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“My sister, Jessica,” I begin, my voice soft but clear, “she was always the brave one. I looked up to her, admired her strength and adventurous spirit. She was always daring herself, trying out new things. . .” I smile, thinking about her in a way I have not done in such a long time. The memories flow, and with each word, the image of Jessica becomes more vivid.
Derrick listens attentively, his eyes never leaving mine, and I appreciate the chance to open up, to remember Jessica in this unlikely setting.
“That’s why I do not want to let her down,” I confess, my voice trembling once more. “If anything happens to Alex. . . I won’t forgive myself.” The weight of that possibility bears down on me, threatening to crush my resolve.
Derrick reaches out to me, his touch gentle. “Amber, don’t say this again,” he says with a calm, yet firm voice. “You’re a good aunt—a good mother,” he said and flashed a weak smile. “The fact that you’re this concerned about Alex shows how much you care. It’s not your fault that we’re in this situation. It’s not your fault that we’re trapped.”
His words are a lifeline, and for the first time since we found ourselves in this situation, I feel a glimmer of hope. Derrick’s confession that he’s also afraid reminds me that we’re all human, bound by our vulnerabilities. His honesty breaks down a barrier between us, and I appreciate it more than I can express.
“So, how did you lose her?” he gently urges, allowing me to focus on the beautiful memories I have of her, rather than dwelling on guilt. As I talk about my sister, the pain in my heart begins to lift, if only slightly. Derrick’s presence beside me feels strangely comforting as if we’ve crossed an invisible threshold and become companions in our shared ordeal.
The minutes blur together as we sit in the semi-darkness, the world around us still heavy with the aftermath of the tsunami. In this confined space, there is nothing to distract me from our dire situation. I find myself shifting my attention from the worry that clenches my heart and instead focusing on the man beside me.
Derrick, who was once a stranger, is now my only companion in this time of turmoil. As our conversation flows, I begin to forget, even if just for a moment, that we’re still trapped on a rooftop.
“You know, Amber,” he interrupts, “if someone had told me when I was on that plane that we’d end up together like this, I wouldn’t have believed them.”
I lean in, our voices becoming the bridge to connection in our isolation.
I smirk. “It is quite unbelievable, isn’t it? Fate has a strange way of bringing people together.”
“Hmm, fate,” Derrick mutters. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Uhh, well. . .” Derrick says, “I’m not sure, but I don’t know what to make out about fate. I just believe life happens. And whatever we experience are results and consequences of the actions we make. So. . . yeah.”
I look at him and flash a weird smirk. “So, can you tell me what action birthed the consequence of us meeting in a plane, sitting side by side, eventually becoming next door neighbors, and finally getting trapped on a damp rooftop together?”
We both laugh. The first time I’ve heard him do so.
“Uhh. . .” he mutters, scratching his head. “It’s probably the acts of each of us deciding to come to Japan.”
“So, deciding to move to Japan is an action enough to have made me end up here on your roof?”
“Maybe,” Derrick adds, smiling.
“Enough for us to book the same flight, sit side by side, choose houses beside each other? Oh please.”
For the first time since this ordeal began, I feel at ease with Derrick. The tension between us has lessened, and I can’t help but admit that his presence offers a certain comfort in this otherwise uncomfortable situation.
As we continue to talk, I start to observe the intricate details of Derrick’s features. His rugged hands, his eyes that seem to hold countless untold stories, and the lines etched into his face that hint at a past filled with both pain and resilience. There’s a depth to him that I hadn’t noticed before, a sense of complexity and a history of experiences that only further pique my curiosity.
The intensity of the situation amplifies the sharpness of my observations, making Derrick, who had once been a mere acquaintance, appear more layered and fascinating than ever.
“You know, you’re not at all what I expected,” I say as I look into his eyes.
“What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure, but it wasn’t this. I guess I thought I had you all figured out when I met you on the plane.”
“People are rarely what they seem on the surface,” he says.
“But there’s definitely some cubes of nattiness in you,” I say, and we throw ourselves back in laughter.
