FATE, MAYBE?
Chapter One
Alex screamed and shut her
eyes to shield herself from the visions of water and the struggling people
fighting their way up to the top of the ship so that they might at least have
some chance for survival. She didn’t want to watch it.
"Why are they keeping
those people down there, Daddy?" Alex asked, seeing no sense in the
confusion and panic displayed on the TV in front of her.
"Well," her father
started, "when the Titanic went down, they tried to keep all the Irish and
other people without much money down in the lower levels." He tried to
explain it in a way that she would understand.
"Why would they want the
Irish to die, Daddy? Aren’t we Irish?"
"Yes, we are, honey, but
these Irish didn’t have much money," he explained delicately, rubbing
Alex’s back.
"I’m glad we weren’t on
that boat," Alex stated.
"Yeah. Me, too, but ya
know what?" her father asked, adding to the conversation.
"Hmm?" she asked,
turning her attention back to the film.
"One of your
great-great-grandmothers almost rode on the Titanic..."
April 1, 1911
I ran down to the docks as the
tears ran down my face. I would be leaving my friends and family behind, but
hopefully there would be a better life waiting for me when I reached America.
I ran my eyes over the sea of
green, rolling hills with large boulders scattered randomly on each of the
hillsides. The trees moved lightly in the breeze. The air I breathed smelled of
the sea. I let out another sob as my friends continued to wave good-bye.
I could see in their eyes that
they were jealous that my family had managed to get a rare ticket for me. I
knew that in their place I would be, too; poverty was bad here, but no one had
heard of any hunger in America. I didn’t let it get to me too much thought
because underneath the envy in their eyes I could see that they were happy for
me. Allowing one more sob, I turned back towards the people heading for the
docks.
This couldn’t be happening to me.
Not to me.
I was always the girl who was
teased for being unlucky. There were constantly things staining my clothes. My
meals tended to be the ones with the large fly in the middle that no one
realized was there until it was already in my mouth. I was the one who was
always getting blamed for pranks that I never even knew had taken place until I
was the one beaten for them.
I was by no means lucky.
One thing I was more curious
about than anything else at the moment was, if I wasn’t lucky, then how did I
get this ticket?
In a matter of minutes, I was
able to see the ship above all the buildings; moments after that, I was pushed
into a crowd of screaming, overexcited people. Dust flew up into the air as
everyone began to push their way towards the dock. I went up on my toes to see
above the huge mass of heads moving around before me. I could barely see men
standing in expensive blue uniforms on the ramps where they were loading the
ship.
Suddenly, I was knocked back down
to my feet as two young boys, probably about ages ten and eight, ran past
playing a game of chase. I laughed and continued making my way towards the
dock.
I quickly found myself trying to
push through the crowds towards the docks, but it seemed useless, since
basically every other person had a ticket and many other people didn’t but were
trying to sneak on anyway. After a while of struggling against everyone else, I
found myself just standing in one place, letting the crowd push me whichever
way, and actually ended up being one of the first of the Irish to board the
ship.
The first thing I did after I
stepped onto the deck was take a deep breath.
When I had first imagined the
fragrance of this great unsinkable ship, it was as something unimaginable; a
smell better than any flower you could pick off the sides of the beautiful
hills of Ireland. I thought it would be something heavenly, but it wasn’t.
The smell of the fresh paint
filled my nostrils, making me cough. A man came up behind me and touched my
shoulder.
"Are you okay, Miss?"
he asked me.
"Yes. Thank you," I
replied, smiling.
The man returned the smile, then
walked away to help a woman with three children grab some of her bags.
I took another breath, through my
mouth this time, but even without my sense of smell I could still taste the
rancid smell on my tongue.
"It’s fine. You’ll get over
it," I told myself, trying to be reasonable, but every time I took another
breath that awful smell lingered in my nose and itched in my throat.
I walked inside and took a few
flights of stairs down to the level my room was in.
Slowly, I pushed open the door and
found that I was the first person in the room, so I got to pick the bed I
wanted.
To my relief, the room only
smelled faintly of the paint, but anywhere else I went the smell was
nauseating. I didn’t know what to do. There was no way I could spent the whole
remainder of the trip locked up in my room. I couldn’t leave behind such a great
opportunity simply because the paint smelled bad, but I didn’t want to be sick
the whole way over either.
After a little bit of thought, I
decided I’d be staying.
I only spent a few minutes
getting my things set in place in the room before I decided to explore. The
hallways were all lighted and the walls whitewashed. There was nothing on them,
but I had heard that in the first class hallways they had magnificent paintings
and detailed wallpaper decorating the whole length of the corridors. The rooms
were said to be even greater. They were supposed to have comfortable chairs,
couches, and beds, which were decorated nicer than the halls. I had no idea if
the rumors were true or not and I never would, because a third class Irishwoman
would never be invited into first class accommodations.
I decided not to continue down
the corridors any longer, since they would all look the same. Instead, I made
my way back up to the deck.
I thought that maybe coming back
out here again wouldn’t be as bad as the first time, but as soon as the stench
of the fresh paint filled my nostrils again, I felt a strong urge to throw up;
for once, I was actually thankful that because of the poverty in Ireland, there
was nothing in my stomach to come back up.
I took a few more breaths, trying
to calm my senses, but once again I forgot about the sickening smell. Before I
knew it, I had fallen to the ground and was breathing hard.
I needed to get off. I couldn’t
go any further. This was hell.
As soon as my head was clear
again, I slowly stood back up and walked down to the lower levels to grab my
bag so that I could leave as soon as possible. I couldn’t believe that I was
doing this. It seemed so selfish, but a little voice in the back of my head
said everything would be all right, that for some reason I was making the right
choice.
I scanned the room one more time
to memorize every aspect of the room so that I would at least be able to go
back with some details of what I’d seen.
I wasn’t really sure what
happened after that. My mind was filled with racing thoughts of what I was
doing, about how stupid this was, but I didn’t care. Once again, I stepped onto
the deck and felt bile rise up in my throat. I instantly began to walk faster.
Once I debarked I broke down and
started crying. How could I make such a reckless decision? I had given up such
a great chance for a better life, for such a pointless little reason.
What would everyone else at home
think?
I didn’t even want to think about
that.
In my state, it took me an
extremely long time to walk back, and when I finally did reach home, everyone
just looked up from their work, or whatever they had been doing, and stared up
at me.
My mother came out first,
screaming and crying at me, but it was not from disappointment or anger. She
was crying because of happiness, because she was happy to have me here at home.
I smiled at her and said, "I
did get on, but I didn’t stay on. I got sick."
*****
"…but she didn’t."