Tired and irritated, Arin was ready to clock out at 9:45 a.m. on Monday morning. He was supposed to get off at midnight but was one of only five janitors at Saint Harbor Medical. He was asked to stay overnight again for the third time this week.

Ever since Mr. Jones retired last month, Arin had to work longer hours. Arin had dreamed of working in a hospital ever since he was a little boy. He had pictured his future self holding a stethoscope, listening to heartbeats and breathing. Not holding a mop.

Arin failed out of med school in just two short years. He disappointed his parents and, most of all, himself. 

Now, at twenty-five years old, all Arin saw in his future was himself as Mr. Jones. Retiring at age seventy-two because he could no longer mop the floors.

Sighing deeply, Arin put on his coat over his uniform. He had almost punched out when a nurse waved for his attention. She asked him to run a mop to Room 217 because Mr. Reed had spilled his soup. Mr. Reed always spilled things.

“Are you serious? I just got off," Arin said.  

“Oh, I'm sorry. I can do it myself. Don't worry," the nurse said.  

Arin sighed again. "No, it's fine. I got it," he said, taking off his coat. 

Arin grabbed the mop and fast-walked to Room 217. He knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply. He usually enjoyed his time with Mr. Reed, but Arin was tired and ready to get the hell home.

A small black man sat upright on the bed, connected to tubes. He held a few pieces of notebook paper in his hand but quickly hid them under his sheets when Arin entered.  

"Hey, Mr. Reed. I'm here for the mess," Arin said as he rung out his mop. 

"Oh yes, I apologize for that, Arin," the older man said sweetly as he looked at the spill on the floor.  

"Not a problem. What you got there?"  

Mr. Reed slowly pulled out the sheets of paper from under the covers and held it against his chest. He acted like they were the most precious things in his life even though they were crumpled and sloppily stapled together. 

"It's my bucket list," he said after a few moments.  

"Bucket list?" Arin asked, mopping up the mess.

"Yes. I started it when I was sixteen. One hundred things to do before I die. I've managed to mark off ninety-five of them over the years. I've let the rest get away from me. Unfortunately, I don't have much time left, and I'm stuck in this bed. I can't do the rest . . ."  

Mr. Reed's simple, humble wish filled Arin with shame. Mr. Reed was always such a sweet man to him. And here Arin was, trying to finish mopping as fast as he could because he felt irritated. 

Mr. Reed had been stuck in his hospital bed a few months before Arin started working there. When they first met, Mr. Reed was so kind.

He loved telling stories, especially silly ones. Once, he told one about a black cat who won the lottery. It made Arin laugh.

Arin had spoken to Mr. Reed almost every day for the past few months but realized he didn't know much about the man. All Arin knew was his ex-wife’s name, Ellie. That was only because Arin asked about Mr. Reed's wedding ring once.  

Arin said something he thought he might regret later. "I'll do it for you."  

"What?" Mr. Reed asked.  

"Your list. Only five things left? That's nothing. I have the rest of the day off. You can't finish it, so I'll do it for you."  

Mr. Reed seemed shocked. "Oh, Arin, you don't you have to—"  

"I insist. I'd just sleep in my bed all day anyways," he said, gently taking the list from Mr. Reed.  

"Arin, really, this is just silly. Just the long list of an old man. Don't mind me, really. It's not important."  

"It obviously is, Mr. Reed. How come I've never heard about this before?"  

Mr. Reed sat silently for a moment. "The nice doctor told me it's almost time for me to . . . say my last goodbyes." He looked quietly at his hands.

Now, it was Arin who sat silently.