Withering Hope

"It's your turn to tell a story," he says.

"I'm too tired to come up with one."

I feel him shift next to me and then he turns on one side, looking at me. That doesn't help the feeling of wrongness at all.

"You don't sleep well at all, do you?"

"No," I admit.

"I'm sorry." He pushes himself up in a sitting position. "I'll go back to the cockpit."

"No, Tristan!" I grab his arm. "Don't. I'll fall asleep eventually. I shouldn't have told you."

He leans back on his elbows, and without looking in my direction says, "I noticed you weren't sleeping well a few days ago, but I didn't say anything. I wanted to be selfish and keep you here. But I don't want to harm you. It's just that it's so much better when you are next to me. "

His confession tugs at m

y heartstrings. "You're not harming me, Tristan. I've been battling insomnia forever. It's gotten worse here. I can handle it. Come on, lie down and try to sleep. I'm glad it's getting better for you." He does lie down, but he doesn't seem too keen on sleeping.

"I don't want you to resent me. If you start down that path, you'll want to avoid me, but there is nowhere to run away here."

"Neither of those things will happen."

"If I could find a way for them to forgive me for not saving them, maybe I could live with myself," he whispers.

"You wouldn’t. Even if every single one of them could tell you it's not your fault. You have to forgive yourself, Tristan, if you want peace. It's all on you."

He smiles softly. "Tell me a secret."

"What?"

"You know mine. It's only fair that I know one of yours."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Tell me," he beckons. "It weighs less on you after you share it with someone, I promise. You just proved that to me."

His words erase any chance for sleep, so I turn on my side, too, facing him. The thought of a shared secret weighing less is too tempting. I give in. "Well, remember how I told you I used to want to be like my parents, and do what they were doing before they passed away?"

"Yes."

"The truth is, the prospect of being like them frightened me. I felt I’d never have the strength to leave those I love behind for months at a time and travel to foreign places. I admired them; they were my heroes, and I wanted to do something good like they did, but I didn't feel strong enough for that lifestyle. So I suppose my decision to change careers wasn't entirely driven by pain."

Tristan doesn't reply so I check to see whether he's fallen asleep, but his eyes are open. Maybe he thinks I'm a coward. I squirm in shame. I was better off keeping my secret.

"You were looking at it from a wrong perspective," Tristan says.

"What?"

"You were looking up to your parents because you thought what they did was noble, right? Helping others?"

"Yeah…" I confirm, not sure where he's heading.

"You didn't have to literally step into their shoes to do that. Each person has unique strengths. You could have achieved what you wanted by using your unique strength."

"And what is my strength?" I challenge.

"Listening to people," he says in a surprised tone. "And not just that. Empathizing with them."