An early disappointment: “ghost towns” are not settlements of ghosts. They’re dead towns, not ghost towns. Death is everywhere, everyday. Ghosts are interesting. Dead, alive. Seen, unseen.
Lately, I’ve been seeing things, and people, who aren’t there any longer. Ghosts, maybe. I see children who are no longer children. I see Casa Castillo, the Mexican restaurant, long since replaced by an auto parts store, where I always ordered a quesadilla and my mother had a chile relleno. I see VW beetles long since sent to scrap.
You do have ghosts, too? Perhaps my ghosts can see your ghosts. Your crossing guard wishes my mailman a good morning. My librarian reads quietly while waiting at your laundromat.
No—our ghosts haunt each of us alone. Phantoms of our specific pasts, they are engravings on our finite memories. When we’re gone, they’re gone.
Born in California, Greg now lives and teaches in Yokohama, Japan. He is an avid reader and a jazz enthusiast.