I Watched Her Close Her Eyes

The words lift off, twirling around as I try to force them back onto the page, into sentences. Every thought that comes ebbs away while my back presses into the wall. Eyelids grow heavier with every second. A yawn escapes my mouth before surrendering into the world of darkness.

The drumming is light and rhythmic, reminding me of the waves hitting the side of the boat. It gets louder, more of a pounding. Is that the door? My eyes open immediately and confirm what I initially thought to be a dream.

"Wake up. Wake up. We need all passengers to move to the deck. Grab your life preserver."

I flip the covers back and glance at the clock. It is almost midnight.

The book makes a loud thump as it hits the linoleum, almost tripping me. I forgot I was reading it in bed before I went to sleep. My feet skim over it as I stumble towards the door. The doorknob provides stability when my hands turn it as quickly as possible. There is a lolling inside my head. My life preserver, I remind myself. I run back into the room to retrieve it and my leather coat before walking from the ship aft.

Why would they want us on the deck when temperatures are plummeting? I hope they didn't wake us up for a drill. Making my way to the deck, I eavesdrop on conversations.

"I wonder what all this fuss is about? I can't believe they woke us up at this godly time of night," says a woman to another.

"My husband has gone up ahead to look. I hope we can all return to our rooms shortly. I am in dire need of rest," the other replies. “We were up listening to the band when a steward came to get us,” says another.

"Stop right there," says a crewman. He steps in front of me, allowing other passengers in second-class to continue to the deck. He is so close to me that the sweetness and spiciness from the plum pudding in his breath overwhelm my nostrils.

I tell myself that there is no need to disgrace my family.

I stroll towards the third-class cabins, looking over my shoulder every few seconds. The thigh-high gate separating the classes is locked behind me and stewards are on guard. I can almost feel their stares penetrating my back. The band is still playing—cheerful and lively music.

"Do you know what is going on?" I ask another passenger sitting at a table in the general room and humming along with the band.

"They tell us there is no danger and to stay here," he replies before taking a swig of whiskey from his flask.

Small groups of men and women engage in conversation but most are still in bed in their rooms, following directions. There’s a heaviness building in the pit of my stomach. I try to swallow though my throat grows more constricted. Rubbing my sweaty palms against my pants, I remember another task I was doing before sleep. I pull out the paper and pen, staring at the red flag with the star at its center before writing.

My love. It is drawing near midnight, and a steward awakened me with a frantic knocking at my door. I do not yet understand what is going on. Something doesn't feel right. I long to see you and the children soon...

A shadow appears, covering my writing like a dark cloud. I look up. A young man pulls out a pipe and motions towards the smoke room with his hand. He does not speak English. I shake my head no, and he proceeds alone, joining a few other men whose laughter I can hear from where I sit. The orchestra begins to play "Lead, Kindly Light." I listen closely to the lyrics being sung.

Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom

Lead thou me on

The night is dark, and I am far from home

Lead thou me on

Keep thou my feet, I do not ask to see

The distant scene, one step enough for me

I force myself to write but I am left pondering the lyrics. Home is hundreds of miles away. I am momentarily distracted by a commotion near the gate, followed by the shuffling of feet, then silence.

My eyes drift from the table to the wall and across the room. Not a single breath enters my nostrils while my fingers encircle the pen. The seat grows warmer. Once I am sure there is no sound, I make my way to the gate. No one is there.

Here is my opportunity, and I do not hesitate to take it, making my way to the deck.

The sounds from the deck are deafening as flare after flare is shot into the canopy of the sky. Each explodes into a blue light creating stars that dance into the dark moonless night. My heart leaps with each bang, with each terrifying blue flash. I cannot tell which is louder–the drumming inside my chest or the echo of each blast resembling an anguished cry. My feet shake as I move slowly across the deck where most men and women are standing by calmly–observing. A cold wind sneaks beneath my clothes, sinking beneath my skin down to my bones. I wrap my arms tightly around my waist.

This view contrasts with my time here last evening, when electric lamps lined the hallway. During the day, passengers enjoyed a stroll. Some sat on benches chatting while others engaged in deck games on the raised roofs. Although the skies had gotten cloudier, the temperature was still 6o degrees—not warm but not so cold that one could not enjoy some time on deck in the fresh ocean air.

"Women and children first," shouts one of the crewmen.

Many of the women cling to their husbands, unwilling to part.

"Ma'am, you must go now," demands one of the crewmen to a woman. She, like many others, is dressed only in her nightdress with a warm coat around her shoulders.

"Not without my husband, John," she replies. Her arms are wrapped around his.

"Elizabeth, please go. Don't you worry. I'll be right behind in another boat," he says while caressing her face.

A crewman rips her out of her husband's embrace. Bright from tears, her face resembles the moon under the starry night. The screams of women and children ring in my ears as the boat begins its descent. I catch a glimpse of John. I know that look on his face. It is as if I could be staring at myself. A few strands of hair fan out over his forehead as the wind blows. Many men are waving and blowing kisses to their wives and children.

I cannot help but think about my wife and children, just as lifeboats make their way into the water. Many of us enjoyed a playful time on the deck just yesterday. My eyes follow each boat as it leaves. I had walked by those lifeboats several times during this trip. I try to breathe but the air is suffocating. I feel each heartbeat with my hand across my chest, wondering how many more there will be before my last. Something is wrong.

A group of stockers makes their way to the deck led by a junior officer. I turn away, unable to bear the expression on their faces.

"Halt," says the officer. I then look back at the men who avoid eye contact, complying with the given order. I follow them till they disappear in the distance below the staircase that leads to the lower deck. They must know more than we do.

As more boats leave and none return, fear takes root in me. My skin has lost its sallow complexion, appearing ghostlike under the dim light.

"Room for two more," shouts an officer. A man next to me jumps. I do not hesitate and follow him. It is dark. The men in charge are distracted. We begin to move away from the ship. The officer directs one of the women to the location of a lantern which we use as our guide. The ocean is as gentle as a river. It looks like glass as the boat drifts away. We are no more than 200 feet when the haunting cries of passengers remaining on board the vessel fills the silence.

We look back, each of us. My eyes widen. We see her as she moves forward, bow first until the water reaches the bridge. Her descent occurs very quickly from there. The third funnel disappears, and we hear four explosions. She breaks into two. Her wrecked hulk remains afloat for roughly two minutes before sinking. Suddenly, every light disappears as if she is closing her eyes and drifting to sleep. More frightful cries echo across the water as she makes her final descent. Their voices pierce through like a knife. I am reminded of the stockers. They are brave to sacrifice their lives for the many women and children. Now we observe a shooting star fall from zenith on the horizon. I close my eyes and make a wish asking that we will be kept safe.

The air feels frigid. The women and children are sobbing. They worry for the safety of their husbands, fathers, and loved ones. My eyelashes grow heavy. Icicles hang from them like fruit in a tree. I fear what will become of me. Will I ever see my family again? Will we, after escaping the perils of the sinking ship, live to tell about it?

The once calm waters grow rough as temperatures decline. No one says a word. Time moves slowly. In the darkness, we think we see square-rigged masts. We are disappointed when it proves to be an iceberg as we inch closer to it.

I stare at the stars in the sky. At one point, I am unsure if I am falling asleep or freezing to death. The stars disappear and daylight returns, signaling the beginning of a new day. My lips are chapped, and my face is numb. I can barely feel my hands and feet, though I know the cold air still courses over my body.

A bright red light shines in the distance. It appears to be a vessel heading towards us. We hesitate to believe it. For the first time, my chance of survival is not bleak. We row as quickly as we can around mountainous icebergs, making our way near it. Our lifeboat is minuscule in comparison to the giant ship.

Crew members lower a rope and, one by one, women and children are hauled up the side of the boat. My turn comes. I force my body to move. It feels stiff, as if a part of it will break away, frozen from the many hours we have spent traversing the cold waters. The rope is unsteady. I can barely sit on it. I keep my eyes open while crew members haul me upwards. I am staring into the seas we have come from and into the distant horizon. The bitter, cold wind slaps my face, and I am grateful for the arms that pull me into the boat—to safety.

The passengers on board this vessel are welcoming. They offer us food, clothing and a hot coffee. Some try to console the women and children-many who still look to the waters hoping that this ship will rescue another lifeboat—one with their husbands, sons, brothers, and other loved ones. We scour the vicinity in search of more survivors but no luck. Crewmen inform us that the ship will take us to New York. The weather is good but a sense of loss lingers. We give those of us who did not make it from the lifeboats a proper burial.

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Thank you for reading!