She was seated next me. Then she was not. She was behind me. In front of me. She was in my dreams. She was there next to me. She was a cloud. The moon. The whole entire universe.

And then she was grandma.

Her first words were a perfume. A cloud of perfume that enshrouded me. No. It enshrouded us.
It was curious sensation. The us I mean. There had not been an us for a long time. I tried the us on. I donned it’s mysterious fabric. I watched it slope down my arms and fall bellow my knees. The us had fit.

I looked around. I looked at us. Grandma and me. Grandma and I. She was wearing the raspberry and periwinkle vest she knit herself. Her hair was a shock of white fuzz, not unlike my shock of brown. She reflected my deep grin. The corner of our mouths spread to reveal our teeth. Our eyes twinkled. The breeze caught in our hair.

There was an us. There was an us. There was an us. There was an us. There was an us. There was an us. There was an us. There was an us.

There was an us.

“There is an us”, she said.

She wasn’t seated next to me anymore.

I felt for the us. I felt for that tingling on my skin, for the fibers clinging to each other, for the scent of the perfume. For the shock of white fuzz.

I searched for the cloud, for the moon, every thread of space and time. Every thread with a puff of raspberry wool, a walnut brownie, a porcelain unicorn. Every thread brimming with hugs and kisses.

There was an us. There is an us. There must be. I just have to find the right thread.