9.25

Pouring another glass of the thick, black medicine, I concentrated on the musical sound of my grandmother's voice in the other room. "Well, I started seeing him when I was only a child, you know, but he started seeing me when he was a man. Really, it was just a case of missed connections." I leaned into the doorframe with the glass in a white-knuckled hand.
"Ready?"
"Oh, never. I've enjoyed talking to you, though." She turned, and patted the empty air, as if to say "I'll miss you, of course." I handed her the glass, and she drank it without complaint. Her eyes lost the light of moments before, and she looked around the small room as though she was surprised to find herself in the place. She turned new eyes on me. "Again?"
"Yeah."
"Who was I this time?"
I shook my head. There was no point in telling her. It would only hurt. I sat down, and we drank the silence for a time.