Love Stories Section

The Wallet
( By Arnold Fine)


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 sixty 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 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 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. "

"Michael," 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.

Sweet Love Story

"The salty coffee"

He met her on a party, she was so outstanding, many guys chasing after her, while he was so normal, nobody paid attention to him. At the end of the party, he invited her to have coffee with him, she was surprised, but due to being polite, she promised. They sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything, she felt uncomfortable, she thought, please, let me back home.. Suddenly he asked the waiter: would you please give me some salt? I'd like to put it in my coffee. Everybody stared at him, so strange! His face turned red, but still he put the salt in his coffee and drank it. She asked him curiously: why you have this hobby? He replied: when I was a little boy, I was living near the sea, I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea, salty and bite, just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, think of my hometown, I miss my hometown so much, I miss my parents who are still living there. While saying that, tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched. That's his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart. A man, who can tell out his homesick, he must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has responsibility of home. Then she also started to speak, spoke about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family. That was a really nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their story. They continued to date. She found actually he was a man who meets all her demands: he had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful...he was such a good person but she almost missed him! Thanks to his salty coffee! Then the story was just like every beautiful love story: the princess married to the prince, then they were living the happy life...And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, as she knew that's the way he liked it. After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter, which said: My dearest, please forgive me, forgive my whole life lie. This was the only lie I said to you----the salty coffee. Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time, actually I wanted some sugar, But I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought that could be the start of our communication! I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I have promised not to lie to you for anything.. Now I'm dying, I afraid of nothing so I tell you the truth: I don't like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste.. But I have the salty coffee for my whole life since I knew you, I never feel sorry for anything I do for you. Having you with me is my biggest happiness for my whole life. If I can live for the second time, I still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even though I have to drink the salty coffee again. Her tears made the letter totally wet. Someday, someone asked her: what's the taste of salty coffee?

It's sweet. She replied.

**WHATEVER HAPPENS....HAPPENS 4 THE BEST**                              BEST WISHES...                     ````SHALAKA PINGLE````