DEAR BABE,

Always did like Rodney, the neighbor’s dog. An ugly little fucker, but it didn’t matter, he owned it. Soft eyes, smooth wag, bad teeth, worse breath. He was a real neat critter, but you had to look real hard to see it. I’ll be honest, I was good to him. Not to brag, but I was. I’d scratch his chin, the rump, that sort of thing. Nothing huge, just ya know, real gentle, real pure. But again, nothing huge.

I remember when he died. Or at least I remember hearing about it. He was 13. Passed away in his bed. JoAnne was back for lunch to watch her soap when she noticed he wasn’t moving. Days of Our Lives. Shit you not. Marlena was possessed by the Devil that summer. It’s a heck of a way to go if you ask me. In your sleep, in your bed, in your home. That’s a trifecta, right there. You get just one of those when you croak and you’re making out like a bandit. I didn’t think too much of Rodney’s death at the time, I was only 11. At that point, my only experience with the other side was when Marlena got possessed by the Devil.

But now that I’m also dead meat, it just seems ridiculous in hindsight. Not just the Marlena soap opera thing, but everything really. Out of all the souls I encountered during my 37 years of existence, it’s my neighbor’s dog whose soul I hold most dear in the end.  

Yours too, babe. But you know what I mean.

At first I didn’t recognize him. Rodney, that is. Here in the cosmic soup, I mean. It takes a while to get used to this dimension.

The space between death and life. The wonder, the mystery, the overwhelming nature of eternity. The whole ball of wax just melted into a bright orange, warm fondue. Every soul stirred together in existential Velveeta like a nightmare and a wet dream intermingled for eternity and I can’t seem to open or close my eyelids.

Anyway, there I was, backstroking through the universal jelly when I was approached by a familiar presence. One that I couldn’t really sniff out. At first I thought it was Hernandez, my old pet lizard. Rodney laughed like hell and then revealed himself. Man, I was blown away. I was like, fucking Rodney? Tommy’s dog? You gotta be shittin' me man, get over here you mongrel! Golly, look at you! You ol’ cocksucker, you! Christ we laughed and caught up and yammered on all night long. Or day long. Or kinda this creepy space in-between time with no sunsets and all of the sunsets.

Anyway, Rodney says Tommy’s doing well. He’s an artist in Espanola, still jams out to Los Lobos. He’s a fuckin’ blue belt now, which is nuts. Ah man, Rodney remembered the time we spent the night and snuck into the den to watch soft porn. He was sure we’d get busted. Apparently, I smuggled a few Cheetos under the dinner table and he was ready to bark if JoAnne’s door creaked open. He had our back way back then and I didn’t even know it. I was real touched when he told me. I don’t recall the Cheetos part but definitely the porno. Brunette gal. C’s, maybe D’s. You probably don’t wanna hear that, babe, but it’s true.

Rodney isn’t the only one I’ve seen out here. When you’re balls deep in the communal, you run into just about everyone and everything. Cuts both ways, too. Recently I ran into the kid who I ripped off in the 5th grade. Rick Whatshisname. He killed himself a few years back. Real tragic deal. Fucking power drill or something. Just tragic. One summer we stole a bunch of baseball cards from him. Jose Canseco, Lou Whitaker, Shawon Dunston, Saberhagen. The pride of his fleet, really. Anyway, Rick finally had the nerve to bring it up, you shoulda seen him. I told him I was young, that I didn’t know any better. I admitted that it wasn’t a nice thing to do and apologized in earnest. You know, what more can you do? But it seemed too late for him. That ship had sailed and he slipped back into the Stew all salty. 

Rodney asked me if I’ll ever dip back down again, roll the cosmic dice of creation for another round. Part of me metaphorically shits my metaphorical pants at that thought. What if I manifest into a runt with no teat? What if I’m force-fed into foie gras? What if I subconsciously loathe myself? And what if I came back for you, babe. And ended up in a spider’s body. Would you love me then? 

Maybe I’ll just rest my soul here for a while and wait for you. Take your time, though.  

I get the feeling Rodney’s planning another journey soon. Lately he’s been talking a lot about the glory days. The nobility of moss on a log. The raw presence of cells splitting. The miracle of an earthworm fucking itself. Man, Rodney’s wild sometimes. He sure can spook me with all that infinite possibility shit. Sometimes I wonder if he’s just a good bullshitter. I hope he doesn’t leave any time soon though, I’m not sure who I’d kick it with. I sure burnt that Rick bridge down in a hurry.

I’m sure it’ll work out somehow. I told you that if I ever died I’d send you a signal. So, here it is. I miss you and I love you more than ever. The collective sure gets lonely without you, babe.

Forever Yours,
Me