I was visiting the navy base in Puerto Rico where my grandfather was stationed during World War II. He asked me to look for his old friend Petty Officer Alan Damask, who was supposedly still living in a block of flats occupied by veterans.
I went to the building and the woman at the desk gave me Damask's room number and I walked up the few flights of stairs and found his room. I knocked on the door a few times to no avail. I called my grandfather on my phone to tell him I wasn't able to track down his friend.
Just then, the door opened and a scruffy older man stood there and asked if I'd been knocking on his door.
I apologized and told him I was Jack Lurie's grandson and that I was talking to him on the phone, that he asked me to look up his old navy buddy.
The man moved to one side and playfully took the phone from my hand and started reminiscing with my grandfather.
I then noticed there was a woman sitting at the back of the room in the shadows. She appeared to be half the man's age; his daughter, I thought to myself.
But as I caught a glimpse of the man tucking in his t-shirt and adjusting his belt buckle while the young woman was straightening out her top, I put two and two together concluding the two were having a tryst while I was knocking at the door, interrupting their liaison.
"Thanks kid," the man said to me as he handed me my phone. "You made my day. I haven't spoken to Jack in more than fifty years; what a great guy!"
He closed the door behind him and I stood there for a moment trying to take it all in.
When I finally put the phone to my ear, the connection had gone and my grandfather was no longer on the line.
I went downstairs to the lobby hoping my grandfather would turn up and after waiting for what seemed like an hour or more, he finally showed up.
He was wearing his old white navy uniform and had let his hair grow out to long, soft, flowing dark brown curls. He had a full beard and mustache though the beard lines were very badly misaligned.
I told him I was going to the shop that evening because my parents had arrived in The Hague and dad needed a haircut and beard trim and had never been to The Hague, let alone to my barbershop.
My grandfather said he had made plans with Damask and he's join us later that evening, but would stop by so I could sort out his hair and before beforehand.
I got to the shop and there was a new girl working there. She appeared to be in her late twenties and sported a pixie cut, making her look like a teenage tomboy.
I introduced myself and the girl replied with sign language, suggesting that she was hearing impaired.
Just then my mother called to ask if I could come and pick my father up and bring him to the shop on the tram. As I was about to reply, the girl walked over to me and put her hand over my mouth preventing me from speaking. She then signed something that I surprisingly understood. I nodded my head as she removed he hand from my mouth. She wanted me to tell my mother I wasn't able to pick my father up.
I told my mother to bring dad over herself on the tram and that I would take him home later in a taxi.
My mother agreed and I hung up the call.
The girl took my hand and smiled.
Then I woke up.
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