text: Times are hard with quarantine, especially in a full house. My mother, brother, sister and her three kids living altogether. Mom is a strong-willed Navajo women who did her best to teach native tradition and keep us safe. Vigilance took over as she had everyone in her household on strict disinfectant rules. Anyone who enters has to spray themselves in a cloud of Lysol to kill any trace of the virus. This was also paired with some prayers in Navajo language for good health. Once, while she was out in the middle of work, my sister called her to ask where she had gone. Bewildered by the thought, because she had been at work all day and hadn't left, the question was begged as to what she meant. My sister says she was just there. She continues to tell my mother she came in, sprayed herself down, and made her way to the bedroom. Once she and her daughter came to the room to ask her for a ride someplace, she was no where there. Only her other daughter was to be found and was puzzled when asked about mom's whereabouts. After asking my brother as well, it was clear he hadn't seen her either. And with no evidence of anyone leaving, everyone was confused. Where did she go? My sister and her daughter saw her come right through her own front door. My mother confirmed she never left work and so decided this deserved a call to a medicine man. The medicine men in our tribes perform ceremonies to pinpoint the root of a discrepancy or issue, and do their best to resolve it. She sent some pictures of my sister and her daughter to aid him in finding out what happened. He returns a call to my mother in disbelief. On the only second occasion this has ever happened in his practice, he tells her that she had a twin sister who died in utero. He saw everything in the fire used in the ceremony. The person who my sister and her daughter saw come back home, with such uncanniness, was not my mother, but her sister. I was chilled to the core as I grew chicken skin when she told me what happened. I grew up with a skeptical idea of my tradition. Even though it was an unpleasant thought that my mother practically said ghosts exist, I disregarded it. Also, since a prayer was done, she assured me I shouldn't worry about such a thing, not that I was. I told her "I love you too, Mom. Goodnight." Then I went on with the rest of my day. I live with my girlfriend and black lab at the moment. She recently flew out to visit her auntie on the east coast, leaving the place to myself and the dog. Since we live in a sketchy area of the complex, I always checked our closets and rooms for possible intruders. I'm not sure what I'd do as soon as I found anyone, as I've never been good in a fight, but finding nobody put my mind at ease. The first few days alone, I cleaned the whole apartment and tried recipes that I could stomach if I messed up. I watched whatever I wanted and hogged the bed. It was stretching room, even if I went insane missing my girlfriend. As the night crept, so did my consciousness. I decided to end my evening with some Cowboy Bebop and a cup of iced tea. With every squirm to maintain comfort in that pile of cotton and scrap wood called a couch, I watched my favorite space cowboys take on bounties to jazzy sounds. My cup was empty and I was four episodes in. As soon as the credits rolled, I sprinted to the restroom for relief. As I sleepily lathered the soap, I thought of cleanliness. Ridding of impurities. I counted the 20th 'mississippi,' rinsed, and headed into the living room, back to my shallow crater in the couch. Parched, I blankly reached for my cup and took a few glugs of tea. I washed my dry throat with some cold, dark, iced black tea. I was so thirsty, I didn't even remember pouring the cup. Once it was time to head to bed, I checked the closets and rooms, as usual. I found nothing. Only thing out of place was my front door smelled of lemon scented Lysol.