The Silver Ring
“I glanced up at the mirror in her bathroom and I could see myself again.
I barely had time to relish the thought and experience of my invisibility before a groan sounded out in the dim room and I looked over at the woman in the bed.
She stirred, her small and frail head moving back and forth on the pillow. From where I stood she looked like a ghost, an emaciated and shriveled corpse.
“Grandma,” I said.
She groaned again, opened her eyes, looked at me.
“John?” she whispered in a long, drawn out voice.
I went to her bed and pulled up a chair next to it and sat down.
“No, Grandma, it’s David. I’m your grandson.”
“John … you look so … different.”
“Grandma,” I said, and something cracked in my voice. It was the same thing that had been with me in the kitchen when I tried to heal my mom, the thing that understood I had failed then and that I would fail now.
“John,” my grandmother said again in that dreamy way of hers, pushing down her bedcovers so she could reach out a hand to me.
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