WALK WITH DANTE
I have stood at the edge of cliffs and jumped.
I have stood at the edge of an airplane at 14,000 feet and jumped.
I have stood at the edge of a bridge and jumped.
I expected to still be here after those jumps.
I have also contemplated the edges of ledges where a return is not imminent.
It is not something I speak about with most people.
I did speak about it with Dante once or twice. On late night walks from the Red Line. In cold. Most always we would end up in a room laced with books, guitar and banjo at the ready.
He had tried it before. The ledge on the edge of no return. It didn’t work. Dante was smart. Among other things. A great talent few will know.
Then one day, he did it. And it worked.
I remember everything about our last encounter. I remember his willingness to rise to every occasion, to entertain every idea with wild abandon and execute each with a stroke of ineffable brilliance. I remember his depth. How deep those gallows could go.
I think about him every time I get on a plane. I imagine I will for the rest of my life. I can’t imagine a world in which he ceases to exist.
I can’t imagine a world in which
I can’t imagine a world
I can’t imagine
I can’t
I
have lost too much in this life.
If I imagine it, will it come to life?
Dante is not coming back to life. Not in the way he was. Only through me. It is a great responsibility. Not one I am ever to take lightly.
Dante was funny. Dante had a great red beard that he would grow forever. Then one day, unexpectedly, he would cut it. Dante ran in the rain. Dante drank a lot of juice from his juicer. Dante had cats. Dante made me feel loved. Perfect as myself. Received me as I was. An Inferno.
The smoke is thick. I have been signaling for some time. There is not much left. The body is getting heavy. Hard to carry. I am looking into Dante’s eyes.
Will he forgive me if I lay him down here?
All I feel is heat. It is clouding my judgment and I know not what to do. But nothing is clearing and the only way to find it is to make a choice.
What if I make the wrong one?
I look into Dante’s eyes and I see his hair freshly cut. He is smiling. Standing underneath tracks in the South Loop. There’s pizza sauce on his shirt in the shape of a heart. His eyes are sparkling like Lake Michigan in the summer. Everything feels beautiful.
The flames are getting stronger and the picture is fading.
How does one let go of beauty?
The body is getting heavy. I take it a bit further. I think there is a clearing just ahead. I think I can make it there.
But the body is getting heavy. Harder to carry.
I look into Dante’s eyes. He looks about 10. He’s smiling. His mother is behind the camera. He has an oversized t-shirt on capped over his knees. He looks a little chubby. His eyes are sparkling like Lake Michigan in the summer. Everything feels happy.
The clearing isn’t there. It was an illusion.
I look into Dante’s eyes. They are sparkling.
The clearing isn’t here. It’s an illusion.
It is getting hotter. The body is heavy.
I look into Dante’s eyes.
I feel urgency.
The clearing isn’t here.
It’s a ledge.
I look into Dante’s eyes. I see myself.
I look into Dante’s eyes. I pour the wets from mine into his.
I look into Dante’s eyes. They are sparkling. Like the Pacific.
I look into Dante’s eyes. They are endless.
The body feels light. Easier to carry. Dante is floating. I am trying to hold him. Don’t leave with the ashes.
But I cannot stop him. He is going. Everything is harder to reach. My cry causes a flutter and his body flips toward me. Floating further away.
I look into Dante’s eyes. They are sparkling. Like everything beautiful in the heavens. He pours the wets from his eyes down into mine. I weep in the soak. My body is tired. Hard to carry. I do not know what to do on this ledge.
I open my eyes.
Clearing. Everything feels sparkling.
