A LONG WAY FROM HOME
Thirteen year old David Starsky has a hard time adjusting to his new life in Bay City. This is part of my series: Starsky, the Younger Years.
A/N: Although I wrote a story similar to this one that is also part of this series, this one examines more closely Starsky's feelings of anger and abandonment after his father's murder.
CHAPTER 1
Thirteen-year-old David Starsky stared out of the bus window as it pulled into the outskirts of Bay City California, a suburb of Los Angeles. A week ago, his mother, Rachel, had told him that she was sending him to California to live with his father's brother, Al. Most of his extended family lived in New York City but Al Starsky had fallen in love with California when he was stationed there while he was in the Army and had decided to settle there when his enlistment was up. David barely knew his Uncle and his wife, Rosie. He had only met them twice, once when they returned to New York for a visit during the holidays and then again last summer when they had returned for his father's funeral.
Despite his angry protests and tears, his mother had stood firm. Since his father's untimely death almost a year ago, David had been sneaking out, running with the wrong crowd and getting into trouble. When he was seriously injured in a fight with a rival gang, she had made the heartbreaking decision to send him almost three thousand miles away from home. No amount of threats or promises on his part could convince her to change her mind.
David turned away from the window and tried not to think about New York. He was already desperately homesick for the only home that he had ever known. He even missed his pesky little brother, Nicky, who could be a real pain in the ass most of the time. He silently vowed not to trust anyone while he was here because he didn't plan on staying in this place any longer than necessary. This strange city would never be his home.
The bus jerked to a halt as it pulled into the crowded downtown terminal. David remained in his seat until the other passengers had gotten off before rising to his feet and walking down the aisle. As he climbed down the bus steps, he immediately saw his Uncle Al waiting for him near the main entrance to the building. A lump rose in his throat as he realized how much his Uncle reminded him of his father. They both had the same lean build, dark curly hair and striking blue eyes, traits that David himself had inherited. But while Al's family resemblance was only superficial, everyone insisted that David was the mirror image of Michael Starsky.
Al smiled as he hurried forward to greet his young nephew. When Rachel had called him and Rosie about taking in David before he got into serious trouble back in New York, they had readily agreed. After all, the troubled young boy had been through a lot in the past year. Al and Rosie had never been blessed with children of their own and Rosie, in particular, was looking forward to the task of being a surrogate mother to David.
If the dark scowl on David's face was any indication of what lay in store, this might be more of a challenge than they realized. Thirteen was a difficult age for any boy but even worse for one who had not only lost his father but had also been uprooted from the rest of his immediate family to be shipped three thousand miles away to live with relatives he barely knew.
"Hi, Davey." Al said warmly, dropping his arm around his nephew's slender shoulders. "How was the trip?"
"My name is David." he said sullenly, rejecting the childhood name that his father had favored. He discreetly pulled away from his Uncle's embrace and took a step backwards. The message was sent and received, loud and clear. Hands off.
"Let's get your stuff." Al said, pretending not to notice his nephew's defensive stance. He turned to the area where the bus driver was busy unloading the passenger's luggage from underneath the bus. David walked over and picked up a single brown suitcase. His mother had told him that she would send the rest of his things within a few days.
"This is it." David said flatly. "Ma said she'd send the rest."
"Good. Are you hungry? Thirsty? We could get something before we head back to the house." Al suggested, trying to make the best of an awkward situation.
"No, I'm good." David told him, even though his stomach growled in protest and his mouth was parched. He'd spent the last of the money his mother had given him early that morning when they had a three hour layover somewhere in Nevada.
Al led the way out of the busy downtown bus terminal to a parking lot across the street where he paused beside a tan colored sedan with dealer's plates and unlocked the door on the driver's side. He slid in underneath the wheel and leaned over to unlock the other door. "Just toss your bag in the back." he instructed as David climbed into the front seat beside him. Since Al owned and operated his own garage and used car lot, he had his choice of a variety of vehicles to use for his own personal use.
David slouched in the seat and turned his head to stare out the window, effectively discouraging any further conversation. Al pulled into the flow of traffic, heading for his home in the suburbs. David's eyes swept over his new environment, taking in the swaying palm trees, the glare of the mid-day sun on the pavement, and the tanned, blondes walking down the street with their long legs and short skirts. He already felt like an outsider with his olive toned complexion, dark hair and heavy New York accent. Even his clothing, faded denim jeans with a hole in one knee and a tee shirt, seemed out of place here.
Thirty minutes later, Al turned onto a tree lined street in a lower middle class neighborhood. Younger children played in the yards under the watchful eye of their mothers and traffic at that time of day was minimal. Al pulled into a one-story ranch style house with a small front yard and a detached garage. As he parked in the driveway, the front door opened and his wife, Rosie, came out to greet them. She was a much younger woman with short, dark blond hair, stylishly cut in layers that framed her attractive face.
"David!" she greeted her nephew enthusiastically "It's so good to see you again!"
She wrapped the boy in a smothering hug that embarrassed David and made him uncomfortable at the same time. Since his father's murder, the normally affectionate boy had shied away from physical contact from anyone.
Sensing his nephew's discomfort, his uncle said quietly,
"For Pete's sake, Rose…let the boy breath."
Rosie Starsky laughed as she released her young nephew and said,
"Let's go in the house. Al can show you to your room while I finish making us all a snack."
David slowly followed them into the house. It was an older home but well taken care of, the furnishings nice and comfortable but not new. The rooms were larger than David was accustomed too and the house was not as cluttered. Al led him down a short hallway to the left of the front door and opened the door at the far end. "Here's your room, David. Rosie and I are just down the hall. Why don't you go ahead and settle in while I go and see what Rosie is whipping up in the kitchen?" With those parting words, he closed the bedroom door leaving David alone in his new room.
David looked around, feeling uneasy with so much space to himself. Back home, he had shared a bedroom with his eight-year-old brother. It felt strange to finally have a room to himself. He sat his suitcase on the double bed sitting in the middle of the room and popped open the latches. It didn't take long to hang up the few shirts he had brought with him and to neatly fold his jeans away in the tiny dresser sitting along one wall.
From the bottom of his suitcase, he took out two framed pictures that he carefully sat on the nightstand beside the bed. One was a family picture with his parents and his brother that had been taken just a few weeks before his father's murder. The second photograph was of a five-year-old David standing proudly next to his father who was dressed in his policeman's uniform with his hat perched on his young son's head. David blinked back the sting of tears that suddenly welled up in his dark eyes. Since his father's murder, gunned down in front of his sons in his own driveway, David had held his grief close, never letting anyone see just how much he was hurting inside. He missed his father desperately and now he had lost his mother and his brother too. He was a very angry and distrustful adolescent who was trying too hard to be a man.
David wandered over to the window that overlooked the street and glanced outside. Used to the crowded, dirty streets of New York City, this neighborhood seemed totally foreign to his eyes. He knew that he would never fit in or feel at home here. His thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on the bedroom door. He turned as Al stuck his head into the room and said, "Come on out to the kitchen, David. Rosie has some cookies and lemonade to tide us over until supper."
A reluctant David followed his Uncle back down the hall and into the small, homey kitchen with its hardwood floor and yellow walls. A tall pitcher of lemonade sat on the table along with a batch of cookies on a platter. David accepted a glass of lemonade and a handful of cookies. As he bit into one of the cookies, which was obviously store bought, he found himself yearning for one of his mother's delicious home baked cookies that she used to have waiting for him when he got home from school. He took a sip of the lemonade and immediately sat the glass back on the table. It was much too tart for his taste.
When the telephone rang and Rosie's left the room to answer it, Al winked at his nephew and whispered, "Bless her heart, she tries her best…but I'm afraid that my Rosie isn't a very good cook. But, don't ever let on that I told you that."
David finished his cookies without comment. His mother had been an excellent cook, just another thing he knew that he was going to miss living here. "Can I go back to my room now?" he asked.
"Of course." Al said "You don't have to ask for permission. This is your home now too. We can talk more later about the house rules and your list of chores." He watched as his unhappy nephew walked away. He knew that this was going to be a difficult adjustment for the teenager and, it was apparent, that young David was going to fight it all the way. He sighed heavily and tried to think of a way to get past the barrier that the boy had built around his emotions.
Rose finished her phone call and came back into the kitchen. Noticing that her nephew was gone, she looked at her husband and said, "This isn't going to be easy for him, is it?"
"No, I'm afraid not. He's angry with the whole world right now and everybody in it." Al said, slipping an arm around his wife's slender waist. "Especially Rachel for sending him out here."
"She only did what was best for him." Rosie pointed out "If he had stayed in New York, those boys could have gotten him killed the next time or gotten him into even worse trouble."
"I know. Just give him some time…this is a lot for him to deal with all at once." Al smiled gently. "You can't expect him to change overnight."
"I just feel so bad for him." Rosie said compassionately "First his father and now this. No wonder he's so angry."
"Just don't go overboard trying to mother him. He's not going to let you take Rachel's place, even if he is mad at her right now." Al said as he gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek.