When the sun was but a sliver and the will in her tiny arms had burned out, she faced the whale, and saw, in the reflection of its vast, sad eyes, the last few minutes of daylight. And in these final moments, the girl reached out with her exhausted arms and hugged the whale tightly so it would not be alone when it died.
Night came, and the stars slowly came out to play. The girl gently laid her head against the whale and sighed. The heavens were unfurling, and she listened as the waves whispered and lapped against the shore. Then suddenly, a star dashed across the sky, and she felt the whale give out a low shudder. Without moving, she knew that the whale had breathed its last and ridden the shooting star to paradise.
She woke with a start and lay motionless for a few seconds. It had been a long while since she recalled dreaming. Then she remembered where she was, and, with painstaking silence, lifted the covers and slid out of bed. She walked over to the mirror and stared at the reflection of her naked body of twenty-six years. It looked dull in the morning light; nothing like the sensuous, whispering curves that reappeared every evening. With a frown, she glanced back over at the bed and pursed her lips in annoyance at the unclothed man lying asleep in his bed. It was best to go, as always, so she bent down, quietly collected her underwear and clothes, and began covering her body from further self-contempt. Then, grabbing her purse from the wardrobe, she reached down, pulled on the strap for her left heel, and slipped out the door.
Joggers weaved around her as she walked down the sidewalk to her car, and she felt awkward and vulnerable in her slinky black cocktail dress. From the same sky that had seemed so friendly just the night before, the sunlight shone down and exposed her to suburban scrutiny, and so she rummaged in her purse for the car keys to avoid making eye contact with the dog walkers. Her red Volvo convertible was exactly where she remembered it to be, and she shuffled into the driver's seat and sat there, staring through the windshield at nothing in particular. She felt overwhelmed and disillusioned at the same time, an empty day of routine before her. Then, for the first time in a long while, she remembered someone, and stuck her key into the ignition with a sense of purpose.
The neighborhood streets were not like she remembered, and the park was not where she had recalled it being. She navigated to the curb and rolled down her window. "Excuse me," she shouted at a woman tending her garden, "could you tell me where Golden Maples is?"
"The retirement village? That's just down another five, no, six blocks, make a right on Bellevue, and you'll see it a short ways down on your left."
Smiling, she rolled up her window and drove off.
"Right this way, ma'am," the nurse cooed.
She repositioned her sunglasses on top of her head and followed the nurse down a wide corridor. Then, near the end of the hall, the nurse stopped at a door and knocked softly. "Come in," a frail voice replied. The nurse gently pushed the door open and motioned for her to enter.
It was bright in the room; two large windows, just as she had remembered it. The walls had framed paintings, now faded by sunlight, hanging at random intervals. She stood there nervously, clutching her purse with both hands, and watching the back of the bald head peeking over a plush armchair. The TV was tuned to Wheel of Fortune. "I'd like to buy a vowel. An E, please."
The nurse had closed the door, leaving the two alone in the room. She cleared her throat and made a step forward. At the sound of her heel clicking on the floorboards, the bald head leaned over the side of the armchair and two large, bespectacled eyes gazed at her.
"Dad?"
He sat looking at her, emotionless. Oh no, she thought, he doesn't know who I am. Then, suddenly, his face broke into a smile. "My darling, darling daughter," he beamed, tears welling in his eyes. Her eyes watering as well, she ran to him and they embraced.
That night, as she lay in bed alone, she thought about her father and she smiled. She was glad to have seen him that day. Tomorrow she would visit again, and the day after, and the day after that. Then, on some sudden impulse, she flung off her covers and walked over to the window. The stars were shining brightly, and she gazed in contentment and wonderment. All of a sudden, a shooting star raced its way across the sky, and she knew. But as she reached up to wipe her eyes, she realized she wasn't crying, for he had not been alone when he died and rode the shooting star to paradise.
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