Forums EDUCATION/SCHOOLS The Lost Wallet

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    Individual (scott)Individual (scott)
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    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 anymore
    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 oldtimer 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
    bright 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 oldtimers 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.

    THE END

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    #638851 Reply
    BestyBesty
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    Nice story!

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    #638857 Reply
    VictoriouschildVictoriouschild
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    Nice story

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    #638858 Reply
    Certified BaeCertified Bae
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    Wao…
    Nice story

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    #638871 Reply
    Etz FroshberryEtz Froshberry
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    Nice write up

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    #638913 Reply
    Avatarshiko leen
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    wow that was so sweet

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    #639086 Reply
    Avataradeniyi
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    hmmm,no be for 9ja

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    #639104 Reply
    emileagosuemileagosu
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    Nice one

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