A little Romance

I'm feeling romantic so here's a little lovey-dovey tale
for you. Alright, call me mushy if you will.


== THE WALLET == A Very Touching Love Story ==

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet
someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked
inside to find some identification so I could call the owner.
But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled
letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible
on it was the return address. I started to open the letter,
hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924.
The letter had been written almost 60 years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder
blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner.
It was a Dear John letter that told the recipient, whose
name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see
him any more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she
wrote that she would always love him.

It was signed, Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except
for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified.
Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a
phone listing for the address on the envelope.

Operator, I began, this is an unusual request. I'm trying
to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there
anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an
address that was on an envelope in the wallet?

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated
for a moment then said, Well, there is a phone listing
at that address, but I can't give you the number. She said,
as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story
and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me.
I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line.
I have a party who will speak with you.

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew
anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, Oh! We bought
this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah.
But that was 30 years ago!

Would you know where that family could be located now?
I asked.

I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a
nursing home some years ago, the woman said. Maybe if
you got in touch with them they might be able to track
down the daughter.

She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called
the number. They told me the old lady had passed away
some years ago but they did have a phone number for
where they thought the daughter might be living.

I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered
explained that Hannah herself was now living in a
nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself.
Why was I making such a big deal over finding the
owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and
a letter that was almost 60 years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which
Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who
answered the phone told me, Yes, Hannah is staying
with us.

Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if
I could come by to see her.

Well, he said hesitatingly, if you want to take
a chance, she might be in the day room watching television.

I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home.
The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door.
We went up to the third floor of the large building.

In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.

She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm
smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the
letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with
that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath
and said, Young man, this letter was the last contact
I ever had with Michael.

She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then
said Softly, I loved him very much. But I was only 16
at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he
was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor.

Yes, she continued. Michael Goldstein was a wonderful
person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him
often. And, she hesitated for a moment, almost biting
her lip, tell him I still love him. You know, she said
smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, I never
did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael....

I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator
to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard
there asked, Was the old lady able to help you?

I told him she had given me a lead. At least I have a
last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent
almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet.

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown
leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard
saw it, he said, Hey, wait a minute!

That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with
that right red lacing. He's always losing that wallet.
I must have found it in the halls at least three times.

Who's Mr. Goldstein? I asked as my hand began to shake.

He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's
Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it
on one of his walks.

I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's
office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back
to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein
would be up.

On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, I think he's
still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's
a darling old man.

We went to the only room that had any lights on and there
was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and
asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked
up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and
said, Oh, it is missing!

This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered
if it could be yours?

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it,
he smiled with relief and said, Yes, that's it! It must
have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to
give you a reward.

No, thank you, I said. But I have to tell you something.
I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the
wallet.

The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. You read that
letter?

Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is.

He suddenly grew pale. Hannah? You know where she is?
How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please,
please tell me, he begged.

She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her.
I said softly.

The old man smiled with anticipation and asked,
Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her
tomorrow. He grabbed my hand and said, You know
something, mister, I was so in love with that girl
that when that letter came, my life literally ended.
I never married. I guess I've always loved her.

Mr. Goldstein, I said, Come with me.

We took the elevator down to the third floor.
The hallways were darkened and only one or two little
night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah
was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse
walked over to her.

Hannah, she said softly, pointing to Michael, who
was waiting with me in the doorway. Do you know this man?

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't
say a word. Michael said softly, almost in a whisper,
Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?

She gasped, Michael! I don't believe it! Michael!
It's you! My Michael! He walked slowly towards her and
they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming
down our faces.

See, I said. See how the Good Lord works! If it's meant
to be, it will be.

About three weeks later, I got a call at my office from
the nursing home.

Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding?
Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the
nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration.
Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful.
Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They
made me their best man.

The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever
wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old
groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.

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- Sent by Rich Massey
SUBJECT : Daily Encounter Saturday
Date : Sat, 7 Nov 1998 11:27:27 +0800
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I'm not sorry I made you cry. I cried too and did too everytime
I read this. Pass me another tissue, please. Here's one for you too.