He is at Rest

Smitty, Jeanine, Melodie and I went to the end of Harloe street in Pismo Beach this morning. It was cool and foggy. A typical June day on the Pismo Beach cliffs.

We climbed through the fence that is meant to keep people off the crumbling bluffs. We stood on the ice plant and looked down onto the receding Pacific Ocean.

We talked about Dan. I showed them where his little apartment was.

We watched the waves roll in and out. We talked. Smitty apologized for not having talked to me for 38 years. I laughed at him.

I thanked him for being my brother now.

He told us that in every conversation that he had with Dan, Melodie and I were mentioned.

I gave him the tin that held the last bit of Dan's remains. We all cracked up. It was a Christmas tin with a Santa Claus on it. Totally inappropriate for anyone else. But not for Dan.

And Smitty scattered him in the ice plant. "I know where to come visit you now" was all he said.

And then we began to tell Dan stories.

Smitty was full of them. A beat up Volkswagon looking for a blues singer in Hamburg, Germany. Driving a 1953 truck without lights, at night, in California and being stopped by the CHP in 1971.

We stood there for an hour. And then we had to go.

But Dan is there. At the end of Harloe Street. Where he and I drank sassafras tea and solved the problems of the world.

He will rest there. And Smitty and I will visit him. And talk to him. And talk about him. And remember him.

My new brother and I will remember our old brother for as long as we live.

At the end of Harloe Street.