Last night I dreamt that Steve and I found some photographs in which someone was clearly missing. We investigated and found that we had had a son, but he disappeared—from our lives and from our photographs and from our memory. We went searching in our memories for what happened to him and found that he had been a normal little boy until he became obsessed with something he thought he saw moving in a bush in our backyard. He began smearing his feces on the swingset to write messages to the thing. He told us it moved so fast we couldn’t see it and that you had to watch constantly in order to catch sight of it. He refused to leave the swingset, from which he could watch the bush. We tried everything. He stopped talking and eating. Then he turned into a plate of hot dogs. We put the hot dogs in a plastic bread box and tried to bring them inside the house so we could take them to a psychiatrist, but our hot dogs/son squeezed from the bread box and went to the bush and then went away with the thing that moved too fast to be seen. We were devastated, but almost immediately, our memories of our son began to fade away.