Tomorrow Child
By
This is a missing scene from ‘Little Girl Lost’
The light drizzle of rain continued to fall through the night, distorting images in the reflection of the street lamps, stoplights, and the occasional car headlights.
Upstairs in his apartment, Hutch lay on his couch watching the flicker and dance of the outside lights upon his ceiling. The soft sounds of the winter pre-dawn morning were background music to his ears: the gentle thump of the rain as it hit the wooden deck and staircase of the greenhouse; the hum of electricity as it made its journey from transformer to light post; and the whoosh of tires against the blacktop as they traveled through the rain drenched streets.
Over and above all these, the sounds that met Hutch’s ears and reached down deep into him, were those coming from the sleeping alcove where his young guest lay in a fretful slumber. Deep, heavy sobs that had slowly diminished to short intakes of breaths; the shifting of the mattress and box springs as the small body tossed and turned in sorrowful dreams and unrelenting dejection.
Molly had fallen asleep over an hour ago, Hutch estimated. But he himself was unable to rest. His mind going over the circumstances that brought this bright, snappy, street-wizened, yet tender girl into his life. Especially this time of year.
He was reluctant to admit such a sentimental feeling as sadness to Starsky, but one of the reasons Ken Hutchinson felt so acrimonious about the commercialization of Christmas, was his grandfather. Christmas at his grandparents was always like a step back to earlier, simple times. Carols and popcorn and the smells of a freshly cut pinetree, along with the unique smell of crisp new-fallen snow. Riding horseback, listening to the jingles of the bells on their reigns. Laughter and chatter of family and friends, smells of ham and pineapple and bakery wafting through his grandmother’s kitchen. The feel of the snow beneath you as your body was stretched out make snow angles; the soft thwack of a snowball as it hit your heavy winter coat, or it’s coldness as it was shoved down your back by a pranking friend.
Those were the things Molly should be experiencing at her age during the holidays. Not hunger, strife, anger, confusion, or loss. Though Hutch understood what it was like to lose someone you dearly loved at Christmas time. His own beloved grandfather died the day after Christmas when he was 17. And as frustrated and angry as Molly appeared to be with her lazy, alcoholic, thief father – she loved him and she knew that he loved her.
Once Molly had been settled down for the night, all of her pent up emotions burst forth in a stream of deep sobs. The sounds wrenched something deep inside of Hutch, similar to the feeling of leaving her alone to spend the holiday in an institutionalized setting. But he didn’t know how to take away her grief so he left her alone with her bitterness and sadness.
Hutch turned on the couch and took a deep breath, knowing he should get some sleep himself as he and Starsky had to work tomorrow – to find Molly’s father’s killers.
` A few moments later, the quiet still of the tiny apartment was broken by the soft cries of the young orphaned girl lying in Hutch’s bed.
Hutch sighed as he turned back onto his back, flinging his hand up to his face and rubbing it deeply. I wish I knew how to help you Molly. Memories of his grandfather and mother singing him to sleep when he was ill or upset ran through Hutch’s mind. Maybe…It worked for me. It’s worth a shot.
Getting up from the couch and pulling his guitar from the closet, Hutch walked back to his bed. The small frame was almost lost in the large brass bed. Hutch sat at the head and removed his beautiful instrument from its case. He reached over and slowly petted her forehead, brushing back long bangs from her face. “Molly? Sweetheart? Can’t sleep?” Huge brown eyes opened to peer at him, their darkness accentuated by the glistening moisture. He smiled gently. “Me either.”
“Since neither of us can sleep, how about if I sing this song a friend and I wrote for his newborn son? You can tell me what you think? Okay?”
Molly lifted her hand and sniffled, brushing her fingers underneath her nose.
Without saying anything, Hutch handed her a tissue from the nightstand, and settled back against the brass headboard as he began to strum his guitar.
R- I can't tell you what your life will be
Time will show you roads that I can't see
And if they carry you away from me
Then go with love
Whatever travels you may wander through
Whatever wonders you may some day do
Take my lullaby along with you
And go with love
Tomorrow child
I'll give you room
to find your way
Just near enough to hear the things you need to say
And if you lose your way or wander there a while
The world is all my gift to you
Tomorrow child**
Molly found herself drifting off as Hutch began to sing the refrain a second
time. She knew the words really didn’t pertain to her, but the soothing music
and gentle voice filled the quietness of the apartment and the emptiness of
her soul. She felt the touch of warm, dry lips on her forehead as she snuggled
into the warm covers surrounding her. Maybe, this Christmas wouldn’t be so
bad.
**Thank you to the
following for such a beautiful song: words by Enoch Anderson/Brian Neary;
music and voice by David Soul
