That's Deep

I think I knew it was going to happen as soon as I bought the tickets.

There was something about the story in the paper, something tragic about the excitement, the enthusiasm, the unbridled optimism. It called to me like a siren, and before I knew it, I was spending three months' worth of wages on a ticket for myself. I had been saving up for a ring for my girl, but admittedly I wasn't actually excited to marry her. It was just something to do, maybe something that would break up the growing monotony of life.

And now this was something else to do. Somewhere to go, something to see, this great steel beast ready to take on the ocean, certain that it was stronger than nature, unsinkable.

Only fools and rich men have the audacity to be that optimistic, I thought as I stared at the advert. Only those with nothing to lose. And then I went and bought a ticket.

When I boarded the ship, I had no one to look back to. My girl had dumped me upon hearing that I had bought myself a ticket and not one for her as well. Something deep inside me knew not to bring her along. She wanted so much from life, she with bright eyes and dreams of a perfect kitchen and a garden with carrots and artichokes. Artichokes, of all things. She loved artichokes but could rarely find a proper excuse to buy them. She figured that if she grew them, she could have them any time she liked. Why spoil her dreams, her sweet, simple dreams, with something so resplendent as a trip on an unsinkable ship? Artichokes would never be able to live up to that.

As the ship got ready to sail, I thought about history. Its moments, I mean. Moments like this, and how long they actually manage to live on. I don't know anything about the first ship that was ever built to last out in the middle of the ocean; does anyone? I thought about whether those Titanic adverts would be saved, and passed down the generations so that everyone would know a little about this unsinkable ship. Or, after a few successful voyages, would this ship simply sail out of the world's consciousness and into the annals of history? The fact that I was one of the first passengers of this vessel would shrink to a number in a footnote somewhere, nothing more or less.

That was only if we survived though. On the second day of the trip, it began to strike me that maybe I should have that extra glass of wine. Maybe eat a little more chocolate than I usually would, an extra biscuit with tea, because why not? I would likely never take a trip like this again. By then I had also decided that I would stay in New York, start fresh, leave England behind me. I heard that anything was possible in New York. Hell, if a few colonists were able to build a whole country starting in New York, then they must be right. The Tea Party always bothered me though. I figured I just wouldn't think about it.

There wasn't much time to think about anything by the time we hit the iceberg. Somewhere between my chest and my stomach, I think I gave up. Gave up on starting over in New York, gave up on life just as easily as I gave up on my girl. I remembered who I was. I remembered how I thought, let's test this hypothesis, shall we? Let's see if this ship will actually ferry me across the deep dark safely. I remembered that I don't believe in absolutes. Maybe in my deep dark, this was my way of finishing things off. One more adventure, however short. And maybe the dream of living in New York was a just-in-case-positive-thinking-wins-out scenario than a real plan.

There were men who argued to be put in lifeboats before women and children. I was not one of them. I stayed out of the hustle as much as I could, it grated at my nerves. Then there I was, floating in the icy cold, so cold, as though I was in the center of sweating glass of lemonade except colder and much saltier. I looked up at the sky speckled with stars as my blood ran colder and colder, and before my eyes closed, I smirked.

Unsinkable, indeed.