How to Talk to a Dead Man

The Young's family lived down the road two miles or so if they hadn't left for California since the last time we spoke. There wasn't a quiet way to approach the grass cracked and popped under my weight like static on the radio before daddy sold it. I followed the broken grass and remnants of grandpa's boot prints. He was standing 10 feet in front of me facing the other way which was good. No one teaches an 11 year old boy how to talk to a dead man. Get ready for what? The question hung in the air between us.