Words

Hutch searches for the most elusive of words.

Originally published in the Starsky and Hutch gen anthology zine LA Vespers 1 in 1979.

“It hurts, Hutch—oh, God, it hurts.”
Those were the only words you could say, finally,
There in that desolate skid-row alley,
With Bellamy’s poison running in your veins,
With sweat and tears running down your face.
I knew—oh, sweet Jesus, I knew.
And all I could do
Was let you lean on me
And hold you in my arms, tightly, forever,
And whisper words meant to comfort, empty words,
And try to tell you more, everything,
As you cried.

Later, in the squad room,
You tried to tell me, too.
“Y’know, if this was a cowboy movie,
I’d give you my boots.”
Foolish words, but meaning so much more
As our hands clasped tight together
Across the desk.
But the moment was interrupted.

Still later, in the hospital,
Near what we both thought
Was the end—
A dark end to our bright days—
With doctors and nurses
Prodding and prying uselessly,
Your eyes on me, mutely pleading,
I touched your shoulder,
Looked into your face and tried, again, to say
How much I care, need you, love you.
But I couldn’t find the words,
And they took you away
With truths still unspoken between us.

Then Fate, or God, smiled,
And, in the doctor’s guise,
Spoke the most beautiful words in the world—
“Yes, I think your friend’s going to make it.”—
And gave you back to me.

Now, together again—
For a while? for a lifetime? forever?—
Once more I think I should try to tell you.