Curiosities and Keepsakes

He is an old man now. He's hunched high in the torso and his shoulders lean heavily forward. The skin on his cheeks sags behind creases and makes distinguished jowls on the side of his face. His gray wool pants and navy sweater don't fit quite like they did when they were new, but he still wears them as if they did. There's an old picture on his nightstand, from the '50s or '60s when he was full of life and good posture, but he's different now. He stands in his room, rocking on almost steady legs, looking out the perfectly clean window at the sign beside the road. " The Gilmore Home for Incurable Casualties of Metaphysical Incidents".

"He's one of the few that checked in here on his own." That's what the lady told me when I called last week. "Most of the patients here are court ordered or assigned here by agencies known only by acronyms. You know the ones, the organizations that deem you unfit for society because you got struck by lightning and now you go invisible or talk in alien languages," she explained.

I had never heard of the man until the letter showed up a few weeks ago. I almost threw it away and would have, had it not been for the curiosity. The yellow envelope was addressed to me, handwritten in fine, but shaky penmanship, and it had ink smudges as if it were written with a worn-nibbed fountain pen. The return address had a simple handwritten "J. Cole", with a little sticker applied underneath that read "GHFICOMI Blakely, Kansas". Inside the envelope was a little folded slip of stationary with the question " Is either your mother or grandmother named Grace?", and it was signed Jubel Cole and had a phone number.

Like I said before, "Curiosity." There are some things you just can't let go of, and this little yellow parcel was one of them. I tried to resist it. I left the envelope lying on the kitchen counter the first day. The next morning it was still there and still provoking me. I took it to work with me and did some internet searches while I should've been working. GHFICOMI in Blakely, Kansas is a home, of some kind, for crazy people that can't be diagnosed. I didn't want to get mixed up with any crazy people, but unsatisfied curiosity can be a wretched companion. I called the number.

"Gilmore house," answered a lady with a polite, helpful tone.

"I'm looking for a Jubel Cole, Is there someone there with that name?" I sheepishly inquired.

"Yes sir, I'll get you his room. I think he's been waiting for you."

There were some clicks and tones and then a cough as the phone was picked up on the other end. "Hello," answered an old but steady voice.

"Is this Mr. Cole?" I asked.

"Yes, it is. Did you get my letter?"

"Yes, sir, and I..."

"Want to know what it's all about, you're curious?" He said, finishing my reply.

"Yes, exactly" I conceded.

" Who is Grace to you?" The old voice asked.

"My great grandmother was named Grace," I answered. My mom and daughter also have Grace as a middle name, but I didn't tell him that, because I didn't want to give a stranger from an institution that much information.

"Did you know her?" He questioned.

"No, I didn't. I've seen pictures and have done some genealogy research, you know, family tree stuff, but she died years ago." I replied, assuming the old man knew what genealogy meant.

"Do you have any pictures of her? Or even better, her father, your great-great-granddad?"

"I'm not sure. My mother might," I answered.

"Well thank you for getting back to me, it means a lot." The old man said and clicked down the phone.

That afternoon, I scheduled some vacation time for the next week. There was nothing productive going to happen at my desk until I got to the bottom of this. I spent the next couple of evenings at my moms, looking at old photographs and plundering keepsake boxes full of old pictures, certificates, and baby shoes. My work days were spent burning up search engines and trying to find out anything I could about Jubel Cole. The name came up a few times, scattered randomly throughout history. There was a Jubel Cole in both the civil war and the Korean War, and even one on the crew list of the Titanic. The most fascinating thing I found was that a Jubel Cole had once written a letter to Abraham Lincoln, it's on display somewhere. My mom called every relative she could think of. No one knew this man, but he somehow knew us, or me anyway.