I thought about remembering him by donating to a charity in his name, but that's hard when you have little money.
I thought about putting some flowers on the beach at the lake up the street. He loved that lake. He told me he loved swimming in it and floating on his back, looking up at the sky on a summer's day. But we're a long way from summer, and the people around here are likely to take a bouquet of flowers and stomp it just for something to do.
I fell asleep in my chair and dreamed about him. I was in a ghost town, but instead of a Wild West setting, it was built high and precariously on the side of a mountain. The sky was a warm, buttery yellow and the clouds were like big puffs of marshmallow fluff. (It's always all about food for me.) I felt no fear as I walked along a narrow path from one dilapidated building to another. I looked down and instead felt wonder, daring.
One building was completely open on one end, with big plank steps leading up into the front room. Old oak boards and wavy glass windows made up the walls. The view was even more magnificent from here.
He came around a corner and smiled at me.
"Are you dressed like Han Solo?" I asked, laughing.
"They were all out of wizard robes."
"Who was?" I asked.
"The wardrobe department."
I never said my dreams made much sense.
"I'm sorry," I apologized quickly, remembering our last exchange had me scolding him for being too familiar.
"Stop beating yourself up over that. What if we had gotten closer? I'd have still died. And then this would hurt more."
"I don't think that's possible."
"You know the truth, but keep most of it to yourself, ok?"
"Yeah, sure. Who would I tell?"
He laughed at me, knowing better. Knowing I've got a vengeful streak and access to social media.
"Are my parents around here?" I asked.
"Yeah, but you can't stick around too long or they'll make you stay."
I didn't ask who "they" were, and besides, what if I wanted to stay?
"I'm going to make this place into something nice," he said, surveying the structure in which we stood. I realized this was his house, and it was just beginning to be built.
I started to leave and he said, "That was me on the stairs."
The dream ended.
My sister's dog Muggs had been barking a few nights ago at something, someone, unseen on the stairs.
Maybe this was my mind's way of processing grief. Maybe it's wish fulfillment or the culmination of tearful conversations from the last five days. I don't know. It made me feel better, and it made me feel worse.
Goodbye, friend. You can drop by for another visit anytime. But I have one rule for ghosts: please just stay out of the bathroom.
