It has been a while. John had been staring at the blank sheets all day today. He still couldn't fathom as to why Mahmoud offered this. He could not figure out Mahmoud's angle on this. Why would Mahmoud help his prisoner? Skepticism is not always illogical, but in some cases it is unnecessary. This was one such case. What was there to lose, John thought, its not like his life could get any worse than it already is.
With that thought John started to write:
Dear Catherine,
I'm still alive. I have been for the past nine years. Maybe ten. I'm in solitary confinement somewhere in Baghdad (I think). I have been here since my failed attempt to escape captivity from the Al Fatah prison. Six of us tried, Sam Bailey included. You'd remember him; we went on a double date with the Bailey's right before our deployment. I don't know about his fate, or the others. All I remember was that I got shot while swimming to my escape in some river.
I hoped along with the 'magnificent five' on my trot to find some American platoon on the other side, but fate had different plans. When I woke up, I found myself in this room. Bullet wound was treated and a bandage was in place. Although, it didn't look the work of a doctor. It has been nine years since then. Maybe ten. Time has lost its linear quality for me. Everyday is the same. The only thing keeping me alive is the hope that someday we'll be reunited.
I miss you. Every single moment I try to remember your touch, the love I saw in your eyes, your beautiful hair, your almond shaped eyes and your soothing voice. I close my eyes and there you are. It's like you are here with me, everything is beautiful, everything is perfect, and life is worth living again.
I open my eyes and I see these walls. These blank walls. I feel like they are staring at me. I'd tell them to stop. They would revert back with you don't belong here John. Leave! I don't belong here. I know I don't belong here. Every morning I'd promise them today is the day that I'd escape. Today is the day I would leave and go where I belong, where I'm welcomed and loved. I'd promise that I would leave their territory for my own. Every evening they would stare back at me again, and remind me of the unfulfilled promise. They call me a liar. I am a liar. I break the promise everyday. The same goddamned promise everyday.
I close my eyes and I see you, all the time we spent together. Every single moment with you is etched in my memory. I can hear your laughter. The carefree laughter, the childlike laughter, the innocent, the beautiful laughter. Oh, how it made me come alive. How I always wanted to make you laugh. You would laugh at all my stupid jokes just to see my eyes light up.
I open my eyes and there is this silence. This deafening silence. It's so loud. Sometimes, I scream my lungs out just to shut out the silence. I close my eyes and there you are. There is hope. Love. Life itself. I open my eyes and there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just these staring walls and the silence.
My caretaker Mahmoud, who brings me food twice a day and cleans up the room every few, is the only human contact I've had since I woke up in this room. He wouldn't talk to me initially. But by and by he came around. First, it just started with pleasantries and slowly but surely grew up into a friendship. At least I like to think of him as a friend. After all he has been taking care of me all these years and now offered to mail a letter for me. This letter.
I do not hope to be rescued just on the whim of this letter. I do not expect the government to put forth efforts to find me. But I still feel hope. I don't know why. Hope has become a habit I can't shake off, even when it defies logic and judgment. I long to hold you again, to be able to run my fingers through your hair, to look into your eyes, to be with you again. And through these letters I will.
Catherine my love, please respond.
Love,
John.
John read through the letter several times. He wondered if he missed something. It wasn't the grammar that he was worried about. Just the feeling that there was so much more he wanted to tell Catherine. It took him hours to write this much. And he wasn't sure if it made sense or not but hoped that it got the message through. John decided that it was enough to start with. Now he would just sit here waiting for Mahmoud to return with his evening meal.
Patience is a virtue that prisoners develop naturally, but today was different. Today John felt every second pass like a lifetime. John would look at the little window on the top corner on the east-facing wall. The little window was too high to reach, but had other uses. It is what John used to guess time. The sunrays crossing through the window were his clocks. Although, any other day it didn't matter but today time was of the essence. Today John couldn't wait.
John's entire attention was jolted towards the metallic door as the light bulb came on. He could hear Mahmoud's footsteps now. Mahmoud putting the food tray, reaching for the keys in his pockets, inserting the key into the lock and finally the bolt being pushed aside. He heard it all.
In this moment, the entire universe ceased to exist. Only Mahmoud mattered. John's entire being lit up as the door opened. Mahmoud entering carrying the food tray, looking at him in a peculiar manner.
"Good evening, John. Have you finished the letter?"
