My roommate here at Village Care came from his bedroom, his arms stretched out in supplication: “I can’t find…my phone…” he murmured, apologetically. “Can you help me?” Aki is eighty-five, partially demented. “Of course I’ll help you, Aki. Let’s take a look in your jacket pockets.” I went to his closet, opened it, pulled out his black cloth jacket. Systematically did a search through both the outer and inner pockets. No phone. Checked the drawers in his night table; nothing. Looked under the bed. Nope. I stood helplessly in the middle of the floor. “Maybe…” Aki began. “Maybe you could call from your phone…” Well, what a smart idea. Of course. If we heard his phone ringing, we could track it down. I fetched my iPhone and turned to him. “What’s your number?” “Ahhh..” he said and a blank look came into his eyes. “Aaaah…” he repeated, scowling in concentration. I couldn’t help it, I had to suppress a guffaw of laughter.
PS: Aki has a daughter. I called her and she gave me his number. We eventually found the phone, it had fallen behind a pillow.