lighthouse acknowledges the astronaut

In my dream you were packing up to leave this world, so we threw you a block party. It got out of hand from the start. People kept showing up from all over the world to see you off. It was like some rich folks' wedding where the father of the bride gives a count of the number of countries represented during his toast. There were Inuits and Japanese, Germans and Newfies, Swedes and Chinese, even a guy from South Jersey below exit 2. A couple none of us had ever met was going at it on the coffee table, egged on by a guy in a rhinestone jumpsuit come to think of it none of us had ever met either. About a hundred people were breakdancing in teams of a dozen or more.

A group of kids were doing keg stands behind the Robinson's shed. You joined them briefly in your own, then chugged another beer for good measure. I know you passed on weed, which seemed like the right idea for your last night on earth, one never knows how that's going to go.

People were shooting bottle rockets at each other, like Dutch new year. The music grew in volume until the cops came. We explained the situation and they did keg stands as well. Then they left and soon came again. They issued us a warning that time, but it was clear they were just making sure they were back before the keg got kicked. People kept kissing you on the cheek.

The air was part bitter, part sweet. It wasn't totally clear which side of that you came down on, but I suspect sweet. You were tapping your feet to the music, which was something big band and which everybody seemed to understand the vibe of that night.

When you and I talk an issue straight on one of us always presses too hard, leaving the other to sit on regret for months after. Recognizing that we didn't have that kind of time we talked instead about spring training, about the Eagles off-season moves. You asked me how my wife and son were and I said they were fine, everything was fine. That was really you asking me if everything would be okay and me replying that I thought it would be, that I hoped to God it would be.

When you left we were kind of worried about your driving, but there wasn't much point. Everybody kept coming back to give you another hug. Ruby had packed a care package of road beer, potato chips, and a toasted pastrami sandwich. As you left we flicked the light on the front porch per Freeman custom, the lighthouse acknowledging the astronaut. Cops followed you home, playing Earl Hines loud out of bullhorns mounted on top of their cars.