Thanksgiving
by Kaye
They took the LTD, everyone knew the Torino. They parked in back, walked in side doors.
They had a small argument about who went first. Starsky had his hands full, but this was Hutch's idea.
They knocked on every door. They only had to pull their guns once – when Fat Rolly drew down on them with a bb gun.
Can't blame the guy – since when do they make social calls?
It got hard for a while. The trembling hands. The vacant stares.
Drove Hutch out to the sidewalk once. Starsky finished that one alone.
But it got easier. Huggy joined them. Edith stopped by with replacements.
Tentative smiles replaced bitter sneers.
Hutch quit pulling on his sleeves so much – still long – even in this heat.
Starsky watched him close. Knew it was torture. Knew it was closure.
Once, a long time ago, they had decided never to do this.
Holidays were for them – their lives, their celebrations.
They gave enough to the street – let the street disappear on these days.
But the street had swallowed them this year.
Taken Hutch whole. Spit him out broken.
56 turkey dinners – 56 junkies.
Finally healed his heart. And broke it all over again.