who?

Today is Friday, and I can finally visit Grandpa Fabian again. Gramps suffers from dementia and has trouble remembering certain things about me. Some days he knows my name. Other days he only recognizes my face. Sometimes, he looks at me like I'm just some random kid who wandered into his room. It's hard to talk to him every time, and it really makes me sad. But I do my best to be there for him. Mom says familiar things help, so I pack a small bag before leaving. The cookies she baked last night, our old photo album, and his red scarf. He used to wear it every winter, back when he still took me to the park and called me "little champ." The bus ride to the care home takes about half an hour. I sit by the window, watching the streets pass by. I try not to think too much about whether he'll remember me today. I just hope he smiles when he sees me. That is the least I could ask for. Just a smile. Mom is waiting outside when I arrive. "He's having a quiet day" she says. We walk in together. The place smells odd again today. Like a combination of laundry detergent and chocolate cake. Mom and I make our way to Grandpa's room, which is at the end of the hall. She knocks gently, then opens the door. Grandpa Fabian is sitting by the window, wrapped in that same black and white blanket, staring out at the grey sky. He looks smaller than I remember, and his hair has thinned. But when I see him, I still feel the same warmth in my chest. Mom steps inside and smiles. "Dad," she says softly, "look who came to visit." Grandpa turns his head slowly. His eyes land on me. I smile and lift the bag. "Hi, Grandpa. It's me. I brought cookies for you." For a moment, nobody says anything. He studies my face like he's searching for something far away. Mom spoke again, in a hopeful tone. "Dad, look. Your grandson came all this way to see you." Grandpa Fabian blinks once. Then, in a dry, confused voice, he says: "literal who"