“What are you doing!? All up in the way, driving all slow. These old folks need to get off the road.” 

The young lady in the passenger seat nodded her head and smiled, understanding my frustration. I maneuvered around the elderly driver then continued home.

The sight of the elderly driver recalled a memory of my grandfather. 

Each time I visited the house Anniston, Alabama, his grey sedan sat in the driveway.

As a young boy I asked, “Who’s car is that?” 

“It’s your granddaddy’s. He doesn’t drive anymore,” my father answered.

That night, after seeing the elderly driver, Grandaddy visited me in my dreams. 

In the dream, we had established some inside joke. My 25 year-old mind recalls it as a dirty joke, but I don’t know for certain.

Later in the night, my dreams continued, and my Grandaddy returned. He appeared just as I knew him before, in a chair with a ponytail down his back, eyes fixed in a deep gaze. Stoic. I returned his gaze with one of my own, that of a young boy, his progeny, generations younger. 

Suddenly, Granddaddy winked at me. Whatever the inside joke was, with that wink, I knew he remembered. 

That single wink woke me up out of my sleep. I woke up in a fit, delirious, gasping for breath, I shouted, “He remembered!” 

The young lady was surely confused, but she comforted me and went back to sleep. I too drifted back into sleep. But I was overjoyed. It was as though Granddaddy was the sandman, dashing me with his secret dust. I was over the moon.