Tidal Waves

Travis sat on the bed and stared at his hands. It was gone. He could feel it. He was not sure how or why it had been taken from him, but his ability was gone.

He rubbed the tips of his fingers with his thumbs. Nothing external had changed. He looked, sounded, and--for the most part--felt the same. The residual tingling in his palms and wrists was normal, but he was not as he was before. There was a deep-set knowing, an empty hole in the pit of his stomach that lay open and exposed, raw and bleeding. A part of him was missing and he knew in what instant it had disappeared.

It was right before the final crack of the battered charter ship--the moment before the waves carried the struggling craft beyond reach and view. After the last person had cut the lines of the tangled vessel and climbed onboard the motorized rescue boat--that was when he had felt the change.

Like the snap of a twig or crack of lightning, the control--or rather--persuasion he held over the waves broke. Maybe he had strained too hard, tried too long to prevent the waves from taking the other ship down. His body had shook from the effort. With his eyes pressed closed and fists anchored to the sides of his head, he had given every ounce of concentration to ensure both the rescue crew and original crew would be able to escape the doomed ship and roiling waves.

A white light had streaked behind his closed eyelids the second they cleared the doomed ship. He had gasped and staggered beneath the surge. A wash of dizziness threatened to empty his stomach. Tremors overtook his limbs and like a hooked fish he flopped on the deck before blacking out.

Then he woke up here--in the bowels of the Coast Guard's rescue craft with no sense of what the water beyond the lifeboat was doing.

Certainly he could feel the ebb and flow of the waves beneath the haul. He could hear the slap of the current on the bow as they sped through the water. The steady rhythm of movement and hum of the engines had always soothed him, but not anymore. Now it felt foreign as if he had been dropped into a strange land where he knew nothing about the place or people.

Within his head he could feel a storm rage. The clear water of his thoughts had turned to a thick mud. He ached all over, but it was worse in the back of his skull. Travis placed his palms behind his head and massaged the base of his neck.

Never had he claimed or been able to control the ocean waves in the sense that they would do exactly as he wanted or imagined. Instead he had been gifted with the ability to coax an outcome. He could persuade the water to follow a more favorable outcome.

Ever since he had been a child he could do such things. He had been able to swim without fear of drowning because he could make the waves bring him to the surface. He could pull rocks from the ocean floor or flood bays with fish just by changing the force or direction of the current. He had become a local legend in the northeastern coastal states and had been contracted by various charter companies by the age of eight.

Then he had been contacted by the Coast Guard and by ten had been on all of the most dangerous rescue calls. It was still hazardous despite his presence and his parents had protested for days before finally allowing him to leave. The argument that he could help save lives eventually won their support--even though--for him--it was all about the chance to push his abilities to max.

And that was exactly what he had done. He had pushed so hard that maybe he had caused his present situation. Or maybe it had already begun to fade.

By the time he was fourteen, Travis had begun to notice a weakening of the control he had so long held with ease. It was like losing muscle tone and he had assumed it was tied into the fact that he was going through puberty. With so many things physically changing for him, he had assumed that his gift would increase with his maturity--but maybe he had been wrong about that. Maybe as his physical strength increased his mental abilities decreased.

Heavy rubber boots pounded down the stairs that lead to the forward survivor's cabin. Travis resisted the urge to look up. He knew who out of the crew would be the first to come check on him.

Scott reached the cabin floor and approached the bed with an ease Travis did not feel. The tall muscular man was chief on the ship and they had worked together even since Travis had started tagging along on rescue runs. The dripping man stood two feet from the bed in silence, remaining upright with ease despite the jerkiness of the ship's course.

"You okay?" The man's voice was deep and full of a dutiful concern. Travis knew he cared more than his tone indicated, but right now this was a business question--an employer talking to an employee.

Travis kept his eyes on the wet floor as he shook his head.

Scott took a step closer and Travis sat up to look at him. "I can't do it anymore," he said. "I can't... my ability... it's gone."

Scott shifted his stance, his brows pulling together beneath his helmet. "What do you mean it's gone?"

"I mean, it's gone... totally gone. I can't feel the water anymore. It's like it's completely quiet."

"You sure you didn't hit your head?"

Travis pulled his hands from the back of his neck with exasperation. "No, I'm telling you that it's gone. It's just gone. I can't do it anymore." He looked up as he tried to smother the unease in his stomach, the way his chest ached, and his eyes burned. "I can't control anything." He swiped at his nose.

Scott remained quiet, shifting with the boat as it was tossed about in the storm.

"Didn't you hear me!?" Travis asked. He could feel his anger build the more he evaluated the situation. It's not fair. It's totally not fair! I haven't done anything wrong. I've tried to help people, so why am I being punished?

"Well, maybe it's not gone for good," Scott said. "Maybe you just over-taxed yourself and you need to rest."

"No!" He could tell the difference between overexertion and this. This was worse. It was vacant and empty. It was the death of a close family member that left an unfillable hole. "It's gone," he said in a sullen voice. "It's just gone."

"Well," Scott said as he inched closer, "maybe that's not a bad thing."

Travis's head snapped to Scott's face. "Are you crazy? I can't control anything anymore which means I'm no good at helping you rescue people."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. If I can't control the waves then there's nothing for me to do. I'm just dead weight."

"You can still help us."

Travis shook his head.

"You know our process," Scott pointed out. "You know how we operate. You can learn how to steer the ship and perform rescues. You already know the water even if you don't have any control over it--which, I'm not sure is true yet. This may just be temporary." He raised his hand to stop Travis from speaking.

"And even if it's permanent," he continued, "then what? It means you're normal?"

"It means I'm not fit for anything. I'm useless."

"Is that really how you see the rest of us? That we're not good for anything because we don't have special powers like you?"

"I didn't say that."

"Not those exact words, but that's pretty much what you're telling me--that you think normal isn't as important or interesting as you."

Travis looked away. He knew that was not true. The men and women he worked with were all strong and skilled at their jobs. They had worked for years to get where they were and they knew how to move in and out of places even without his help. It amazed him how well they were able to perform each rescue with the calm assurance that they did--especially since they could still drown. They were fearless.

And he he had always been fearless because he knew his abilities. But now he had nothing to offer... and he could drown.

Fear spiked through him. He could drown. He could be carried beneath the waves and never return. The bouncing of the ship was suddenly very obvious to him and Travis gripped the edge of the bed as the ship pitched from one side to the other.

"Travis."

Travis pinched his eyes shut. Tears built behind his eyelids. He was acting like a child, but the loss and fear he felt was too strong for him to control.

"Travis," Scott said as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

A tear slipped off the end of his nose and made a dark spot on his pants. Another followed.

Scott knelt in front of him, placing one hand on the wall for balance. "We'll get you back home and then we'll figure it out. Okay?"

Three more tears. Travis wiped his nose.

"I need you to be strong okay?" He bent so he could look Travis in the face. "I need you to set an example for those we picked up. Go check on them. Give them some reassurance."

Travis shook his head.

"This is a test of your character," Scott told him, "of your inner strength. Abilities don't make you who you are. You make the choice to be brave and strong. The rest is just a bonus."

"Yeah, except that I don't have that anymore."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do."

He stared at Scott through his watery vision. His lip quivered.

The man took a deep breath then stood. "I have to go topside. You can choose to help us or you can sit there and feel sorry for yourself." He moved to the stairs. "I know what kind of hero I you can be, but only you can make the choice to fill that role." He climbed up the stairs and back into the storm.

Travis sat brooding. His ability was gone. No matter what anyone else said, he knew that was true. He had lost it all. But Scott was right that no one else on this boat had ever had his gifts. Every day they still risked everything--faced the same terrors he had in the midst of a tempest--and done it without the security he had been living with. He could do that too. He just had to choose to do so. 

Travis released a shuttering breath then rubbed his nose. He brushed the tears from his eyes and cheeks then wiped his chin. With one last swipe to clear his vision, he pushed himself from the bed and stood. Time to get back to work.