He was a grumpy old man. No one ever saw a smile upon his face. It seemed as if he was mad at the world all the time. He was not happy and never showed love to anyone. As he dug, dirt flew into the warm spring air behind him. He squinted to see through his big glasses as his brittle bones struggled to keep digging. He was hunched over and could barley keep his balance.

He kept slowly digging when suddenly, he was confused. The old man dropped his shovel, grabbed his cane, and stumbled to his feet. His old, arthritis bones cracked as he did so. Suddenly, he turned around and in front of him was a small, white house with a brown roof. He admired the beauty of the house. It triggered something in his mind. He knew something brought him here. He had to figure out why he was at this house. Something told him to keep digging, so he did. The hole was getting deeper and deeper. He began to get frustrated. He stopped shoveling and walked over to the black mail box that was a few feet away. Engraved in gold, read: "The Collingsworth's." He then realized he did not live here.

He turned back to the house and again, felt so warm inside. He couldn't stop staring at it. He knew something inside of him brought him here. But what? He couldn't figure out this mystery. He decided he was going to leave this place.

He got in his car that was parked down the street. He rode about three miles until he turned into a driveway of a brick building. He thought of this pace as his second home. He had been living here for five years now. He walked in and saw a young lady with blonde and curly hair. Her name was Martha. This women takes good care of Harold through his years at the old folk's home. The sound of the wind gushing through the door made her look up at him. "Harold! I have gone everywhere looking for you! Where have you been? We have six cars searching for you all over town! You know you're not supposed to leave until one of us come with you."
His raspy, shaky voice muttered, "I know Mrs. Martha."
"Okay well, get back there," pointing to a room filled with people his age. "Its time for lunch."

That night Harold couldn't help but try to figure out what went on that day. What made him go to that house? What did he need? He went to his room. There laid a journal on his white bed. He opened it up and started reading. It was a bit hard since the ink was smeared from rain. As he figured out a few of the words, he realized this book was written in 1945. He wrote in this journal when he was stationed in Okinawa in World War II. As he kept reading, a tiny card fell out. It read today's date, March 24, 1945. The other side was an address. It was the same address he read on the mailbox earlier that day. He couldn't help but go back to that house.

He heard Martha coming into his room. He quickly got in his bed, threw the covers on, and closed his eyes. She walked in and said, "Goodnight Mr. Watson." She then turned off the light and closed the door. He laid there silent for a while. When he felt the whole house was sleeping he walked to the nearby window. He carefully opened it slowly and quietly. He threw out his cane and struggled to climbed out.


It was about eight o'clock when he got to his destination. He grabbed the shovel that was left by the big hole and began digging some more. He hit something hard. It was shiny and silver. As he picked it up out of the hole, he heard an engine coming fast around the corner. It came right up to the house and a guy with black hair and a badge on his chest came out of the car. When he approached the old man, he said, "Mr. Harold Watson, you need to come with me."
Harold stood there confused.
"Mr. Watson?" began the police officer, "You have broken the law please come with me."
Harold didn't move. He held on tight to the silver box he had taken out of the hole. The grumpy man said, "I'm not coming with you."

A family of three then came out of the little white house. A women with brown hair and brown eyes stood there holding a baby. A tall man stood next to them both.
"This family called me and said you have been digging in their front yard for hours is this true?"
Harold said nothing. "It is an invasion of property you are going to need to get in the car."

Two police officers took him by the arms. Harold started yelling and screaming. The box fell out of his hands. He stumbled over to quickly pick it up.
The police officers put him in the back of the police car about to take him to jail when Martha came and stopped them. She explained to them that he had alzheimer's and didn't know what he was doing.

On the way home, Harold opened up the box. There wasn't anything in it. He couldn't believe that is what he was digging for. Martha took him home and put him back into bed. She didn't yell this time. Mostly because she felt the sadness he felt that day. She couldn't put him through anymore. When she looked at him, she knew this would be his


last night. Harold knew too. He told her, "Don't worry about cleaning my room for me, I won't be here for long."

Martha sat next to his bed and held his hand to comfort his last hours. It was eleven o'clock when Martha heard a knocking in the front of the house. She opened the door. The police officer stood in front of her and says, "Hello ma'am, I am delivering something to Harold." She welcomed him in and he followed her to Harold's room. "Hello Mr. Harold, I have something for you." He walked over and sat next to him who was now pale and very weak. "This must have fell out when you dropped your time capsule." He unclenched his hand. The grumpy, sad man reached for the photograph with his liver spotted and trembling hand. Harold's eyes lit up. In the officer's hand laid a yellowed, wrinkled, faded picture of a beautiful women in a wedding dress. A tall handsome man in an U.S. Army Uniform stood next to her. They were arm in arm standing in front of the little white house where he was earlier that day.

At that moment, Harold's lips quivered to form the happiest, most loving smile no one has ever seen before.