Up Above the World so High
Five-year-old David Starsky was uncomfortable. He had been wearing his new suit all day. His mama told him not to get it dirty and to please not bother anybody. Davey milled around the living room. There were lots of people there, all dressed up like he was. Papa had said that when somebody goes to heaven, friends and family gather to remember the good times they had together. Davey's grandfather had died and now all the people were remembering the good times. But Davey wasn't thoroughly convinced of this because there were several people crying. Happy times shouldn't make you cry.
Davey wandered into the kitchen, hoping for some apple cake or some cookies. The aroma of the various foods greeted Davey as he entered the kitchen. Women were gathered around the stove and table, preparing the food. Not finding any cookies, Davey walked back into the living room. He stood against the wall, loosening his tie, wishing he could just go outside and play.
His father spotted him from across the room. Michael Starsky reached his son and squatted down so that he could face him. "You okay, son?"
Davey stuck his hands in his coat pockets. "Yes, Papa. I'm okay." He didn't sound too convincing.
Michael tousled his son's curls and stood up. "Why don't we go out on the front porch for a while? I need some fresh air." Michael offered his hand to Davey, and they walked hand in hand to the front door.
Once on the porch, Michael sat down on the porch swing, pulling Davey up into his lap. "Okay, son. Tell me what's wrong."
Davey twisted in his father's lap so that he could see his face. "Papa, I know Grandpapa is in heaven. But can he still see me? Can I still sing to him and show him my pictures that I draw? He always likes my pictures."
Michael smiled down at his son. "Davey, what do you see when you look up at the sky every night?"
Davey smiled. "The moon and the stars."
"Right," replied Michael. "What if I told you that the stars are like the spirits of the people we love who have gone to heaven? They look down on us and shine because they love us so much."
Davey thought for a minute. "So that's the answer to the song."
Michael looked puzzled. "What song?"
"You know, Papa." Davey began to sing, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are." Davey smiled. "Now we don't have to wonder."
Michael just smiled. "You're right Davey, you're right. Now we know."
"How is he, Hutch?" Huggy Bear asked as he entered the hospital room.
Ken Hutchinson stood up and stretched his arms. "He's still got a high fever, Hug. The doctor says it's definitely pneumonia. His fever is over 104. He's been having hallucinations, talking in his sleep…."
As if on cue, Starsky began to mumble, "Now we know, Papa." His head rocked back and forth, and his arms and legs became restless.
Hutch got a wet cloth and put it across Starsky's forehead, trying to cool him off. "He never should have jumped from the pier. He even joked that he had pneumonia, but I thought it was just a cold that he was playing up for sympathy." Hutch stroked the wet, dark curls, his hand pausing and letting a ringlet wrap around his finger.
"Hutch, my man. It isn't your fault. He's going to be okay. The medicine will do its thing and then Curly there will do his thing, and all will be right again." Huggy reached out and put his hand on Hutch's shoulder. "Starsky will be fine. You gotta believe that. You gotta let him believe that."
Hutch just nodded and looked down at Starsky, who was still mumbling in his sleep. "He thinks he's with his dad –"
Hutch was interrupted by a deep, resonating cough from Starsky. He put his hands on Starsky's shoulders, trying to calm him. "It's okay Starsk. Take it easy."
Twelve-year-old Davey was shooting hoops in the driveway. His father should be home soon, and then they were going to see Godzilla Reigns Again, just the two of them. His mom and his baby brother were at his aunt's house. His father was a policeman and had been working on a big case. He and Davey never talked about it, but he knew his father had been worried about it and had spent a lot of hours at the station. But tonight it was going to be just the two of them. Davey continued to shoot hoops, glancing down the street, waiting for his father. Finally, he saw him driving up the street. Davey waved to his father, made another shot with the basketball, and then turned toward the garage. He raised the door and went inside to put up the ball. His father had pulled up in the driveway, parked the car, and opened the door to get out.
"Hey, Papa. I'm ready! Let's go! I want to get a good seat." Davey headed toward the car.
"Hold on, Pal," said Michael, laughing.. "Let me get out of this uniform into something more comfortable. Then we'll go." He reached out his hand and tousled Davey's curls.
"Sure, Papa."
At that precise moment, a shot rang out and Michael fell to the ground. A black car squealed its tires as it disappeared down the street. Davey immediately kneeled down to his father, placing Michael's head in his lap. Michael's shirt was covered in blood.
"Papa, papa!" Davey screamed.
Neighbors started pouring out of their houses. Some of them were speaking, but Davey couldn't understand them. He was completely focused on his father.
"Papa, papa! Don't die. Please!" Davey cried.
Michael weakly lifted his left hand and stroked Davey's face. "Take care of your mother and brother." He began to cough. His eyes squeezed shut as he rode out a wave of pain. "Remember, up above the world so high—" His hand fell and the eyes that were looking at Davey were no longer seeing.
Davey held his father's head, rocking back and forth, a deep guttural sound escaping his throat. "Nooooooo!"
Starsky was still tossing and turning in bed. The nurses had administered more medicine, but the fever was still not going down.
"Nooooooo! Papa? Where are you? Papa?" Starsky reached out his hand, grabbing at the air.
Hutch clasped Starsky's hand in his own. "I'm here, Sta—I'm here, Davey. I'm here."
"I didn't see the car, Papa. I didn't see it. Didn't see it." Starsky continued to rock his head back and forth.
Hutch choked back a tear, hearing the despair in his partner's voice. He took his free hand and stroked Starsky's hair. "It's okay, son. It's okay. It's not your fault."
"Papa?" Starsky's eyes were open now, looking at Hutch, but seeing his father's face instead.
"Yes?" Hutch/Michael asked.
"Papa, are you in heaven like Grandpa?" Starsky whispered, becoming very still. His eyes bore into Hutch/Michael's eyes.
Hutch felt the tears erupting from his eyes, but made no move to stop them. "Yes, son. I'm in heaven. But I'm watching over you."
Starsky closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath. "Up above the world so high." His clasp on Hutch's hand loosened, and he began to drift off to sleep.
Hutch wiped the tears from his eyes, knowing that he had just witnessed the anguish his best friend had suffered when his father was gunned down. He tousled Starsky's hair, then pulled a chair next to the bed and began his vigil.
Starsky's fever had finally gone down, the coughing was subsiding, and the chest x-rays were looking promising. The doctors had even said he could go home after his five-day stint in the hospital. Starsky was more than ready.
Hutch slowly opened the door, and seeing that Starsky was awake, entered the room. "Hey, Buddy. I brought you some clothes. Remember, I promised the doc you'd stay at my place a couple of days, just to make sure your fever stays down. " Hutch tossed the bag of clothes over to Starsky.
Starsky didn't even try to catch the bag. He just let it land on the foot of the bed. He seemed to be a thousand miles away.
Hutch walked up to Starsky and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Starsk? What's wrong Buddy? You okay?"
Starsky jerked his head, then looked up at Hutch. "What? Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I was just … Hutch, did I ever tell you about my father? I mean, I know I told you he was killed when I was 12, but did I ever tell you about Michael Starsky, the man?"
Hutch scooted Starsky over and sat on the edge of the bed. "No. But I'd love to hear about him."
"Well, he looked just like me…I mean, I looked just like him. He liked scary movies too…." Starsky continued to tell Hutch about his father, becoming more animated as he spoke. Hutch stayed on the bed, giving his partner his undivided attention.
Later that night, Starsky walked out to Hutch's greenhouse. He looked up at the sky and saw a star shining brighter than those around it. Starsky smiled. "I love you, Papa."
The End
Author's note: Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star was written by Jane Taylor in 1806.