I thought I saw my grandfather the other day. I was in a grocery store parking lot, and the man's bow-legged gait and faded plaid shirt had me convinced that my grandpa was in town.
I could only see him from behind, and despite the fact that I'd attended his funeral some three years before, I found myself moving from a walk to a slow trot, not wanting him to get into his car until I could see his face. The car was all wrong by the way-- my grandpa drove a blue car, kinda like one of these that he kept in mint condition all by himself. He was a jack of all trades: reader, thinker, mechanic, builder (he built his own house), and furniture maker.
I reached the edge of his parking space. I had to decide if I was going to walk any farther, knowing it would take me from a stranger looking for her own car to possible stalker. I didn't have to make the choice though, because right at that moment, he turned, just slightly to the left, enough for me to see the profile that wasn't Grandpa. His chin was weaker, his nose too large. Someone's grandfather perhaps, but not mine.