She said she was leaving here, going away and leaving me wanting more. I’ve never truly been the best, or been the one to answer life’s questions correctly, but I never thought that was reason for her to leave. She said maybe, maybe one day she will return, find me and complete me once more. She just needed time away from me to think of what I'd done.
When we met, nearly a year ago, I believed I was blessed, having someone so good in my life that always seemed so wrong. Madly in love, we were married in a month, despite her father’s persistent word of warning. It was mid-July and pleasantly warm, even though it was pouring rain outside the church. Every time we kissed that night, it felt as though time had slowed, and sometimes stopped altogether. I told her I needed her, for I loved her so much. I was so happy, yet so scared. What would happen, if she were to leave? What would that mean for me?
January.
“What does your father mean?” I begged her for an answer after a long and uncomfortable dinner with her rich father. Her father and I had never gotten along, as was expected between a wealthy man and a working man. “Why would you need a new start, aren’t you happy here?”
“Sweetheart, look at me,” I didn’t, I couldn't bear the thought of her father ripping the two of us apart. “Darling, please,” I looked, “Please calm down,” she tried to settle my reeling mind with small words and pleas. When that didn’t work, she said, “Darling I’m not going.” That got me to settle down, at least most of the way.
“But your father. Won’t he be mad?” I asked her, not needing the answer. “He is quite convinced you are joining him.”
“My father needs to accept you,” She pulled me close, so close that I could feel her warm, sweet breath on my cheek, bringing back memories of our beautiful night following our wedding ceremony. I could feel her almond eyes on mine, peering into my soul and capturing my mind. I could feel her breathing, her bosom rising and falling to the rhythm of her breath. Her beauty mesmerized me, baffled me. “I am yours, forever, and I don’t care whether or not my father has a problem with that.” Do you mean that, I meant to ask her - but then I thought, Of course she means it, she loves me.
“Thank you,” I smiled at her, completely relaxed.
April.
My splendid marriage began to go south in my lovely little home in Southampton the day I heard a knock on my door, and my mistake was answering it. As I got up off of my wooden chair, the knock came again, rapping violently on the front of the house. Persistent bastard, I thought, as the knock came again. It happened twice more in my walk from the dining room to the front door two rooms away, making me think this man must be a deliverer of bad news, had she been in an accident? I ran to the door, fearing this man and what he came for more than I feared death.
As I grabbed the doorknob, the ball of metal seemed to drop temperature to that of ice in my palm, a bad omen. I pulled the door quickly open to reveal this deliverer. “Hello son,” Her wealthy, hating, spiteful father said, shooting more ice than the metal in my palm, “May I come in, or have I lost that privilege to you as well as my daughter?”
“She’s not here,” I spat in return, avoiding his question on purpose, “But I would be ... happy ... to let her know that you stopped by, completely unannounced, may I add.”
“Yes, you may add that,” said he as he walked in my door, as though he took my lack of an answer as a conformation, “And as wonderful as that would be, I came here to speak with you, not your lovely wife.” A smile started to spread across his face, not a happy expression, or even neutral; the man was taunting me with his smug smile on his rich face. I had to put my hands in my pockets to keep from smacking that grin right off of him.
“Whatever you have to say,” I said, repaying him with a grueling sneer, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Ah yes, I expected that.” I wanted to bury him. He hadn’t done anything overly offensive since he’d gotten here, but his mere presence made me foaming mad. “However, for this I believe you will make an exception. What I came to tell you is very important.”
“What is it then? Really, what is so important you had to come here unannounced?”
“She is coming with me and you cannot stop her.”
“No, she told me she is staying with me here,” he’s lying, I told myself, he has to be. “I’m sorry you came all the way down here to be so disappointed.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken. I am her father, and my word is law,” He grinned again, but this time showing perfectly white teeth.
“Well I am her husband and she doesn’t lie to me!” I screamed, spitting on his blazer.
“But doesn’t she? I’m terribly sorry to tell you this but your marriage was a sham.” The words came out like he was saying the sky was blue, as-a-matter-of-fact. “She never loved you.”
I heard a crack and saw him fall, spitting blood. I saw hands grab him by the lapels and heard three more consecutive cracks. I felt a pain rise in my knuckles and a scream rise in my ears. Was it mine? Was it his? No, it was hers. I looked up and saw her staring, screaming and sobbing. “No!” She cried, “Please stop!”
I realized the hands on his lapels were mine, and the blood on my hands and on the floor was his. I dropped him. He just fell. I heard one last, deafening sound. It was his head hitting the wood floor.
She said she was leaving here, going away and leaving me wanting more. I’ve never truly been the best, or been the one to answer life’s questions correctly, but I never thought that was reason for her to leave. I walked her to her ship, a giant boat, and looked into her eyes. She said maybe, maybe one day she will return, find me and complete me once more. I said no, she won’t return. I could feel it, sense it in my heart. I kissed her and held her tight. I felt as though days passed, years maybe. "Don't go," said I, "I can't do this on my own."
"I'm sorry," she replied, "I feel like if we try to get closer we will only lose touch." She left me with those words ringing in my ears. I wanted to scream out to her, to yell that I love her, but I just watched her walk away, boarding with her bandaged father. Maybe someday, even if she doesn’t return, she could come to terms with my actions. I noted the date and time, I didn't know why I did it, it just seemed right.
I wrote down: ‘April 10th, 1912. Noon.’ I then watched as the Titanic drifted away.
