My grandfather called. We talked about baseball and the upcoming election. He told me about his cataracts and asked what I was up to. Every word he said amazed and unsettled me. You see, my grandfather had been dead for years.  

I’d never quite gotten over it. I wanted to tell him this, but it seemed inappropriate. I was probably just too scared to say anything. 

Talk to you later, he said like he always did. 

Talk to you later, I said. 

*

Soon after, I was getting a chicken salad sandwich at the grocery store. The cashier watched me with a smile. 

It’s me, he said.  

Who? 

Me. Your grandfather. 

I looked at the man, bewildered. We watched each other a moment, and he handed me my sandwich. 

I’m sorry, I said. I have to go—and I left the store. 

*

I went to the check-in station at the Y, where a man sat whose only job was to say thank you when you scanned in. I placed my card under the bar code scanner, listened to the beep, and walked toward the locker room. 

Psst, I heard behind me. 

I turned to find the man watching me. I pointed at my chest. 

Yeah, you, said the man. 

I knew then it was my grandfather. Only he could manage to sound sarcastic yet funny and warm. 

Still exercising, I see, he said approvingly. 

Yeah, I said, happy that, despite his death, he continued to take an interest in my health.  

Good, he said.  

*

I met my girlfriend at a cafe. 

It’s me, she said when I found her at a table in back. Your grandfather. 

This, I couldn’t believe.  

If you’re my grandfather, I said, what game did we used to play when I was a kid? 

We played lots of games, she said. 

Name one. 

She thought about it. 

Monster, she said. 

A memory flooded my mind: my grandfather draping the blanket over his shoulders and roaring like Godzilla, at which point I’d wrestle him to the ground. 

She mentioned other games: the one where my grandfather timed me running around the house, the endless hands of gin rummy, the crossword puzzles we did together at the kitchen table. There was no way she could know about these.  

Remember the time we were playing monster, I said, and I was afraid I’d hurt you? 

You didn’t hurt me, he said, touching my shoulder gently. 

I was embarrassed to find myself tearing up. 

Don’t you think this is a little strange?  I asked. 

No stranger than anything else, he replied. 

Are you sure you’re my grandfather?  

I’m your grandfather, he said. I’m sure. 

*

I woke up terrified one night and threw off my blanket, running outside, where a lonesome moon hung in the sky.  

I miss you! I called to my grandfather. I miss you so much!  

I’m here, came the answer. Right here! 

I groped at the pitchblack air, squinting into the darkness.  

Where? I said. I can’t find you!  

The stars blinked mutely. The night was cool and empty. 

You think I’d lie to you? said that familiar voice. I’m your grandfather. 

*

It was a perfect day. I was in the park with a soft breeze on my face, watching birds flit through the treebranches. A red-winged blackbird hopped up to my bench, staring at me. At this point, I didn’t need to be told. 

Hey, I waved to my grandfather. 

The blackbird hopped left and then right, digging its beak into the earth and pulling out a bug, which it devoured.  

What are you? I asked. 

My grandfather considered the question. 

Imagine you’re in your bedroom, he said, morning light coming through the blinds. You’re dreaming. But you’re dreaming of your bedroom with the light coming in. You’re dreaming the exact place where you are down to the last detail, nothing missing. That’s it. That’s what I am. 

As he said this, the sun hummed softly in the grass. The blue hydrangea sang to the shy white moon. I knew it was my grandfather’s doing.  

Thank you, I told him. 

I’m your grandfather, he shrugged. It’s my job.