees music in colors. Doesn’t everyone?

When Kenny Hutchinson was four years old, his grandmother took him to a concert held by the Duluth Community Orchestra. He was dressed in the suit his parents always made him wear to church on Sundays and the shoes he wore pinched his toes because he had outgrown them and his mother hadn’t had time to take him for new ones because the new baby took up his mother’s time with all the crying and sleeping and was a girl to boot. He had wanted a brother but Father said the stork brought the baby it brought and there was no use complaining.

There were plenty of other children at the concert because they were doing Peter and the Wolf. They were making noise as the hall filled, but Kenny was quiet because Grandmother had told him that children were to be seen and not heard and Kenny wanted to always be a good boy.

The orchestra came out and took their seats and Kenny thought they all looked rather silly in suits that made them look like penguins but then a man with an oboe—Kenny knew it was an oboe because Father had shown him a book with pictures of all the instruments of the orchestra—played a single note and Kenny’s world turned green. He squirmed in his seat to see if any other children had noticed the green but they all seemed to think everything was the same as the moment it had been before that single note. Grandmother put her hand on his knee and shook her head and Kenny turned his attention back to the people on the stage. As the music began, Kenny’s world changed. The music that swelled filled the hall with dancing colors and Kenny sat entranced, unmoving and even when it ended, Grandmother had to remind him it was time to leave. He took her hand as they walked out in the crowd and felt as though he’d tasted magic.

His parents and his grandmother talked in hushed tones when they arrived home and that year at Christmas there was a piano in the house and on a cold January morning, a man named Mister Rasmussen came to the house and sat Kenny on the piano bench and started teaching him how to make music.

Kenny became Ken and as Father and Mother demanded more of his school work, the piano sat neglected more often than not. But when his baby sister who wasn’t a baby any longer had girlfriends over, they would bang on the keys until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he would play for them so they could sing and dance and act silly. The music swirled around him in a kaleidoscope of colors—magic in the grayest of days.

Ken became Hutch—college student, husband of Vanessa, failed husband who couldn’t provide the life she wanted, and finally cop, detective, partner and more importantly, friend of David Michael Starsky. His parents moved to another house, no longer wanted a piano that only collected dust, and paid for it to be shipped to California simply because they knew he loved it. He rarely had time to play and his fingers stumbled over the keys without the benefit of practice and the guitar felt far more comfortable. But the colors still danced and the magic was still there.

C was yellow—warm and inviting and always there like the sun, A was green. Anything minor was black and silver and gray with sparkles, and sharps were always blue and G sharp was the color of Starsky’s eyes.

They sat in the house they’d moved into after the shooting, after the long nights when Hutch would sit at the piano and play something to bring color into his life when he was afraid the color would be gone forever and the only memory he’d have of Starsky was G sharp.

Starsky was reading some trivia book that someone had given him during his long stay in the hospital and Hutch was looking at a recipe Edith Dobey had given him and wondering if there’d be any way he’d be able to sneak a casserole filled with that many vegetables past Starsky.

“Hutch?”

Starsky tapped Hutch’s knee, and Hutch looked at him and felt that rush of affection and overwhelming love that still surprised him and took his breath away with its power.

“Didja know that some people taste food when they read or see music as colors?”

Hutch stared at him and frowned. “What do you mean, some people?”

“It’s called syneetheseis…or something…”

Starsky pushed the book under Hutch’s nose and Hutch put his hand on Starsky’s and moved the book a safe distance away so he could read it.

“Synesthesia.” Hutch skimmed the paragraph and his stomach felt hollow.

“Isn’t that neat?” Starsky asked. “And what did you mean when you said what do you mean some people?”

Hutch looked at him, then away, and down at his hands. “I thought everyone saw colors when they heard music.”

Starsky touched his cheek, gentle and soft. “Look at me, babe. You see colors when you play music? When you hear it?”

Hutch nodded. He could feel his face redden. He felt ashamed, as if he was some kind of freak. But Starsky was staring at him in wonder.

“That’s so cool. Wow. You really do?” Starsky stood up, grabbed Hutch’s hand, pulled him towards the piano.

He sat down on the bench, looked up at Hutch, and grinned as he played a C.

“Yellow,” Hutch said. “Starsk, I…don’t make me perform.”

Starsky’s face fell, an expression of dismay. “I just wanted to know what you see. I won’t…if you don’t want to.”

Hutch shook his head. “For you. Okay. Only for you. But I thought everyone did my whole life and now I find out I’m some sort of weird freak of nature.”

“It’s amazing is what it is.” Starsky looked up, his eyes shining. “It’s a gift, magic.” He rested his fingers on the keys and then hit an F.

“Brown.” Hutch smiled at him. “Play a scale.”

Starsky nodded and Hutch went through it with him.

“Yellow, red, pink, brown, purple, green, orange, yellow.” Hutch bent over and placed his hand over Starsky’s. He moved Starsky’s finger to G sharp and pressed it down. “That’s you. G sharp is the color of your eyes.”

Starsky looked at him as if he’d just cast some sort of magic spell. His mouth opened and then shut and then opened again. “You see me in music?”

Hutch nodded. “Your eyes, your skin, your hair. All of you.” He felt a lump in his throat. “And when I thought…when Gunther…I thought maybe all I’d have left of you was in the music.”

Starsky stood, drew Hutch close into an embrace. “You have me now.” His breath was warm and damp against Hutch’s neck. “All of me.”

Hutch nodded into Starsky’s hair and moved his hand across Starsky’s shoulder, down his arm, and took Starsky’s hand into his. “I do.”

Starsky lifted his head from Hutch’s shoulder and smiled. He began to hum, soft and low as he led the way into their bedroom. Hutch saw the colors begin to swirl around Starsky as his lover started to sing and the magic filled his heart as he was pulled down onto the bed and into Starsky’s arms.