Mr. Mayor

When I think back to my first day as a Property Manager, I can't help but cackle at how naïve I was. My new boss had told me to jump into the deep end with my goggles on and hope that I could keep my head above the water. Reassuring, right? She wasn't kidding though. I almost didn't survive the first week.

Being a Property Manager will test you in ways that just make you say, "Are you serious? You have got to be kidding!" multiple times on a daily basis. There is drama, gossip, fights, you name it. I quickly came to realize that the job I had signed up for was being a principal of a senior citizen type of high school. All of the cliché groups and high school shenanigans that are probably running through your head right now are accurate. I guarantee it. But, in the midst of the battlefield of the daily he said/she said drama, I made a friend.

Charlie Bell a.k.a Mr. Mayor was the unofficial representative for the residents. I would constantly bump into him on various floors of the building while he was making his rounds to check on his neighbors. He knew everyone and they all knew him. Whenever there was an issue, he would knock on my office door and ask for a meeting. Initially, I dreaded hearing his feet shuffle from down the hallway knowing that I would have roughly 30 seconds before him and I would stubbornly hash out the events of the day. He always expected an instant miracle cure and I would have to remind him that I had to follow policy guidelines. This quickly became a weekly event and eventually turned into the part of my work week that I looked forward to the most.

We both had a fondness for fried cheese curds with honey mustard dipping sauce on the side. Not the most common of combinations, but it was common ground that became part of our weekly ritual. He would knock on my office door at 12:00 pm on the dot and I would motion for him to come into the office, with our snack sitting on my desk ready to go. Mr. Mayor would sit in the same chair, sigh, and remove his small weathered black notebook from his pocket protector and place it on my desk signaling that he was ready for our discussion.

This would go on for years and it became a type of therapy for the both of us. He quickly became the grandfather that I never knew I needed. We were so similar and so different at the same time. Always butting heads like the stubborn individuals that we were. The paths that we both had taken in our lives could not have been more opposite, but we loved to listen to one another's stories. He would always listen to me patiently, especially if I was having a bad day and would give me advice whether I asked for it or not, but I appreciated it nonetheless. At the end of our meetings I always felt empowered and content. I knew I would never be able to thank him enough for that.

Then one night I got the call. A routine wellness check resulted in the worst case scenario. He had passed away.

I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't. There was no wrapping my head around it. The shock. The pain. It was all too much. The only thing that I knew was that in the morning I was going to force myself to get dressed, brush my teeth, comb my hair, and drive to a place that I didn't want to face.

Death at my job is a horrible event that occurs often, but you never get used to it. It makes you feel like a robot. These people become members of your family and when you lose them, it hurts, but you can't show it like everyone else. You are there to be the support that they need and to do your job.

When I walked in through the front door of the building that day, I could feel the grief in the air. Numerous residents were huddled together talking about the previous night's events and asking me if I had heard. All I could manage was a nod. I knew if I opened my mouth they would hear my words quiver and waterfall of tears would run down my face. That was not an option. At the end of my work day I tidied up my desk, clocked out, locked up, and walked out to my car to go home. As soon as I was in my car and the door was shut, I let the tears fall down my face until I had none left.

My coworker had offered to handle the paperwork with Mr. Mayor's family and to assist them with emptying the apartment as a favor. Once everything was all said and done, my coworker handed me the paperwork to file along with a little parcel wrapped in newspaper. There was a post it note attached to the top that read, "He wanted you to have this. With regards - The Bell Family". Inside was the little black notebook that Mr. Mayor would bring to our meetings. I repeatedly ran my fingers over the cover internally cursing the universe for taking away my friend. It wasn't fair.

With a deep breath I opened the notebook and flipped through the slightly torn pages. He had lists of gift ideas for his grandchildren. Notes that he made while at the casino in regards to which machines he thought were rigged. His lucky numbers that he used when buying lottery tickets were scattered across various pages. It was him in a notebook. The last page had a number for a Mr. Fields with the word lawyer underlined several times. I figured he just had a hard time remembering the man's name so I thought nothing of it. I closed the notebook and placed it in my purse for safe keeping.

A few days later during what was an unfortunately routinely tedious Monday, my desk phone rang. I answered the phone with my now trained robotic like greeting, "Hello thank you for calling Green Oaks Senior Apartments! My name is Arya, how may I assist you today?"

The voice on the other end replied, "Yes, this is Mr. Fields. I am the lawyer who is handling the estate for Charlie Bell. It appears that he left you a little something in his will. I was wondering if there was a time this week that you could come by to retrieve the item?"

I was in shock. A million thoughts ran through my head as to why he would leave me of all people something. I didn't deserve anything. Realizing that I had created an awkward pause I said, "Uh, sorry. I don't know what to say. Um, how does 12:00 pm on Friday sound to you?"

Mr. Fields chuckled, "It's quite alright. Mr. Bell mentioned that you might be a little shocked. That time works for me. I will send you an email with the address. See you then."

Friday, at 12:00 pm I found myself sitting in front of Mr. Field's desk. He was sifting through a neatly organized stack of papers and pulled out two envelopes. He handed the first one to me and said that I could open it when I was ready. I thought to myself that there was not better time than the present and I pulled out a letter that was folded up into thirds. As I unfolded it, I saw the unmistakable scribbles that filled the little black notebook that was now sitting in my purse. Tears welled up in my eyes as I forced myself to look at the piece of paper.

"Hey kiddo, I just wanted to say thank you. Being away from the family was rough in those last few years, but because of you I had something to look forward to every week. So, I left you a little something to remember me by. Now stop with the tears I know how you get. Everything will be okay. Sincerely, Papa Mayor."

I was blinking like crazy trying to clear the tears from my eyes. He did know me that well. Mr. Fields cleared his throat and slid a piece of paper towards me, it was a check for $20,000.

"I can't accept this! It's way too much! This should go to his kids or grandkids, not me." I said refusing to take the check from Mr. Fields.

Mr. Fields sighed and handed me the other envelope that he pulled from the stack of papers. Inside the envelope was another letter.

"You are just as stubborn as me. Take the money. Everyone is taken care of so please don't worry about that. I just need you to do two things for me, ok? One, take the money! And two, go get some cheese curds, they're on me. Oh, and hun, don't forget the honey mustard. Sincerely, Papa Mayor"