Just Another New Year's Eve by Paul Wilshe

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Just Another New Year's Eve

Paula Wilshe

Don't look so sad, it's not so bad you know
It's just another night, that's all it is.
It's not the first, it's not the worst, you know
We've come through all the rest, we'll get through this.

New Year's Eve does strange things to people, doesn't it? I guess it has something to do with the fact that a year is ending, a chapter is closing, time is passing and it can never be recaptured. That tends to get most people thinking about where they've been, what they've accomplished...where they've failed...and how they can make resolutions so all that stupid shit doesn't happen again. Starsky always tells me I don't need New Year's to feel this way, I put myself through all of those behavioral barometers each and every day of the year. He is probably right.

But this had been one fucked up year.

This year Starsky and I had nearly stopped being cops, something neither of us ever expected. Both of us had begun to question the limitations of a system of justice that was not always just, a system into which we'd poured our hearts and souls for the last God knows how many years.

Thing is, we always knew there were bureaucratic glitches - that was one of the things we'd always fought against, but I guess we were always just egotistical enough to believe that, ideals intact, side by side, we could make a difference, could save the world. Maybe we both started to grow up some, and to be very honest, I am still not sure if that was part of the problem, or part of the solution, you know?

Somehow, as that year tore relentlessly on, it became apparent to both of us that our convictions and beliefs didn't help us a hell of a lot when we were faced with things that were beyond our capacity to fix. We were over our heads. We weren't making progress, but we were trying just as hard, harder, really. And we were tired. Me, more than him, but he was justifiably frustrated, and he was worried for me, and for us. That just made me more frustrated with him, and angry with myself. We existed in our own private little hell for a few months there.

But then I had almost lost Starsky.

And that changed everything, for both of us.

Now that it's all over, I don't mind admitting that it was the most cripplingly frightening thing I have ever been through, and the closest I have ever come to losing control, I mean really losing control. It isn't even that I'd never acknowledged both how dangerous our jobs are, or how important Starsky is to me, that wasn't it at all.

He and I have always been very open and affectionate with one another, and very aware that our "me and thee" partnership is special. But to suddenly have all of that taken away, or almost taken away...well...I'm sure you can imagine.

Like I said, it changed everything.

As I stood watching twilight take over the streets of Venice, where I live, I wished I could just shut off my mind, even for a little while, and relax. It was New Year's Eve, for God's sake, and everybody we knew had plans, parties, dinners, get-togethers, whatever. We didn't, by choice, I think, although we hadn't actually discussed it.

We've made mistakes, but we've made good friends too
Remember all the nights we've spent with them
And all our plans, Who says they can't come true?
Tonight's another chance to start again

After the time Starsky spent in the hospital, and then all of that recuperating, you know, and physical therapy and all of that, we had gotten to the point that we didn't really didn't want or need anyone else. I think that is probably because the recovery period was so intense for both of us and not just physically either. It was a time when we had to put all barriers between us aside, to trust one another implicitly. Not that we hadn't always done that, but this time we faced such seemingly insurmountable hurdles.

It was almost as if we tackled the hospitals and doctors and nurses and therapists, and the injuries themselves, with all of the verve and aggression we used to expend in saving the world. See, we were still doing it, that me and thee thing, us against them, but our boundaries had narrowed considerably, and the stakes were much higher. We were saving our world.

There were all these questions, you know? Would Starsky recover? Would he be the same? Would he be able to work the streets again? Would either one of us ever be able to walk into a dangerous situation without hesitation again?

That last one was more my problem than his, of course.

We poured more of ourselves into all of it than we ever did on our toughest case, we gave it everything we had. Both of us together.

Ultimately it seemed as if we were winning the battle. Starsky was cleared for light duty in September, and by Thanksgiving we were back on the streets. And I was coping with my fears for him, most of the time anyway. We were back to the place we'd been, a lifetime before. It was an unbelievable high, and one that no one but us could share.

Don't get me wrong, there are other people in our lives besides each other. We're pretty close to our friend Huggy, and our Captain, Captain Dobey has been more than generous about including us in his family, always has been. We go over there for dinner every couple of weeks, in fact. And there are a few people at the station we see socially.

Mostly, though, it's just us. I hadn't had a date since before Starsky's shooting, nor had he, obviously. I can't speak for him, but it wasn't something that was really burning a hole in my pocket agenda. All my emotional investments were tied up in our friendship, our partnership, our journey to being back on the streets, being who we were.

Funny, a couple of weeks before I'd had my annual evaluation at work. It was a pretty glowing one, considering that Captain Dobey is not always free with the compliments. One thing he said, though, struck me kind of funny. There was a comment that some of the other guys in our precinct felt that occasionally my relationship with Starsky was...how did he put it? Mutually exclusive. Like, oh, I don't know, not that we were not friendly with everyone at the station, but that when we were together we tended to be focused on one another, rather than anyone else who might be in the room.

I really couldn't deny that, because it was true.

We even laughed about it later, Starsky and I.

"I keep tellin' ya, Hutch, it's that ESP thing," he said, cuffing me playfully.

"But Starsk," I said, "Don't you think this is how partners are supposed to be? Don't you think the rest of ‘em are like this too?"

"Truthfully?" he asked, biting his lip thoughtfully. "No, I don't."

So I thought about that for a while. I don't even have to look at him to know what he's thinking. We don't have to say a word, mostly, we've just got that wavelength thing going. I guess that could be intimidating, or at least irritating, to other people who might be in the room. I guess. It's not something we do on purpose, it's just there, all the time.

Of course, there are few people I know who are as intelligent and sharp and perceptive and funny as my partner. Mostly I'd rather be with him than anyone else anyway, and he's the same way with me. That's gotten us into some trouble over the years when we double dated or whatever. We'd end up talking to each other, leaving the girls to their own devices. Girls hate that.

We didn't do it intentionally, of course, and we didn't do it all the time—just sometimes if we were working on an interesting case, or had something going outside of work, planning a vacation, or doing a project (like when he helped me renovate my greenhouse) I guess we got a little carried away. Most of our romantic relationships were kind of in the moment anyway. I mean, there were a few special ladies along the way...but ultimately...for whatever reason, those would dissipate and it would still just be us.

It's just another New Year's Eve, another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve - let's make it the best.
It's just another New Year's Eve, just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through this New Year you'll see
We'll be just fine.

So there I was, New Year's Eve, staring down at the street, watching the darkness fall. So glad this year was ending. Wondering what I'd be doing next year at this time. Watching the lights come on in the buildings on the street, and the cars flicking on their headlights. Feeling a vague ache, like there was something still unsettled in my life, and I didn't even know what it was. I didn't hear the door open.

"Hey, Blondie, I'm back."

Starsky had let himself in, and he was staggering to the table, the grocery bags in his arms looking like they were ready to fall.

I moved over to grab one before he spilled chili all over the floor or something. "I would have helped you," I said, "I didn't see you drive up."

"Parked around the corner," he said, shrugging out of his jacket. "Busy out there, there's no parking spaces left." He started unpacking the groceries. "Had this great idea."

"Yeah?" I couldn't help but smile. "What's that?"

"We'll have a picnic in the greenhouse," he said, in this all excited voice, like we were going to Disneyland or something. "I got steaks and everything."

"Sounds good," I answered him, feeling like we were going to Disneyland. Amazing how something so simple could make me so happy. Maybe because a few months before I'd have given anything for the promise of something as mundane as a picnic in my greenhouse, because I thought we'd never have moments like that again.

Starsky grinned at me, because he knew exactly where I was coming from. He reached into another bag. "Lookit, we can toast in the new year," and he produced a bottle of champagne. "Unless you'd rather go out...go to Huggy's or something."

"Are you nuts?" I reached over and messed up his hair. "And give up a picnic in the greenhouse?"

We're not alone, we've got the world you know
And it won't let us down - just wait and see.
And we'll grow old, but think how wise we'll grow
There's more you know, it's only New Year's Eve

Hours later, we were sprawled on the greenhouse floor. Dinner'd been terrific, for all the epicurean disasters he is so keen on eating, Starsky's one hell of a cook when he sets his mind to it. We'd eaten, and talked, and played a couple of games of Monopoly. It was like a thousand nights before, and the normalcy, the familiarity, were wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

We played our guitars for a while too, and we sang some. I'm sure the general public would have some reservations, but I think we sound good together. Our voices blend in on harmony pretty well, his is a little deeper, and it's like, we don't have to decide which parts we're going to sing or anything, it just comes out that way. I thought we sounded particularly tight that night, especially when we did "Quiet Night In," which is one of Starsky's favorites.

His eyes were just shining, and I'm sure mine were too. Last year at this time we'd been...you know, I couldn't even remember where we'd been. I think we were here in the greenhouse, playing our guitars.

"What'd we do last New Year's Eve?" I asked him.

Starsky did a little riff on the guitar. "Um...same thing we're doing now," he said. "Went to dinner first...at Huggy's I think..."

"Hm." I took a sip of wine, my first of the evening. Starsky hadn't touched his. Well, neither one of us had been drinking much. Starsky had been on all those meds for such a long time and he couldn't, and, I don't know, I just didn't want to for most of the year.

"Been through a lot this year, huh, Blintz?" Starsky said quietly.

"Yeah." I didn't trust my voice to more than that.

"Well, now that it's over, I, um, I wanna thank you for..."

I shook my head. "Nothin' to thank me for," I said firmly.

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothin', Starsk. I did it as much for me as for you."

We were both quiet for a little while after that. The noise from the street below started to filter up, so we knew it was getting close to midnight. Time to let go of the old stuff. Time to start over. Time to...time to...

He nodded, and kind of smiled. "Lot of things changed this year, didn't they?"

I put my guitar aside. "They sure did." I fingered my upper lip. "I grew a moustache."

That made him laugh. "You just did that to hide behind," he pointed out. "So you can be inscrutable."

"Maybe," I mused, nodding.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter," he offered. "I know what you're feelin' anyway, all the time."

I couldn't argue with that.

"I know." I guess that was the point where we should have discussed and worked through some of the things we'd experienced in the last year, years, lifetime. But somehow we didn't need to, and that felt so secure, so safe. I reached out and squeezed his shoulder lightly, and he smiled.

He shifted a little closer, laying his guitar aside as well. "You want some champagne?" he asked. "I think it's almost midnight."

"Sure, I'll get it," I offered, reaching up to the ice bucket where he'd placed it to chill a few hours before. I popped the cork, and he held out two glasses. I poured some for each of us, and just as we touched our glasses, we heard shouts and yells, and firecrackers from down in the street.

"Good timing," Starsky said, holding his glass aloft. "To us."

"To me and thee," I said, feeling my voice go husky because I could see the caring shining in his eyes.

And then.

Starsky did the last thing on earth I ever expected him to do. He leaned over and kissed me gently. And I kissed him back.

I realized then that it was the one thing on earth I'd most wanted him to do. Then I wondered why I'd never realized that before. Then I wondered what it all meant, and I realized that the indefinable aching unsettled feeling inside me was gone, just like that, evaporated.

Starsky stroked my moustache with his finger. "Sh..."

"I-I d-didn't say anything."

"You're realizing and wondering," Starsky said, kissing my nose. "Stop it."

I leaned in close to him, my hand on the back of his neck. We sat that way for a couple of minutes, smiling, staring teary eyed and surprised at one another, as if we had just discovered the secret of life.

Perhaps we had.

THE END