WHAT HURTS THE MOST
Chapter Three
Rose couldn’t do it.
She sat in her bed, a pencil in
her hands and a sheet of paper on her lap, a book used as a desk. The lamp next
to her glowed dimly, making Rose’s porcelain face seem angelic.
She was assigned to write a song
for the cabaret that she worked at. Richard’s paid fairly decent money. Enough
to survive on, at least. After Rose had arrived in New York on the Carpathia,
she had traveled to Boston. She wanted to be far, far away from anyone that she
had ever met on the Titanic, especially Cal and her mother. She figured she
would never be bothered by either of them ever again.
Try as Rose might, she couldn’t
think of anything to write about. There was no inspiration. There was Jack, as
always, but she wasn’t about to write the same old sad song about him. She
could write how angry and alone Cal had made her feel. No, that didn’t seem
right, either.
She sighed, putting her head on
the headboard. Nothing was working tonight. She decided to just let her mind
wander away from writing songs. She thought about the Titanic. That always
inspired her.
What was Cal doing? Even though
she didn’t like him--she despised the man--she was still curious about him. He
could become a source for her venting. No, it didn’t seem right to write about
Cal.
She could write about how unfair
life was. She was positive everyone could relate to that. But then again, they
had probably never seen their one true love die right in front of them, frozen
to death, just to keep the person that they loved alive.
Oh, when Rose had to watch Jack
sink down into the dark, freezing cold waters, it had to be one of the most
painful, if not the most painful, moments of her life. His skin had turned
blue, his hair sprinkled with ice crystals. She knew she couldn’t save Jack.
That was probably what hurt the most.
If I had moved over on that
door...he could have laid next to me, she thought. He’d be alive right now. The boat would have
rescued us both. I’d be living with him in California right now. We’d be riding
on the roller coasters together, looking at the ocean...everything that a
couple in love does.
She remembered what she had
promised to Jack in his final moments. Go to California. Have lots of babies.
Go on.
That was it. She knew what to
write about.
Rose lifted her head off of the
headboard and started writing on the paper. My Heart Will Go On. But
when she actually looked at it, it didn’t seem right. She couldn’t go on when
she still loved Jack. She knew that she was always going to.
That’s the biggest lie I’ve
ever written, she
thought.
Rose crumpled the piece of paper
up and swallowed the lump in her throat. She tossed the piece of paper across
the room.
Why did you have to go, Jack?
I miss you. I love you. I’m always going to love you.
She felt Jack around her. Rose
always felt him around her. Maybe that was why she couldn’t go on, when she
knew he was always looking out for her, guarding her. Or maybe she fell in love
too hard and too fast to ever get out of it.
She could almost hear Jack
saying, "Come on, Rose. Don’t be sad. Do what you promised. Go to
California and ride the roller coasters until you throw up. Make lots of babies.
Come on. You said you would never let go of that promise."
But you let go, she thought. You let go of my hand in the
ocean. And you’re resting at the bottom of it somewhere. Why shouldn’t I let
go?
Because she was Rose Dawson, that
was why.