The Beeswax Bee

A story about nothing in particular.

Hutch had persuaded Starsky to go to the folk arts and crafts fair at the park – against his better judgement.

“Why would I want to go to a hippie fair?” he’d demanded to know.

“It’s not a hippie fair, it’s a folk art a-”

“-Will they sell things hippies would wear?”

“Well, yes.”

“And things hippies would buy?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then it’s a hippie fair!”

Hutch rolled his eyes at his partner. “Look, I’m going because I know there’ll be someone selling nice candles. The sort women think are romantic.”

“Oh…so you’re going to increase your chances of getting -”

“-a date in a romantic mood,” Hutch interrupted quickly.

Starsky grinned unashamedly. He loved trying to wind his partner up.

“Maybe I’ll get me some more candles too,” Starsky had said.

So here they now were.

Starsky had already bought (and eaten) a free range egg sandwich -he had no idea how eggs could range but it tasted delicious – and was looking out for more treats. The prices of some of the items seemed very steep to him so he hadn’t bought anything else yet.

They reached the candle stand and stood admiring the variety of colours.

Hutch reached out and picked up a small yellow candle in the shape of a bee. Starsky peered at it.

“What’s that?”

“A beeswax bee,” Hutch said, as he lifted the candle to his face and sniffed it appreciatively.

He held it towards Starsky’s nose. He sniffed suspiciously and then looked as if it was agreeable.

“Hey, that smells nice but it don’t smell like the polish my mum used to use.”

“We used to have a pot of beeswax polish at our house. It smelled very similar. I remember very occasionally using it, getting a little of the cream on a cloth and rubbing it onto our oak dining table.”

Starsky looked mystified. “Ours was a spray can.”

“Oh,” Hutch said, with dawning comprehension, “That stuff doesn’t come from beeswax. No wonder. This is the real stuff.”

Starsky still looked confused as he asked, “What is beeswax?”

Sometimes Hutch forgot that Starsky had grown up in a city and had probably never even seen a beehive, let alone collected honey from it.

“Bees make it. It’s the secretion from their glands that they use to make and seal the honeycomb that holds the honey.”

“That sounds disgusting!”

“But it smells nice…and tastes nice.”

Starsky looked appalled at the thought.

Hutch paid for some tall, thin pale lavender candles and the bee. Starsky bought a set of red candles.

As they walked away, Starsky teased him. “Who’s the bee for? The girls or you, you hippie?”

Before Hutch could think of a suitable comeback, he spotted a stall selling ice-cream. He pulled Starsky’s arm and led him towards it, much to Starsky’s surprise.

“Two honeycomb ice-creams, please,” Hutch said.

He handed over three dollars and then passed a cone to Starsky.

“A buck fifty each! This had better be good!” Starsky muttered as they walked away.

He started licking at the ice-cream and Hutch saw the smile begin in his partner’s eyes and then spread over his face.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Even if you are eating the secre-”

“-Don’t say it!” Starsky begged. “Let’s just say it’s made by bees and it’s delicious. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Hutch said but he couldn’t help chuckling at the slightly disgusted look on Starsky’s face. “Next time I go to Duluth, I’ll take you with me. We can go to my Uncle’s farm and see his beehives. Maybe collect some honey.”

Starsky nodded, not realising quite what he was signing up for. Hutch decided he wouldn’t tell him till they got there.