Of Dragons and Dreams

A musician’s POV about Hutch.

Episode related: Starsky’s Lady.

Story Notes:

Thank you to Karen Leigh for all her help and guidance. She is a dream come true.

I’m not one of those old, un-tuned, dusty wooden guitars with broken strings lying in grandpa’s dark cobwebbed cold attic. No sir. Hutch uses me all the time. Who is Hutch you ask? Well sit back my dear and you shall hear of a man with a musical heart. A song on his lips and love burning like scarlet lava coursing through his veins.

Now you might think this man is not of human descent. The things you are about to hear strumming in your ear almost don’t sound of this earth. But he is as wonderful as I will play in these next few bars you hear. It may sound mythical and magical, something you may only read about in a fairy tale. Something out of another realm, that of dragons and dreams. But alas my friend it’s all very true. True, as the sky is blue. True as the wind blows. True as the sunrises and sunsets and true as the white fallen snow.

Hey, I am a musical instrument so you’ll have to pardon my harmonic words. They tend to turn to rhymes and reason without destination through any of the four seasons. I’ve got the music in me.

Hutch, he’s the seeker of justice, the light in the darkness. He searches out evil, that’s his life’s goal, his plight. He often comes home from a long day on the streets and I’m the first thing he grabs. He’s always had the gift even as a young lad. Now I didn’t know him then, but I know a natural when I feel one. His fingers feel like silk spun upon my wire. He only plays to an audience of one, himself, and sometimes his friend Gordo. The few times he tried to play on stage; once was disastrous and once he plucked away like Jimmy Hendrix gone country. I think it’s a private thing for him. His heart playing upon a string. It’s his escape from real life. The only way he can lift the world from his shoulders. So he comes home from a long day of serving and protecting. He sits quietly and soothes himself with his words and his songs.

He is a bulwark of strength and endurance. Sheltering his partner Gordo, the way a mother bird spreads her wings to shelter her young from wind and rain, from struggle and strain. The way a mother bear would stand between a hunter’s rifle and her cub. Dying before harm would ever come. The way a mother whale would stay with her injured calf. Nudging it up to break the ocean surface for air. Never leaving its side even beaching herself along side her baby to die. Preferring death to a life without her young one.

The melody of love rings through his heart filling his every corpuscle with overflowing, unbounded, unhindered love for that curly haired kid. Today was a little different though. He came home, trudging in through the door; the usual weight of the world had now become the weight of the universe upon his shoulders. He buckled some at the weight of it all. Right behind him was the curly haired kid. He barely could stand let alone trudge. He stumbled and fell his inner strength gone I could tell. Hutch turned quick on his feet hauling his friend up. He held his friend’s extra pounds to him close as well as the universe up off the floor. He moved him with care. All I could do was lean up against my corner and stare. The tone of the room turned from peaceful bliss to terrible doom.

He nestled him onto the sofa sitting down next to him pulling his head down to his thighs. The kid was crying like I’d never seen anyone cry. Tugged at my wire strings. I wanted to sing but I needed Hutch to put the magic there. Terry, Terry Gordo cried. I could see he just wanted to run away and hide. The kid’s pain amplified through me. His face projected and spoke the clarity of his tragic life. But Hutch held onto him so tight. I thought he’d strangled the guy when he went limp in his lap. Hutch laid him gingerly down onto the cushions.

As he moved toward me I could hear the sorrow in his heavy footsteps drumming on the floor. With numbness upon him he reached for me. His touch felt changed a bit. I could feel his life’s force, it had been drained and grief over took him before he even hummed a note. I could see that his eyes had lost that shimmer of light I’ve grown to love. Normally those eyes shine like the warmth of a small hometown. He moved back toward his friend. Sitting on the end of the sofa raising the kid’s feet upon his lap right next to me. Holding me against his abdomen with one hand he removed those hideous blue shoes and tossed them across the room in a burst of anger. He looked at the kid with eyes of love. He looked and looked and then turned to heaven above. Love isn’t bound to time or space. His connection to his friend kept his heart beating with a steady pace.

How could you do that to him he asked? He’s had enough sorrow in his life. Are you up there? Do you hear me tonight? Hutch shook his head back and forth with great care. He couldn’t understand why his friend had to suffer and he had to watch. He just couldn’t bear.

Hutch’s shoulders shook and he shed many tears. They landed upon me like they’ve done in past years. I couldn’t understand what had happened that day but I knew if he would play me I could help chase the demons away.

Gordo slept, limp as a rag. Hutch stopped shaking and with a deep sigh he played. Now like I said, I haven’t known him since birth but let me tell you the guy could play like no one I had met ever on this earth. How did he come to own me you ask? Well it was no easy task.

The kid found me one day. How? I still can’t say. I was completely tucked away. I watched him swagger into the old cellar thrift store. He bounced around and rummaged through boxes and clothes and books. I wanted to jump out of my case I couldn’t stand it. There was something about him. I couldn’t put a fret on it but I had to go home with the kid. I just didn’t know how to get his attention. I was stuffed in this shady, dusty, drab corner. Behind an old, lime green frock that belonged in the 18th century to Lady Somebody or other. I don’t even know how long I had been there. I do know, however, the ceiling above was threatening to leak rain water on me any day now and warp the hell out of my beautiful rosewood self. I don’t mean to toot my own horn. Well okay. I’ll toot away. I’m hand crafted you know; petal-soft rosewood with two white mother of pearl doves flying side-by-side, wings outstretched. I’m intricately inlayed with turquoise, silver and blue abalone shell. Enough tooting you say, okay.

The curly haired kid was about to turn and leave empty handed when his dreamy blues caught sight of me. The smile upon his face as he picked up my case told me I’d finally be leaving this stifling place. He had me polished and tuned. Someone now I would own. I would finally have a home. Hutch is the best owner I could have. He plays me often and hey it’s not that stuff that hurts your eardrums. His touch like velvet, his voice some place close to heaven, singing and strumming with all the passion and humanity his heart overflows. Even the angels stop their harp lessons to listen to the light haired fellow.

There’s an inferno in his spirit, in his soul. He plays upon me, gentle music he bestows. His voice and his words are such a soothing sound. His loving heart could shatter walls made of stone, shatter cement mounds. Gordo stirs some and wipes his tear filled eyes but he’s so exhausted he just stares out into space. Hutch looks at him with arctic blue eyes, closing them slowly in pain. Only to bravely reopen them again to the sight of the limp, shattered and broken kid on the sofa. The pain the kid feels, I feel in Hutch too. It flows from his fingers; glides freely over me like a river flowing to the deepest of seas. He sang though of hope, of dragons and dreams and of stars and sky. He sang of love’s sweetness and of heart wrenching goodbyes.

Life is sometimes so hard to bear. Pain and sadness seep out from everywhere. Under the rug Hutch tried to sweep the pain and loss. The kid’s heart, Hutch now would keep in a safe little box. He sang long into the night sang of castles and squires and gods’ loving desires.

The man isn’t a myth nor is he a legend, he’s as real as they get. He’s got more love in his little pinky than most people have in their whole entire bodies. He can crush a bad guy to the ground, steam roll them flat without a sound. Yet when I see him here rocking his friend, his touch soft as an angel’s feather floating down through thin air. He is all the color of a rainbow, always shining through the storm and rain. He is the kid’s rock, a strengthened boulder through the pain.

I am only an instrument made of wood and stain. Most think I do not feel the laughter, joy or pain. But let me tell you in this small corner of the world that is my life; Hutch is the chrome knight upon the ivory horse. He is the sailor who runs to the ocean. He is the diamond in a pile of blackened coal. He always finds the needle in the haystack. His laughter, it sings through his heart like that of a child. The mercy and love he shows his best friend is astounding. The whispering wind speaks of a love purer than gold. Men seeking the glittering nugget are but fools upon this spinning world. Only the heart holds the riches of kings. A cry escapes the throat of the kid, it sounds like the lonely cry of a loon on a frosty night’s lake. Hutch holds him so tight to his side, one not being distinguishable from the other.

Both still had tears that flowed. But when Hutch finally placed me down he pulled the limp kid up to him. He held him and rocked him, his fingers laced through his thick hair. Hutch would hold him all night; he would always be there.