Letting Go

An injured partner watches the other from a unique perspective.

A special thanks goes to my friend Linda for taking the time to a read through the story to see if it made sense and correcting any errors she saw. Any additional mistakes are my own.

I become aware of the beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor and I’m thrust back into my worst nightmare; of Starsky in a coma after Gunther’s hit. This confuses me. It doesn’t seem right somehow. It feels like a significant amount of time has passed since that horrific morning in May, but I’m not sure.

I feel so disoriented.

I look around and I see Starsky. There’s no mistaking that form. I can and have picked that man out of a crowd many times and for many reasons. I’m relieved to see that he’s not the one lying in the hospital bed.

Someone else is there and my heart aches from the pain I feel radiating from him. I move toward my partner in sympathy even as my curiosity is piqued.

For some reason everything beyond my friend is a blur. I don’t take time to analyze this; I’m more worried about him. I don’t recall anyone close to Starsky being ill. In fact I don’t recall much of anything.

I cautiously peek around that curly head to see who’s lying there and I’m amazed at what I see. The figure seems distorted and vague. There, but not really there.

Like a ghost.

I know that face and I see the blond; almost white tuft of hair sticking out of a bandage wrapped around the man’s head. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. The person lying there is me. I don’t see myself too clearly. My other self is fading in and out. I should be alarmed by this phenomenon, but curiosity wins out. Why doesn’t Starsky notice this?

I move around to the other side of the bed. Why doesn’t he look up to see the real me in front of him?

I wonder if I’m dreaming and decide that I am. I’m on the verge of waking myself up when I hear Starsky’s low, pained whispers. A lot of it I can’t make out but I don’t really need to hear to know what’s being said. The words are written in my heart from too many bedside vigils. “I’m here.” “Come back to me.” “I love you.” So many ways to express the words, but the meaning’s the same. Even if the latter always remains unspoken, the words are broadcast loud and clear.

I take a moment and look at Starsky and I’m taken aback. My friend looks terrible. He looks tired and gaunt–like a man coping with a long illness. I’m positive that a good breeze could knock him over and I wonder just how long ago the Gunther incident has been. I must’ve been mistaken in my estimation.

“Ah Blintz…” he says and his voice cracks on my nickname.

“Starsk,” I whisper and try to touch him. I find that I can’t. My hand doesn’t go through him like I’d expect. Instead there’s a barrier that I can’t seem to breach no matter how hard I push against it. I tire myself with the effort.

He lightly strokes my arm with his fingertips until he falls asleep with his head mere inches from my shoulder. There’s nothing I can do for my grieving friend so I stand — a silent guard against the night as my awareness fades.

—

When I’m drawn back again I discover that I’m alone with myself– or rather, my other self. The figure’s still fading in and out in that dreamlike state and it disturbs me. I go try to find Starsky.

I don’t know how I do it, but suddenly the other me is no longer there. I hear commotion all around. A cacophony of sound is battering me as I try to figure out where I am. I focus on the noises until I finally hear the hushed whispers of people. I hear the clanging together of utensils and plates. I recognize my surroundings. I’m in a cafeteria–the hospital cafeteria. I’ve been here enough times to know my way around.

It doesn’t take me long to spot Starsky. Captain Dobey and Huggy are sitting with him. My partner’s head is bowed and he seems to be ignoring his companions.

Huggy’s having none of it and pushes a plate in front of Starsky. If the plate’s moved any closer it’s going to end up in the man’s lap. My friend takes no notice. If I didn’t already know the severity of the situation, *this* more than anything would bring the fact home. Starsky never refuses food–even hospital food. The man is a human garbage disposal.

Huggy looks worried and urges the other to eat; that he can’t keep going on like this.

Starsky shakes his head. He doesn’t want food. What he wants, he says, is for me to wake up and be okay– for none of this to have happened at all.

“You and me both, pal,” I whisper.

Dobey leans forward. Our captain’s normally booming voice is soft and full of compassion. He speaks of faith but Starsky isn’t ready for that yet. He’s shaking his head. “The doctors aren’t holdin’ out much hope. They ain’t even givin’ ‘im a chance. They say that even if he does regain consciousness — he might not be the same person. The body can only withstand…”

Those words have an effect on both Dobey and Huggy and the table goes silent. The pair stops their efforts and stare at Starsky.

Those words have an effect on me too and I’m suddenly frightened. I’ve spoken those words before and I remember when.

What the hell happened? Car accident? A bullet? I can’t remember and the lack of memory scares me even more. Why can’t I remember?

The others recover from their shock and try to console my best friend, but he’s not listening and neither am I. He stands and moves shakily away. I follow at a distance.

He walks to the elevator and punches the button to go up. We wait in silence until the elevator arrives. Starsky pushes past the group of people already in the elevator from the parking garage and calls out the floor number. He maneuvers until he stands apart from them and I with him.

The elevator stops at every floor letting the others out until we are finally alone. Starsky punches the wall and stalks the confined space like a caged tiger. He brings his hands up to his curls and tugs at his hair in a nervous gesture of helplessness. Normally such behavior would have me beside myself to calm him, to reach him and bring him back.

I can’t. The words still echo. The way I see it I have two choices. I can stay in this other world or try to somehow wake in that body of my other self that keeps fading and who, according to the doctors, doesn’t seem to have a chance. I’m trapped.

The elevator finally opens and Starsky barrels out like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heals and heads to my room.

I beat him there…I don’t know how but I’m there waiting on him when he opens the door.

I watch him sink into the chair that’s pulled close to the bed. He takes my hand. He doesn’t say anything for a long while but when he finally speaks it startles me. I’ve heard all of this before. I’ve said these same words to him more times than I care to remember. He’s pleading with me to come back.

Right now I know who I am. If I try to wake in that body — what will be my future? Our future? The uncertainty of it all leaves me chilled.

I think he knows what he’s asking of me, but he asks it anyway. I don’t blame him, I would ask it too.

He balls his fist and wipes away moisture from his eyes. He keeps talking.

I turn my attention to the figure on the bed. I weigh my options and am torn. I don’t notice what he’s doing until he’s half on and off the bed. His one hand is holding my wrist while his other arm is wrapped around my waist. He looks like he’s trying to pull me toward him…into him if were possible.

The gesture is reminiscent of Terry. He’d done this when she’d passed away. The memory of stumbling in on them at the hospital assails me. I remember making a hasty retreat so that he could have that moment with her. I’ll never forget that. It had been beautiful and tragic in its intimacy.

I notice that whatever he’s done, the body’s no longer fading in and out. It looks solid and is no longer distorted as before. I find this encouraging and I take a step forward.

I can hear him whispering into my side. I only hear bits and pieces. Still more of the same and I can’t take it. It’s too much.

I’m about to step away again when I hear the words.

I pause. Starsk has always had the power to surprise me. He utters the words we’ve always left unspoken with each other except in jest.

“I love you.”

He goes on as I listen and I hear more words he’s never spoken aloud but have always known. He’s telling me not to be afraid…that he’s going to take care of me regardless. He’s going to take care of me even if I’m not the same. He tells me that he’ll still love me and that he’ll take care of everything. He says it’s okay to come back.

I know I’d do anything for this man but I’m uncertain. I stay where I am.

He’s quiet for a time. When he speaks again the words are spoken so softly that I have to strain to hear. He says that it’s okay if I have to leave. That it’ll break his heart, but he understands.

He’s letting me go.

I should be free. I’m not. The words have the opposite effect. I realize that I don’t need his permission, but in his words I find my answer.

I remember a quote from my mother; she used it often, which is probably why it’s stuck with me all these years. “If you love something let it go; and if it’s yours it will return to you.”

Starsky loves me. He’s letting me go.

And as the saying goes — I’m returning to him.

Slowly after an unknowable time, I feel his warmth still around me. I’m in pain, but I open my eyes.