I apologize in advance for this. Not sure where it came from.Sort of an older guys snippet, sort of a deathfic, sort of just weird. Slash. Death by Chocolate
I died first. Second too—allergic reaction to the new meds a couple months later. I also died better than him. Getting shot up in the police station parking lot clearly trumps a heart attack in the cooking book section of Barnes and Noble. I expect Huggy will outshine both of us—he’ll probably kick the bucket after getting the best blow job of his life. His date will get to tell the doctor how “he came and went.”
Hutch was still holding a copy of Death by Chocolate when I found him. It took the paramedics five minutes to get to the bookstore, another fifteen to get him to the hospital. Memorial, of all places. They did everything right, but I’ve been around long enough to know what a lost cause looks like.
I sat with him for a while after. Held his hand and said the things I needed to. First time in years he paid attention. Huggy showed up a while later with one of his kids to make the arrangements. After all these years, he still knows what we need. Better than we ever do.
I couldn’t go back to the house after, so I went to the only place I could think of.
Hutch and me had a favorite bench at the beach. Not sure how it got to be our favorite—maybe it was the view, maybe it was because it was real close to the hot dog stand—anyhow, it just got to be ours. We used to go down there at night, watch the ocean, and hold hands in the dark. Sounds kinda lame, I know, but it made us feel like everyone else, holding hands outdoors like that. I threatened to carve our initials on the seat once, but Hutch wouldn’t let me.
I was sitting on our bench thinking about things and watching the sun set—yeah, yeah, I get the symbolism, Hutch was always pointing out shit like that—when I got interrupted. Blond guy. Looked like someone I knew a long time ago.
“That seat taken?” he asked, pointing at the space beside me.
“About fucking time you showed up,” I said. “Do you know how long I’ve been sitting here?”
“Yeah, actually I do. Thirty years. Give or take.”
He sat down beside me and reached for my hand. Cheeky bastard.
“Starsk . . .”
He smiled. “Nothing.” Hutch seemed pretty happy for a newly dead guy. I know I was pissed for months after I shuffled off my mortal coil. (You hang around Hutch long enough, you pick up a little Hamlet.). “I’ve just been waiting thirty years to say that again.”
“But you do know that dying at Barnes and Noble was pretty lame, don’t you?”
“Got me here, didn’t it?”
Then he kissed me, soft and slow, like we had forever. Maybe we did.