It was a usual morning, I walked up to my private space which I generally used for my writing on weekends. As soon as I reached the door of the room, I tried to look for the keys which I generally used to keep in my left pocket. I reached into my pocket, grabbed the keys and opened the door. As the door opened and I stepped inside, a white envelope got stuck under my shoes. I just stepped my left foot back and picked up the envelope.
“Waiting”
that’s what was written on the front side of the letter with red color. I turned the envelope back side in curiosity
From Catherine
Northeast Los Angeles
was written on the back side. I was confused who is Catherine? Why did she write me a letter?
I closed the door, sat down on my table rip open the envelope and took out the letter.
Dearest Writer,
I hope you are doing well. I wanted to meet you but my body isn’t supporting my thoughts. This Alzheimer is going to kill me soon. Why you didn’t tell people the exact truth. You left the story in the middle of nowhere.
This Alzheimer is dragging me to death slowly. No one wants to talk to me. I am alone in this world with no hopes. I want to tell people about my experiences of how it feels to be a patient of Alzheimer. How it feels to not remembering anything and anyone. It takes a lot of pain and courage to exist without having any knowledge about your existence. Mark is the only one I remember. But now it has been while Mark is also gone and I don’t know where he lives now as I have forgotten everything. I want to narrate you what happened after that wolf attacked me on that camp. How we survived and came back home alive. I am waiting for you on a cup of coffee at my home to narrate you the whole story which is the only thing I remember after Mark. People deserve to know the truth. Waiting for you at my door writer
Yours  
Catherine 
Dated 14-01-1979



My hands were trembling with shock. My whole body was shivering that what I wrote was imaginary, a dream. How come it is someone’s life story? Unable to answer myself I put the lid of glass down and drank the whole glass of water which was on the table. I didn’t know how to react.
In spite, my whole body was shivering and full of sweat in that room I decided to meet Catherine and listen to her truth. I stood up, closed the door and left to find a taxi to Los Angeles which was only a 1-hour distance from my place. I book a cab and told the driver about the place and sat down inside the cab.
While I was lost in my thoughts, I heard a voice.
Hey sir, there is your stop. I woke up and watched outside the window welcome to Northeast Los Angeles that’s what the hoarding said. I gave the fair to the cab driver. And came out of the cab. I asked a few people about the address and after half an hour of struggle, I found her home. Long circular paths, creepers all around the walls, black rusted door, a half-broken roof that’s how her house looked like alongside the road.
I knocked at the door and after a while, an old lady opened it with a stick holding in her hand coughing with her right hand, long white hair. She said who are you what do you want?
Catherine was supposed to be young? I asked myself
Hi mam, I am looking for Catherine? is she here? I said politely
She gave me such a weird and horrified look as if I asked for extortion money.
She shut the door without saying anything
I knocked again and this time she opened with anger and said
Are you drunk? didn’t you find anyone else in this afternoon to make fun of?
What? I didn’t mean that. I generally asked where is Catherine?
Really you don’t know? she said
Knew what? I inquired
Catherine died two years ago
What? I was in complete shock? how can this happen I murmured with myself
Happen what? she asked?
Clearing my sweat on the face with a handkerchief I said can I talk to you for a minute?
I don’t have all day gentleman? what do you wanna speak about? say it fast
How did she die? I asked
She died because of long sickness of Alzheimer. And because of Alzheimer diseases, she lost her memory and even forgot that she herself has killed her boyfriend Mark. And one day she was found hanging to ceiling in her room.
Is this enough for you young man?
She said can I go now?
Ya mam she went inside the house and closed the door. I was dramatized completely in shock that how could it happen.
Then who wrote me a letter I asked myself. And while I was walking back to the city to catch a cab. I didn’t know whom to tell this and whom to not. Nobody would believe me that a girl who died two years ago, wrote me a letter.
While I was trying to figure out what to do about this matter. A strong vibration shook me up and I picked up my phone which was blinking mom calling. I kept my pen down, closed my writing pad, answered the call and left the room until next weekend.
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