The Christmas bubble was blue, cobalt to be exact. I knew I had to play with it quickly, because it would likely disappear overnight. The bubble formed as the retina specialist injected medication in my eye. This has happened a number of times, so it wasn’t disturbing. Gravity took it to the bottom of my eyeball, where it didn’t get in my way as I boarded the bus to go home. I knew it was a bubble, because it was perfectly round and fairly buoyant. I looked at the beautiful mountains on the way home, sometimes moving my eyes rapidly to make the bubble move.

I didn’t pay much attention to the bubble until I ate a late lunch. Every time my hand came to my mouth, I felt like I was going to hit it. It would hover in the air where I was focusing. Later I looked at the kitchen floor, and there it was, much larger than before. It seemed as big as my hand, lying on the floor. Of course Kacey didn’t see it or smell it, and she looked at me strangely as I stared down. I should have told her it was ghost food.

That night I played with the ball in bed. It was small, moving only when I looked around. I said good night to it, as well as a tentative goodbye. Only once did one stay into the following day. I looked for it as soon as I woke up, but it was gone. I’ll look for the next one at the end of January.