I S L A

A voice shocks me out of my trance, my eyes go up suddenly, meeting his calm hazel eyes that I thought I'd never see again. I rise to my feet awkwardly, but I can't look away from his face. He is older, he has wrinkles that move across his forehead, and he has small bags under his sockets that make his usual shiny hazel eyes seem dimmer. His body is still as strong, still as tall, he still wears his white tee underneath his very loved leather jacket. His hair, still dark and radiant, blows in the wind around his head. It's longer than I remember it, but it suits him.

 He squints at me with his head low, he's observing me just as much as I'm observing him. I have changed completely, I have the body and mind of a woman now--and yet he still recognizes me. I've only visited him three times, and he can still tell. Is that a good sign? 

"I'm sorry," I say. "I was just. . . I'll go."

I turn to leave.

"No," I hear him say. "You don't have to go."

I stop still, a smile quickly forms on my face and I take it off as I turn back around, counting the beats of my heart as I do. "You don't want me to go?" I ask.

He shakes his head, glaring down at the grave. I walk the little distance back to it, placing myself next to him. So, for once, he isn't angry with me. He isn't yelling at me or dragging me, or going ape shit mental. Something has happened. Something big.

"Happy birthday." he says to me, aimlessly falling to his knees. 

"You remembered." I laugh.

He glares at me. Oh crap, that's not funny. Of course it's not funny, I mentally slap myself.

"I mean," I cough. "Thanks."

"Why did you come?" 

"Well I put you through hell, so I thought I kind of owed her an apology." I lie. "And with today being the anniversary, it just felt right."

"So, the memories...?"

I swallow. "I still remember, I mean I'm not magically cured of the memories but I don't. . . think some of the stuff I used to. I still can't explain it, any of it. I was just a child, I didn't understand what it meant. No one could. But, I know that I'm Isla," I say. "And you won't hear from me again, I promise."

He smiles a little, his hands fall onto the grave tenderly. "I can't believe it's been twenty years."

Me either.

"I'll leave you to it. Goodbye, Jason."

"No, wait," he calls. I turn and I meet his eyes, he rises to his feet. "Do you. . . do you want to go for coffee?"

My eyes widen. "With you? Why?"

"I don't know. Why not? I know it's weird. . . but. . . you can say no."

"No," I mumble. "I mean yes, yes. Sure. Okay."

A blurry sense of de ja vu washes over me, I'm not sure if he senses it too, but the look on his face resembles it. We just accidentally created the first time he ever asked me out. The memory is as clear as the blue sky above us. 

A large smile lights up my face, I wasn't expecting this to happen, especially today. I had given up, I was prepared for it all to be for nothing, to go into the abyss alone. As I walk beside Jason, the voices return. My ears ring at first, creating a familiar buzzing, and then they talk at once, whispering the date over and over.

January fifteenth, January fifteenth. 

I clench my teeth. Eleven days. I've got eleven days.

The date used to be years away, it used to be a far stretch in the future. Now it's almost here, I'm almost out of time.

And I can't decide if our love is strong enough to stop it. I don't think it is.

But it has to be. And if I can't remind him, then I'll have to take a different approach. 

I'll have to show him.