Knight’s Sentry

Hutch stands guard over his best friend and his life while Starsky releases some long overdue tears.

I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. It should have been a day of rain. Of black-as-pitch clouds hanging so low to the earth you could reach up and snatch one down. I wanted to hide in one of those clouds, to become invisible, to disappear in the fog. Maybe even beamed up off the earth itself. But the sky shone blue. The suns rays spreading out wide and streaming down to the ground. Not one damn cloud was visible in the vast blue ceiling above me. Not one damn drop of rain fell. I wished for the ceiling to fall in on me but it never did.

I struggled to get my tie straight, my fingers trembling visibly. The image that took over my mind wouldn’t leave me. It played out in my psyche relentless and tireless. I was forced to view it time and time again, from every possible angle. It was like being strapped to a chair with your eyes propped open by toothpicks. The compulsive horror flick played over and over again in my mind. Fast motion, slow motion, forwards, backwards, sideways and even standing on my head. Always in vivid colors, never blurring and every detail welded into my brain till the day I die.

My father lay in, what looked like, a lake of blood. Neighbors stood around gawking. Mom on her knees screaming and swimming in the red waters. Police, sirens, lights, and ambulance; everything and everyone swarming around almost in a pandemonium state. My father’s gun, still in its holster, with his hand lying on it. Nick, too young to understand, in the yard still bouncing that damn red and white striped ball we both loved so much. I remember I could hear that bouncing ball over all the other sounds. It bounced in pace with my heart that beat so slow I thought it had stopped. I could hear my own breath; in and out, in and out, whooshing in my eardrums. All I could do was stand there and watch. He was shot down in cold blood right there out in front of our home. He had been coming home to a pot roast dinner. Tomorrow we were going fishing I’d already dug up all the worms in our backyard and my pole was ready to go. Now he lay dead right before my 13-year-old eyes. My father was dead.

I finally got my tie straight; choked myself with it, choked the memories away for the moment too. It was time to head to the funeral home. I dreaded going. I never had gone to one before. To have to go and endure seeing my father again lifeless and cold in some satin-filled box shook me to the core.

I stood before the pastel green casket. My father dressed in his officer’s uniform. His polished, untarnished gold badge reflected beams of light into my eyes. I couldn’t move, my feet were pitted to the floor. My uncle gave me a nudge forward toward the casket. Iron spikes hammered through my stomach and it was all I could do not to be sick right there. I turned quickly and sat in one of the nearby brown leather chairs. I watched for hours as people came and went. They talked of what a good man he was. A great police officer. They talked of good times gone by. I didn’t hear much more than that. I sat there, as if in a dream state. Words, voices and faces all jumbled. Their eyes would look at me with inevitable sorrow. They would talk about how I looked so much like my dad and how I would take his place one day. I could never take his place, what the hell were they saying? Joe Durniak kept a constant vigil over my mother who barely could stand.

It was Saint Patrick’s Day when we drove to the cemetery where my father would be placed in the wet, cold ground. Remembering his lopsided smile, his large comforting hands, and his mischievous laughter; all that would be now lowered into the earth and covered with dirt. I hate Saint Patrick’s Day. For me it was the end of my childhood, an end to fishing trips and rides in the police car with the siren blaring. An end to ice cream cones, chilidogs, and candy bars in the park, and pitching ball in the back yard till the sun went down and it was too dark to see. Mom hated when the two of us would come home so full of junk we wouldn’t touch dinner. All these things and so much more now vanished. Taken away in one split second of time. My life as I knew it would change. Part of my soul now placed in a box covered with dirt gone forever. I thought I would never love again.

I didn’t cry. I stood tall, my head held high, as they gave my father a twenty-one gun salute. Each shot rang though my heart ripping every vessel out and plunging it to the ground like golf-ball-sized hail. Even through that pain I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t allow that to happen. No, I would stay strong. I was the man of the house now. Dad had told me not too long ago that, if anything ever were to happen to him, I would be the man of the house. I would take care of Mom and Nick I wouldn’t let him down EVER!

The red, white and blue starred flag covered casket now sat upon a grassy hill under an evergreen tree. Pine cones dropped to the ground without a sound resting in the soft grass. A bee floated around the flowers that now veiled over the pale green box. I remember hearing a thud; I’d sworn it came from inside the casket. My heart pounded. I guess it was just my mind playing tricks. One last hope, one last inconceivable hope, that some how my father would emerge the hero of the day. And we would soon be sitting on that riverbank with our poles laughing and soaking up the heat of the sun. That didn’t happen. That bee, however, found me and I got a stinger in my hand from trying to whap it away. Still I didn’t flinch, I wouldn’t cry. I became a politician of sorts; really good at hiding the truth, my feelings and my pain.

I sat in our beat up four-door sedan, down at the bottom of that grassy hill. Dad always hated that car. He wanted something special, something to stand out in the crowd but Ma wouldn’t hear of it. I looked to the pond just beyond the pine tree. The clouds rolling across the blue sky mirrored in the glassy waters. Sunbeams bounced around upon the ripples. Ducks floated on top the liquid lazily. A slight breeze blew through the boughs of the pine almost in song. White roses lay around the base of the box. I stared up the hill at the pastel green box. The edges of the flag peering out from under the bouquet upon it. It stood alone waiting for the caretakers to come and lower it to eternal rest. I’ll never forget that picture. It’s a snapshot in my head that I will hold dear till the day I die. As sad and as devastating it was to know my father lay inside that box. It was the most beautiful, peaceful sight I had ever seen.

I never cried for my father. As much as I wanted too, my stubborn streak wouldn’t allow it. I would march on through my life. I vowed to walk in the mist of his shadow. I would never fill his shoes but I would die trying. Soon after, mom shipped me off to live with Aunt Rosie. She just couldn’t handle both us boys by herself and Nick was too young. I had to grow up fast, had to be a man. The kid in me had to be locked up, childish toys put on the shelf before their time. Now that I am an adult, I bear the keys that unlock that kingdom and I can be the child I never got to be.

The years flew by, I don’t even know how. Here I am, a police officer, a detective sergeant first class. Dad would be proud. It’s Saint Patrick’s Day again. Hutch came over to share a few green beers with me. He knows I love holidays. Any holiday is a reason to celebrate in my book. But not this day. He knows that on this day I get real down and he never could understand why till today. Seven years we’ve been partners. Seven years of having green beer on Paddy’s Day. Seven years of him hauling me home half looped and down in the gutter. Seven years and I never told him why. Twenty years have flown by and I never once shed one tear for my dad. Till tonight.

Hutch and I sat on the couch chugging down green beer like we always did on this day. Me being quiet and listening to him play his guitar. For some reason Hutch decided to pluck a few strands of Amazing Grace. Those few notes flew into me like a machine gun slicing through my bones. It was the last song we sang around my father’s grave, that song was connected to the snapshot in my brain. Twenty years of a teenage boy’s tears, that had been shut away, came out the floodgates. Hutch was there like always piling up the sand bags. Keeping the waters from rising so high they would sweep me away and drown me in seconds.

My knight sentry held me through my hours of darkness on my couch. Stood guard over me. Soothed the thirteen-year-old boy that lay crying in his arms. Hutch, my friend, my partner, my back up on the job and off was there for me. He now held a little more understanding of how I came to be who I am today. He loved me all the more for it and I loved him deeper yet, if that were possible. I never thought I would love again till he came into my life. Lying here in his arms I feel more love than any one human deserves. I know Dad would love him too.