I was in the New York kitchen, pouring a drink and ordering
a pizza. The phone was ringing in my ear when Greg came in the door and started
to talk. I tried surreptitiously to hang up and heard a vague “hello?” as I
fumbled the phone. With his trademark irritation Greg waved me off and said, “No
no, it’s alright, it’s not really important” in that tone that underlay that it
was fucking important. I put the phone down and said, “I’m sorry Pop, you’ve
got my undivided attention now. Tell me.” He told me he’d
had a dream where he was dead.
Here’s the dream Greg told me within a dream (in first
person, as that’s how it was related to me- voiceover with accompanying
visuals- Greg is nothing if not cinematic, even in dreams- perhaps especially
in dreams):
I was hitting the heavy bag. The tape was tight and my mind
was finally blank. In walked Sean Penn and he said, “I’m here to talk about the
muggings. “
I didn’t stop hitting the bag as I replied, “I don’t know
what you’re talking about. And if I did know what you were talking about, I
might say that it’s all in the family.”
Penn didn’t flinch as he stepped between me and the bag and
I let my fists hang. Staring at him and knowing I was dead; I had a thought and
said, “I’m not in Heaven, am I?”
“Those aren’t my manners,” he said. “Where do you think you
are?”
“I don’t know. I guess maybe I’m still in a state halfway to
grace.”
“So what’s the supposed Heaven?”
“Fuck if I know.”
