The Last Four Months

Way ahead of her, the setting sun seems to have caught the world on fire. It's hypnotically and dangerously beautiful. The coming to the end of this cruel and unforgiving world, perhaps? She makes it to the bluff overlooking the sea in one piece. Then she sees it—it's now fully grown. She knew that she would see it again some day, the strange looking fish that she had first seen in the stream, the one that Issac was afraid of and they had followed to the end of the stream that emptied into the gorges way out at the other end of the nursing home. She believes that the fish has seen her too and even recognizes her, as she does him. She dares to put a gender to it, the fish. He's tall and strong. He somersaults and makes big waves that reach toward the sky, touching the rays of the sun. The water falls around him like shards of glass, beautiful technicolor shards that won't touch but surround him, protecting him. The beautiful bold colors of his scales bounce off the fiery golden sun. He somersaults again, leaping high into the air, higher and higher! His strong powerful tail sucks up the water behind him making it seem like a whirlpool is left in his wake. Then quicker than she can bat an eyelid, he's there again, looking at her, then gliding on the calm waters; strong, powerful, majestic. Looking, watching, staring, eyes searing into her soul. She knows him, those lips, that mischievous smile, those eyes! She's relating everything to Issac. Issac begins to stir, murmur, and whimper. The whimper turns into a crescendo of crashing, unmelodious cymbals doing their own thing, screaming murderous screams that build on the crest of the colorful waves of color that now collide and explode with a sickening force in her head. “Gideon! Gideon! Gideon,” he is roaring above the roiling waters. Hannah struggles to right herself, to calm the pounding in her head. She is drenched in sweat. Her feverish eyes are on fire. Her clammy hands are shaking and unsteady on the steering wheel. She removes them and wipes them on her skirt. “Where are we anyway?” Issac asks, his curiosity suddenly fully aroused. Hannah does not answer him. “We are on the bluff, overlooking the sea, aren't we? Maybe perched precariously close to the damn edge, too,” he says accusingly. She still does not answer him. “I'm feeling the sea breezes and smelling its salt in the air,” he states flatly. “You have been coming here quite often in hope of seeing it one day. You keep telling me about that fish although you know that I've got an uneasy feeling about this, that I never want to come to the bluff. Hannah. Hannah!” he calls sharply. It's her turn now. “What do you want now?” she asks, just as he would often question her. “You are crazy! You know that, don't you, Hannah? I'm going to tell Gideon to fire you! We both cannot be crazy at the same time!” She knows that he is not serious with his threats. Besides, she has heard the smile in his voice and sees it manifesting itself around the corners of his mouth. She smiles and reaches over for his flailing hands, bringing them together and cupping them in hers that are now steady and devoid of any sweat. His legs are flailing slightly too. She can't do anything about them. Her hands are occupied and she is not a contortionist. She is already holding down his flailing hands. She looks out at the horizon. The setting sun is now stunning hues of crimson and burnt orange. The brilliant blue of the sky and the fluffy white marshmallow like clouds that flutter breezily under the sky makes for a scenic and tranquil escape from the present. Her eyes follow the low floating clouds that seem to be doing some sort of calypso ballet, as they dip and pirouette, skimming the ocean on their way to join the setting sun. She watches the wondrous sun and heavens as they together set upon the welcoming sea. The world is surely on fire, she thinks as she contemplates these starkly different entities melding together. Then, just before she pulls away, it appears and disappears, quicker than a flash—her fish! As if to remind her that he too is an important part of all this, this beauty that lie before her, this exciting, dangerous, destructive beauty—life. She looks across at Issac. The tremors have completely left him. He is peaceful. He is calm. The grip that he has on the hat is strong and sure. Their hat. She smiles as the many fun times that they have shared with the hat comes to mind—in the sun, the wind, the rain...ah yes, the rain. The way that he would grab the hat off his head, face tilted upwards to catch the drops of rain on the rare occasion that they happened to be caught in a slight drizzle. She looks at him again. She feels the lump in her throat and the tears slide down her cheeks as she drives down the freeway. She lets them run down unhindered. She needs to do it, wash herself, cleanse herself. Ever since she left the park, she had felt the need to do this, let them, the tears, flow unchecked. She feels the need to reach across, tenderly touch him on his arm and tell him how much she loves him. Instead, she silently mouths these words over to him, I love you Issac Gold. She knows that she should leave him be as he would often tell her and this is certainly one of those times. He is seemingly in a very happy and contented place. Suddenly, she grits her teeth and leans even harder on the gas pedal. Those damn traitors, she begins to think. The sharp blaring of the horns of the cars going in the opposite direction rouses her from the dark place she had slipped into and she pulls away sharply from an oncoming vehicle. She was drifting over into the opposite lane again. Then, on doing so, she feels a sharp pain in her wrist reminding her of the injury that happened a while ago. She is still protective of the wrist, which is swathed in a lightweight bandage. She does not want to mar their good day with thoughts of the nursing home, but the sudden painful twinge was sure to bring it all back to her, the fact she thinks that the incident was so maliciously and callously perpetrated on her. She starts to sing aloud. She goes up an octave or two higher as the thoughts of the C.N.A. comes to her mind. Issac joins in on the singing too, but she does not hear him. Instead, she hears the angry horns blaring at her. Once again, she frantically pulls back into her rightful lane. “What's the matter with you?” Issac calls sharply. Oh, he's going to give it to me about my erratic driving, she thinks. She looks over to his side. He still has that tight grip on his hat. “What's the matter?” she echoes him. She has even taken to using his phrases. “You've stopped singing,” Issac says accusingly. “I stopped because you did not join me,” she says simply. “I did too! Weren't you hearing me?” he asks alarmed. “So let's start over,” she offers. “No!” he says indignantly. “Hannah! Hannah!” She hears Issac's voice cutting into her thoughts. She loves when he does this, call out her name, because this means that he is alert. “I love you, Hannah. Do be careful,” he says haltingly. She feels the waves creeping up. She knows that she cannot let them overwhelm her now. She has to stay focused. She sees the car in the opposite direction and knows that it is speeding up. She is still applying the brakes but it won't hold. She knows that the gates leading to the nursing home are usually thrown wide open so she flips on her indicator and barrels through the open gates.