There was a nudge. It was so small, he didn't even realize it until they became stronger and became something else…the pushes. His small nudges started like little tickles on his cheek. Like a soft breath on his neck…he ignored it at first. Then they would occur more frequently. His patience was tested severely as he let it go. The gentle nudges seemed to get a bit more impatient; they evolved into pushes. He would suddenly feel himself falling forwards, yet before he would hit the floor, he'd always catch himself. But the pushes continued to get stronger, more forced. He didn't understand them. He didn't want to. It was as if they were trying to tell him something important. The pushes were always the most severe if he…did something…wrong. He called his doings something that will drastically improve the human race and all of society. The pushes were almost violent when his attitude would spin out of control to his fiancée.
He could almost see her standing in front of him with that angelic smile on her face. He could close his eyes and see her porcelain face staring straight at him. Her luminous, bright green eyes… her brilliant, fiery curly hair…her full lips that were as red as a rose…Rose…her name rolled perfectly off his tongue with such fire and feistiness.
When he opened his eyes, the world was dark. He'd tried to run. To find some sense of security. He'd put others down. He didn't see it. He thought that they were just weak. He didn't see anything. Nothing.
All his life, he'd struggled to feel loved. He'd tried to please his parents. To gain their acceptance. They never loved him back. Maybe a pat on the back or a quick “good job,” but nothing out of the ordinary. His life was a living nightmare. So now, twenty-something years later, he was cold as stone. Never loved. Didn't love. It wasn’t that he didn't want to love Rose. It was the fact that he didn't know how.
And he felt a pang of jealousy when he saw her running around the docks of the Titanic with Gutter Rat. He admitted that Dawson was strikingly good-looking and any lass would fall for him. Hard. But in that period of time when Rose would go around, laughing until she cried with Dawson, he got a taste of what real love looked like. His twenty-six-year-old self got a glimpse of love. And he wanted it.
Why couldn't Rose see him in a romantic way? What was with him? He clenched his fist in cold anger and desperation. But then, there was the push, but this time, he didn't catch himself…
*****
"Sir, may I please take your name?" the officer asked him, a solicitous look lingering in his eyes. The Titanic, the so-called unsinkable ship, had sunk. He had lost Rose during the sinking, and he was fearful for her survival. He was also fearful of the fact that if she did survive, she'd run away with Dawson, and then, he'd definitely lose her. There was that same annoying push again. And this time, he fell.
"Dammit," he muttered as he lay sprawled on the ground.
"Sir, are you all right?" the officer asked.
He nodded as he stood up. His eyes flickered aimlessly around the terrified, horror-stricken people. Then he caught sight of the same fiery red hair. There was this sadness and heartbrokenness lingering on her face, and immediately, he knew that Dawson had died. He felt bad. She loved him. But now, he needed to be the one to comfort Rose. The pushes were strong and gentle, urging him to go to her. It was his second chance to show her how much she meant to him; how much he loved her. Briefly, their eyes met, and he smiled weakly. She turned away, and at first, he wondered if she was even paying attention to whom she had just made eye contact with. Caledon Hockley was no more; he sank with the Titanic. Now he was starting over. He was determined to change for her sake.
"May I take your name, good sir?" the officer asked again, clearly agitated. The thought, It shouldn't take more than five seconds to jot down a name ran through his mind.
"Calvert. Joseph Calvert."
The End.