“Why are you smiling, grandpa?” I whispered in his ear.
“The teams are on the ground,” he mumbled. I knew he used to be a famous volleyball player.
“Want to play?” I asked. He opened his eyes a little and nodded. “Here we go,” I said and lobbed a balloon-light ball in his direction. His wrinkled right hand rose from his chest, came into contact with the ball, and fell back lifeless.
The smile on his face was that of a smasher who just won a match.