There is no one on the ground (we’re all in the air).

We pressed the lamb’s head jaw-down into the vice grip and then you put all your weight into further pressing at the top of its skull while I spun the tightening wheel. Within a quarter of a minute we had the lamb stuck there, thrashing and bucking. You came around to my side of the vice and kissed me on the cheek and together we watched the lamb release crystal waterfalls from its eyes; a general sign of fright and panic on behalf of the lamb. I kissed your cheek too and whispered, “L’en occulta.”

Wax elephants.

Wax composites of missing persons.

When you pretend, on the telephone, I like that better than when you just disappear completely.

Anatomically correct ghosts.

We hopped the fence into the backyard of the neighbors’ place. The whole yard was silent. No breeze stirred the sheets, pants, dried water lilies, shirts and undergarments hanging from the clothesline. The sliding glass door on the back porch was never locked and we stole into the darkness of the empty house and slid the glass door closed behind us, latching it. The neighbors were out at the lake for the rest of the weekend. Their house was silent, still. Dust had already begun to collect on the coffee table. I took you to the master bedroom and we went through the parents’ drawers. In the other rooms we sifted through the closets, pulled up the carpeting in the corners. In the hall we unscrewed the air-conditioning vents and shined a flashlight down the hollow aluminum tubes, whispering into the vents to hear our voices echo. In the attic we found old boxes of holiday ornaments and even a diary.

The core of our discussions between the Ouija board and the people in the attic revolved around the summer of 1997.

Johnathon Ford, summer 2004. James Morelos’ apartment, early morning, Brooklyn, New York. Framed original polaroid used on back cover of Pedro The Lion’s 1998 album It’s Hard To Find A Friend. Johnathon was the bassist for that record, and James Morelos of Made In Mexico Records shot the polaroid. New York’s always a strange place, but super pretty, and when there, I tend to meet interesting people that don’t belong anywhere else in the world but New York City.

Think about how much life has changed since the death of your mother.