Chapter Two - the boy who never drowned

The sun had been pushed back further into space by dark clouds that heaved with a misty rain. It created a haze in the sky, alike to fog. That morning, my long blue curtains that were draped over white painted windows were draped hurriedly across by a long, thin woman who’s singing sounded like deranged Monk song; my Mother.

“Wake up sunshine!” She squealed, bouncing onto my bed. A sharp wave of shock trickled through me, she had not been into my room since I can remember. The only words she had spoken to me were either screams of anger or breathy whispers, words drowned in tears. I became quite disorientated, the dark shapes drifting in the sky conceived a grotesque shadow on my Mother’s face. “Don’t looked so shocked, darling.” Her velvety tone was a soothing hand to my beating heart. “We’re boarding the Titanic!” Her smile reflected that of a child, it was infectious. And just like that, a naïve, inspired smile, relieved the hellish figure of my Mother I had held so dear.

As Anne was dressing me in clothes that would not spoil due to the weather, Victoria appeared in the doorway. I almost thought it was Mother, but the absence of the demented singing told me otherwise. Victoria’s hazel eyes looked like a rabbit’s caught in headlights. She stood still, clutching her fur coat in her delicate hands. It was as though I had been transported into a dark past, Victoria’s little self, staring with glass eyes.

“Did-“ she started, immediately clearing her throat of the child speaking from it. “Did Mother wake you up this morning?” Anne’s eyes darted up to Victoria, then to me, then back down at the buttons on my shirt.

“Yes.” I replied, wondering why she had reacted in quiet panic. She wondered away.

 

I was solely focused on one thing. Maybe two things. It wasn’t the hustling streets, every corner containing people I had never seen before, and some corners hiding people I had. Young couples walked arm in arm, under the arms of umbrellas. Old couples, shuffling in the rain, thanking the skies they stayed alive long enough to witness this event. Children that ran around their laughing parents in circles, ruining their new shoes in puddles, splashing the rushing businessmen in long coats and long hats, grabbing umbrella sticks and young girls waists. I saw the man and the young girl from Fridays. But this was all background noise to me, because standing grandly behind the haze, was the great unsinkable ship, The Titanic. No detail could be seen beyond the layer of blurred rain, just it’s magnificent size. It loomed above us like an abandoned cathedral. I almost felt as though I was not worthy to board it. Father had small boats that we frequently travelled on, sometimes he would be there too. I would go down to the harbour in the early hours of the morning, the sun sleeping on the horizon. A girl would be there on Thursday’s. I felt as though I already knew her, but I never smiled. She was a tramp, but looked as though she belonged to a loving home. She was always asleep on the dock, wrapped in a blanket that would slowly slip off her round thighs. If I was feeling brave enough, I would creep over to her side of the dock and make sure the blanket covered her modestly. Men would stare, laugh, jeer. Sailors always had bad language; I never swore. Our boat was white, slight. I used to sit on the edge and watch the sun come to life. The tired orange would light up the girls hair, so it was a deep auburn. She looked like the human form of the sun, sleeping, but still a light. I would leave before she woke.

The other image I focused on was Mother and Father, two pronouns I would never say together. They walked about a metre in front of us, his large hand holding her fragile one. He took long strides, she took little steps in her pale heels. He held an umbrella to protect her long, straw like black hair, wild and un-kept. Sometimes she would lean her head on his shoulder, I would hear them laughing, their giggles floating into the rain. They looked like the Mother’s and Father’s that the window showed me. They looked like an ideal picture, painted by my imagination; but it was real. Her lilac coat fell down to the backs of her knees and no sound of singing. She appeared to be alike all the other Mother’s, and I felt Victoria’s relief as she walked beside me, glancing at the beautiful illustration in front of us.    

“Do you think that man is staring at me?” Victoria said, her voice low and surprised, but not that surprised. A lot of men stared at her because she stared at them. She was pretty, I heard the maids say, but they didn’t sound happy about it. Maybe serving ugly children would be easier for them. I followed her beckoning gaze, and a young man was indeed staring. He stood against the back wall of the Newspapers, smoking with friends that were staring at something far more magnificent. I wondered what would draw his eyes away from the Titanic and to the wide, unblinking eyes of my sister. “He’s definitely staring.” She grinned, taking a swift glance back at the boy.

“If you are going over to him, please leave the umbrella with me. I don’t want to get my coat wet.” I asked politely. She laughed, well, cackled.

“Of course I’m not going over there.” She rolled her eyes, straightening her back so she seemed taller. I was tall for fourteen, many of my Father’s colleges thought I was older. Victoria’s thin body gave the impression of being taller, but it was an illusion, proved when she shared an umbrella with me. “Anyway even if I did, I would take the umbrella. Screw your jacket.” She half snapped. Sometimes I thought she liked me as a brother, sometimes I thought otherwise. We kept walking, she kept looking back. “I hope he’s on board.” She muttered. I sighed. “Oh, lighten up, Felix. There are bigger things to worry about than your stupid coat.” Father had taken me to Oxford Street to buy the coat I was wearing that day. He joked about something that lawyers found funny and I pushed a laugh similar to his. Then he said he was proud of my Ocean drawing, and noticed a coat hanging in a shop window.

“This would look good on you.” He smiled. “You’d look like a real gentleman.” And he bought it. I always wore it when we went out, hoping he’d notice, comment, or remember the love he felt toward me that day. I was still waiting.

 

The Titanic revealed itself the nearer we became. I saw the yellow lights in the hundreds of windows that littered its side. A firework thrill filled me as I looked at the ship, Victoria squeezed my arm. Mother looked back at us as we were climbing the steps.

“Beautiful children.” She beamed.