— “Not usually. Sometimes I just need some fresh air. But I went too far this time. My memory isn’t what it used to be. What did you say your name was again, son?”
— “It’s Michael.”
He repeated it calmly, feeling a deep sense of pity for her. Silence settled over the car again, but it was more comfortable now. Michael tried to keep her engaged:
— “Do you live nearby, Eleanor? Does someone usually look out for you?”
She seemed lost in thought for a moment before answering slowly:
— “I used to walk with a friend. We’d go out every evening back when my mind was sharper.” She sighed, staring out the window at the passing trees.
— “It’s always better to have company,” Michael prompted softly. “Has the memory loss been difficult?”
Eleanor seemed hesitant, but seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, she opened up:
— “It started a few years ago. Small things at first—misplacing my glasses or a book. Then I’d find myself standing in a room forgetting why I walked in. Or worse, forgetting how to get home.” She shook her head with a sad smile. “My friend used to tell me, ‘Don’t you worry, Ellie, I’m right here. I won’t let you get lost.’ We were like two peas in a pod.”
Michael noticed her voice tremble and asked quietly:
— “And where is your friend now?”
Eleanor looked away, her eyes glistening.
— “She passed away about a year ago. So now, I walk alone. I thought I was used to it, but sometimes… sometimes it’s just frightening.”
Michael felt a lump in his throat.
— “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said. “That’s a lot to handle on your own.”
Eleanor nodded, giving him a grateful look.
