I was ten when my granny died and I realized two things: one, some who walk among us are dead and two, only I, at least in my town, could see them.

It started on a Tuesday in the summer. I had been enjoying my summer break from school. Granny and I were driving home from the the store when it started raining really hard. Granny never liked driving in the rain, she told me how much she didn't like it every single time.

I don't remember much except we reached that turn Granny always said people always drove too fast on. I saw a big pair of headlights, glowing like a monster's eyes.

Then it all went dark.

I woke up on the grass, cold and soaked from the rain. The car was upside down. I couldn't see well but, I still could see Granny. She was still in the car, hanging upside down in her seat. Her beautiful silver hair that was usually tied up into a bun was undone. That's what I remember. Her hair, so messy and wild. I'd never seen her like that before.

I tried to scream but no sound came out. I was so scared I just started to run.

I didn't stop running until I was standing in front of my house. There was a police car in the drive way and two officers were just walking down from our porch. Mommy was on her knees in the doorway. She was crying so hard. I'd never seen her cry like that.

I thought about hugging her but I was scared to find out what made her cry like that. So instead, I just went to my room. I threw myself onto my bed and sobbed until I fell asleep.

When I woke up, that's when I saw her.

Granny was sitting at the end of my bed. Her hair was tied up and perfect again. She was smiling, just like I remembered her always looking.

I wiped the tears and snot off my face and sat up. "Granny!" I cried, "I thought you were gone. I was so scared. I saw you. You looked...." "There, there, sweet pea," she cooed softly. "No one else can see me, but I wasn't quite ready to leave you yet."

Every day after that, Granny would visit me. She taught me that seeing spirits isn't scary. They're just people who aren't quite ready to leave yet. She'd take me on walks around the neighborhood like we used to, but now I could see people I couldn't before.

Granny would tell me about them.

"That is Mr. Robertson," she said pointing out an older gentleman sitting on his front porch. "He isn't ready to leave his wife. I think he's waiting for her."

We passed the school yard and Granny told me about Miss Eileen. "She used to be a teacher here before you were born. She's still trying to help the kids."

One day I saw a lady kneeling by a garden. "That's Mrs. Tildwell," Granny said. "She tended that garden for twenty years. She's worried no one will water her tulips."

Granny explained it all. Some people move on to the next life easily, but others aren't quite ready yet. Heck, she said some of 'em don't even know they're dead.

At night, after our walks, I'd go in my room and think about all the things she told me. I couldn't believe some people didn't even know they were dead. How could they not know?

Mommy would come into my room sometimes and sit where Granny usually sits. "She can't be gone" she'd cry. I tried to make her feel better but nothing I said or did seemed to help.

"Granny," I said one day, "Mommy really misses you. I try to talk to her but she just keeps crying. I don't know how to help her."

"I know," Granny replied, patting my head. "Sometimes it takes the living time to move on, too."

On the fifth morning after the accident, Granny came into my room like always but this time something was different. She looked worried.

“It’s time,” she said. “Your mama left early today. But there’s somewhere you and I need to go.”

I didn’t ask where. I just followed.

The town seemed quiet, no one was outside like normal. She took my hand and led me into the cemetery.

That's when I saw the crowd. There were so many people. All of my friends from school, my neighbors, even my teacher. Everyone looked so sad. Mommy stood in the front wearing a black dress, crying into her handkerchief.

And then I saw the photo. My fourth-grade school picture from last year.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

“You weren’t meant to stay,” Granny replied softly, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I'm only here to help you let go.”

"But Mommy..." I pleaded. "She's too sad. We can't leave her all alone."

"I know, sweet pea. She'll always love you and miss you, but in time she'll heal. Now we need to go on."

I shook my head. “No. I wanna wait for her. At least till she starts to feel better."

Granny knelt down beside me, face to face. “Are you sure? The next place will be wonderful and we'll be together. Your mama will join us when it's her time. "

"I'm sure, " I replied confidently.

That was forty-seven years ago. Mommy never did fully heal. But she got better, like Granny said.

Still, I waited.

But today, I get to take her hand the way Granny took mine and we'll move on.

Together.

I was ten when my granny died and I realized two things: 1) Some who walk among us are dead. And 2) Only I, at least in my town, can see them. It’s been fifty-five years since these revelations. I was scared at the beginning. That’s more than a ten-year-old should have to process, especially on his own. But after repeated daily encounters, the terror wore off. Fear turned to nonchalance. They became camouflaged, indistinguishable from the routine landscape, not warranting any attention. Now they’re visual white noise, part of a mundane backdrop.

A lot has changed, as is expected when decades slip by and you mature. I’m concerned because the dead walking among us now outnumber the living. I wonder if I should care that this ratio is disproportionate.

Both groups mill around the same venue during big gatherings for important events. But the crowds of living pale when compared to the dead. I have learned to feign agreement when reminiscing about how things use to be and who is no longer here. I simply nod when someone mentions that the So-and-sos would have loved this party, even though I can clearly see Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so standing behind the person talking. The decedent couple seem indifferent while the living are certain they’d enjoy being here.

Usually, the dead congregate in the boarded-up buildings lining the once bustling streets of downtown. I don’t try going in to see what they’re doing as I’ve never had an invitation extended. I give them their space and am grateful I can’t hear any wailing or screams which may or may not be emanating from the structures. Ever since the time I started seeing the dead, I haven’t been able to talk with or hear them. They’ve offered no reply when I’d ask them questions. Even granny. I’d wave or nod in passing, but nothing was reciprocated.

As a child, this was frustrating. I didn’t understand why I could see them but they wouldn’t acknowledge my attempts to fraternize. Then I turned it into a game. I’d try to find elaborate ways to be annoying in hopes of getting a ghostly response without looking like a crazy, wildly gesticulating person in front of the other breathing souls out in public. There’s a fine line between thinking you’re crazy for seeing dead people and acting crazy to be seen by dead people.

Maybe I should pack up and leave. My kids are grown with families of their own. I should move closer to them. This town seems like it’s dying and I think I still have a lot of life in me.