That Crazy Old Man

Sarah groaned as she saw the call light for room 215. She had just been in there, trying to soothe Albert Johnson, who insisted his car had been stolen. She tried to hide her irritation as she entered his room. The old man was gazing out the window, which faced the parking lot. "Oh great," she thought. "Stolen car part two."

"Is that you, Sarah?" He asked, without turning around.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson," she stifled a sigh. "How can I help you?"

"I want you to keep something safe for me. Can't trust nobody but you in this place."

"If you have something to put in the safe, I can get the social worker to help you."

The old man cackled with laughter. "Oh I know everyone thinks I'm crazy, they always did even when I was a boy. But I've still got my marbles, child." He tapped his right temple and gave her a sly look.

"Mr. Thompson, I really can't take a resident's personal property. I could get fired and might even go to jail."

His face twisted with anger. Sarah braced herself for a dementia outburst. Then his face lit up with a new idea.

"I want to make a phone call, take me up to the front desk, Sarah."

She did as he asked and turned him over to the front desk secretary. Three call lights later, she had forgotten all about the incident.

After her lunch break, a chuckling nurse informed her that her "boyfriend" in room 215 was waiting for her. Sarah groaned and checked the wall calendar to see if the moon was full.

However, when she entered his room this time, he was not alone. A well dressed man and the social worker were talking to him. The social worker introduced the other man as Mr. Johnson's attorney. He held a small, black, leather bound book in his hand.

The attorney explained that Mr. Johnson had contacted him with a request to change his will. Sarah glanced at the social worker with raised eyebrows. She answered by saying that Mr. Johnson's power of attorney had not yet been activated. Legally, he was still able to make his own decisions about his health care and property.

The attorney explained that Mr. Johnson wanted to transfer the black book into her custody, effective immediately. She would receive further instructions about the book after his death. Papers were signed, goodbyes were said and Sarah returned to her duties.

She glanced at the book on her afternoon break but all it had in it were strange unintelligible symbols. She put it in the console of her car and thought no more about it.

Mr. Johnson died shortly afterward. Sarah attended his funeral and was surprised that she and the attorney were the only ones there. He explained that Albert was estranged from his children and grandchildren because of a second marriage. He then asked her if she still had the black book.

She had almost forgotten about it. She dug under the fast food napkins and lipsticks she had piled on top of it.

"Here it is but for the life of me, I can't understand what's so special about it," she said.

The attorney explained that Mr. Johnson had an old secretary of his write his instructions in shorthand so his greedy relatives wouldn't know what was in it.

"His secretary?" Sarah was stunned. Albert Johnson didn't seem like the big business type.

"Oh yes, he had a thriving import business back in the day."

"So how do I find out what's in the book?"

The attorney explained that he would have it translated. It should only take a week or so. It took a little longer than that, nobody uses shorthand anymore. But when all was said and done, Sarah inherited a fortune in stocks and bonds. And she never complained about answering a call light again.