Summer doldrums. That's what my mother used to call them.
The way I'd get towards the latter part of summer when the novelty started
to wear thin. When the endless days of sunshine and unrelenting heat drained
all the energy and desire from my body and I began to wish it was over.
Wish that it were any other season. Spring, winter - it didn't matter
as long as it
was different. When even going back to the routine of school
began to look inviting.
Now that I'm all grown up - so to speak - the doldrums are twice as
bad. One of the reasons I moved to LA in the first place was to get away
from the cold, miserable winters shivering on the banks of Lake Superior.
Fled to the warmth and liquid sunshine that beckoned from most of a continent
away. How was I to know that the summers here were forever, with
only a
brief brush of spring and a hint of winter in the rain.
Here we are, at the end of July. This summer has been a rough
one, with the winds blowing hot from the deserts beyond the mountains to
the east and the smog settling over the city like a blanket of dirty brown.
Days of hard, bright sunlight only slightly filtered by that smog, and
nights without any ocean breezes to cool things down. Tourists dragging
around and complaining of the heat, the dirt, the crime, and anything else
that doesn't fulfill their California dream. And residents feeling
even more
put upon than usual. Ah, summer in the Golden State.
Tonight, I couldn't sleep indoors. Instead, I escaped to the back
porch and am now ensconced on one of the deck chairs. From here,
I can see the pale stars struggling to glitter through the haze and the
ever-present glow of the city lights rising from the valley below.
Even up here, on our mountainside, the air is hot and still. I pray
that the fires that are sure to start soon will miss us. When we
bought the house, we fell in love with the view, the seclusion, the house
that seemed to stretch and flow
forever from room to room. We never thought of the danger.
Shows you what can happen when you take two dumb street cops and have them fall in love. Their brains are the first things to go, followed very quickly by any sense of self-preservation.
I usually can't stand to be further than the next room from you when we're home. Can't stand being further than a few inches when we sleep. But on nights like this, I can't lie beside your blast furnace of a body and rest.
You've always been like that, a little warmer than the average person. I wonder why that is? Usually I cuddle up to that warmth, letting it soak into me to melt all the cold places that have frozen over during the day. But at times like this, when the mercury won't fall below a hundred and the very air seems to sweat, I feel overwhelmed.
Of course, I feel a little overwhelmed by you most of the time.
The way you go through life, living ever moment like it's your last.
Loving me like you may never be able to love me again. Sweeping me
along in your wake as you try to experience everything. Because you,
maybe more than most, know that life rarely gives second chances and you've
used up more
than your fair share over the years.
But then, you've always been like that too. Back in the days when we were young, you wore me out. All your energy directed at being. Nothing mattered but living and loving. You'd dash from one thing to another, one interest after another, until my head swam and I would have to get away from you. Even if it was only by putting up walls to keep you out of me.
That sounds strange. Wanting to keep you out of me. I'm not sure now what that means because you're so much a part of me that if you weren't in me, I doubt I would exist anymore. Not physically in me, of course. Not that that isn't a part of it, I guess. No, it's your soul that's part of me. I'm not explaining this very well, but I can't think of the words. Not tonight, when I'm too worn out to think.
Back then, before we discovered whatever it is that changed us from being friends to what we've become, we had no idea. We thought we'd live forever just as we were. That nothing really bad could happen to us simply because we were indestructible. We sure found out different, didn't we, buddy? First I found out that I was no better than anyone else and learned to desire my own destruction at the end of a needle. Thank God you are who you are, because without the love you held in that heart of yours for me, I'd still be on the streets trying to score. Or long dead in some dirty alley.
Then you took a bullet one stormy night. I was sure you were dead, that we both were that night. But you held on, fought beside me even though your body was out of commission. You still have no idea that I felt you inside of me that night, do you? Felt your strength, your love, your need for me giving me the courage to do what needed to be done. At times, that presence was so strong I found it hard to breathe around it. As if it pressed up under my breastbone and hung on to my lungs. To my heart.
Maybe that's the night you entered my soul and stayed there.
After that, when the world tried to take you from me, I would search
out that presence and hang on with both hands. When you stood at
the edge of death because of that bastard Bellamy, I wrapped my arms around
that creature inside of me and wouldn't let go. When I'd do something
stupid and almost get myself killed, I'd touch that connection and you'd
be there.
First inside of me, then physically beside me. Searching
me out, finding me through that link that joins us together.
The air lies hot and still on me. There's still no hint of a breeze, and if I could move, I'd.... Oh, hell. I have no idea what I'd do. I don't like where my wandering memory is leading me. There's a dark thing that hides in a dank cave in my mind. A thing that usually only comes out when I'm sleeping and tries to smother me with the horror it breeds.
The day when I didn't feel you inside of me. The day you died.
I find myself curled on one side. In a fetal position with my arms over my head and my knees drawn up. Expecting a blow, trying to protect myself from that memory that still holds so much power over me, even when I'm shaking and screaming with you physically inside of me.
Even after all these years I can still see you lying there. Skin so white that if it weren't for your dark hair, you would have disappeared into the linens on the bed. Covered with wires and tubes all trying to keep you alive. With the doctors and nurses hovering over you, telling me to let go because you were already gone. To not hope. To not believe.
To not go on living.
I know that both Huggy and Dobey were puzzled that I never touched you,
from the moment you were shot to the moment you came back from beyond the
very gates of death. How could I explain to them that I was afraid?
That I couldn't feel you in me anymore, and that if I touched you, I wouldn't
feel you in you anymore either? That I was so sure you were already
gone
from me because the connection in my heart was cold.
But, once again, you proved me wrong. The connection may have gone cold, but it was a cold heat. You'd pulled in all your energies to fight, and you were pulling energy from me along that connection. Instead of pushing into me, you were pulling me into you. For the first time, that connection gave instead of took.
And then, between one breath and the next, I felt the connection surge. As I raced to the hospital, flew so fast that I still think I must have slipped between planes of existence and time. I have no memory of that journey, only the thread that ran from me to you. And a deep, aching pain as I felt you slipping away.
Then, in a rush of blinding light, I felt that connection expand in my chest until I couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe. It held me up as I tried to absorb the words the doctor said in stunned disbelief as he told us that you lived.
From that moment, I knew you were back. I could feel you in me again. As strong as ever. Could hear you whisper in my ear, "Hi, Hutch." Felt you wrap your warm presence around my cold heart and give me back my life. Even on the borders of your own death, you took care of me. Because that's just who you are.
Lying here, trying to not cry against the pain of that memory, I reach out and feel that thread, that golden chain that stretches between us. Even though my body is too hot, my soul needs that warmth around it and it latches on.
And suddenly you're beside me. In the flesh. Sleep-rumpled,
hanging onto your pillow, you stand staring down at me. You don't
say a word. Reach out a hand and stroke the sweat-dampened hair from
my face. Lean down and kiss me so softly and sweetly that I forget
the heat and the smog. Forget death and past regrets. Forget
everything except for the feel of you
touching me. Both inside and out.
Your lips release me and you smile. You go and drag the other deck chair over beside mine, throw that pillow on it, and lie down. Reach out your hand and gather up mine. It feels cool, palm against palm. Although it should feel as warm as you usually do, right now it's cool. Probably because my soul is burning.
We fall back to sleep holding on to each other - palm to palm.
Soul to soul.