As far as she could tell the space was empty, only periodically filled with haunting things. Familar faces appeared in her periphery but she did not know where they came from; their presence was more shocking than their lack. And even when the familiar faces appeared, she was not sure why they were familiar – the man had either shot his girlfriend, or come with his wife to visit. The man in all black may have been the janitor, or perhaps the nurse (he had been cleaning something, maybe, but what?).
A noise rang out from the empty. A familiar sound, a sound dancing just around it’s own definition in her mind. Then a face appeared – “Phone call, ma’am!” The phone rang on. After another moment, she picked it up, barely comprehending.
But a familiar voice waited on the other end.
“Ciao, Grandma!” said the familiar voice. The woman smiled. The empty came into focus. A recovery room, drab but for a floral curtain between the two beds, a nurse in blue scrubs.
“Darling! How are you?” said the woman. And it was like, for fifteen minutes, nothing had ever been empty at all.
Urban Habit 