My brother Jimmy is named after my Uncle Jim. When I was a kid I thought I had a bunch of uncles and aunts. I eventually found out they were all greats so I didn’t know any of them very long. I have known my brother forever. He made it a point to save my life.
Rushford is a small town in Southeastern Minnesota that is surrounded by movie backdrops with bluffs painted on them. It is green there and black and blue and golden. The sun and moon are made of cloth nailed into round wood frames and lit up from behind by spotlights. There is a silhouette of a woman stitched into the fabric of the moon and you can see her day and night. You can see the outline of her hair, the tip of her nose, and the purse of her lips. You can see her shirt sleeve hanging just over her shoulder, her elbow jutted out and her hand resting on the curve of her hip. You can see the wire above the moon holding her in place so she never leaves.
Photo by Christopher Jug George *Brugge, Belgium* October 1996
It was the last year of the century and we were walking the city streets during the good part of that summer. It was our favorite thing to do. We stood in front of an apartment building on Spruce Pl. and I told her that I thought Keith might live there. I pointed at a random window on the third floor and we both started yelling “KEITH!” “KEITH!” I remember her feet leaving the ground on one of the yells and I put my hand on her shoulder to keep her from floating away. I already knew she was going to float away.