Say Goodbye for Me

By Rebecca Morgan

Wails.

They pierce through the walls of our cabin. Echo in the hall outside. Like the ship is haunted and full of ghosts. I shiver, bury myself in the blankets. My body slides against the wall of my berth. I scoot back to my warm spot. Slide down again.

Pounding and banging. Slams and thuds. Despite the noise, I notice the silence of the engines. Their humming made me think of Mama. When we boarded, Papa assured me that this trip would make things better. That Mama would follow soon. That the Titanic would be just like the boats I played with back home and I needn’t worry.

The bed creaks as Papa sits up beside me, turning on the light. He stands, losing his balance, hand reaching out for the bedpost. Lottie’s bassinet slams against the wall. She screams, fists flailing.

Papa’s face is as white as Mama’s lilies of the valley.

“Sinking!” A cry sounds in the hallway.

Sinking. Like my boat did in the river. Never to be seen again.

I want to be seen again.

Papa lets go of his support, struggling to Lottie. He scoops her up, blankets and all, and presses her against his chest. “Edmund, come.” Papa reaches for me, but I recoil as more wails fill the air.

Papa swears. His long arm snakes out and grabs my ankle, yanking me from the bed. The room pitches forward and my knees crack against the floor, Papa falling at my side. Clutching Lottie, he drags me to my feet and out the door.

The hallway is filled with people who cry and call. Sob and pray. A man knocks me aside and my hand slips from Papa’s.

I am alone.

I sob for Papa.

No one stops to help me. I am crushed among the bodies. The cake with a four in blue icing from my dinner churns in my stomach, and I vomit its sweetness onto the floor. No one notices. Papa’s voice reaches me amid the chaos, but I can’t see him. I’m too small.

The crowd pushes me against my wishes. I can’t breathe. I reek of vomit. The air reeks of fear.

Did Papa abandon me?

My chest hurts.

A hand closes around my arm. I kick and scream against it.

“Edmund,” Papa hisses, his face green as he yanks me against him. He’s hurting me. I tell him so, but he doesn’t stop.

We emerge on deck, the bitter cold biting through my thin pajamas. There’s lots of screams. Like when Mama and Papa fight. Only these are different. They are afraid, and it makes me afraid. It’s dark. And cold. I want Mama, but if she were here, wouldn’t she sink too?

People shove us; the deck is wet, and my feet slip. Papa wrenches me up, dragging me to the edge where a mass of people are grouped by a lifeboat hanging from cranes. He pushes us among them, and a man falls over the edge, screaming as he disappears in the black and boiling water. A child falls from the lifeboat; the mother jumps in after her. People push and pull, grabbing hair, a coat, a skirt. Anything that fingers can sink into.

Is this what Father Murray means when he speaks of hell?

Papa throws my sister like a ball to an officer in the lifeboat. He picks me up next, pausing to place a hand on my numb face. “Take care of your sister. Tell your Mama all is forgiven. Tell her that I love her and say goodbye for me.”

He throws me.

Cold air slaps me, but I don’t know where it comes from because there’s no trees to carry the breeze. The officer settles me next to a lady who holds my sister. My chest hurts so much. Papa’s face watches from above as we are lowered into the water that is swallowing the Titanic. I don’t want to be on the water.

“Papa,” I cry, stretching out my arms to him. But they’re not long enough, and he doesn’t reach for me. “Papa!” I scream, standing up. The lady who holds my sister yanks me down and I gnash my teeth at her, snatching Lottie away. She is mine.

Bow underwater, stern above. Time tick-tick-ticks. Maybe Papa can still be saved.

A crack vibrates through the air like thunder as the funnels snap like twigs, their great bulks crashing in the water. The boat is like mine after all as it falls apart. The lights on the ship blink out, plunging us into darkness as the bow disappears out of sight.

I can taste snot on my tongue.

Why did Papa leave me?

My sob is lost among other cries. I want Mama. I want the sounds to leave my ears. I slap my head to try and knock them out.

The stern falls before it rises again, cries cutting the night into pieces. The breath of many hangs heavy in the air. A white, foggy cloud. We wait. Watch. Maybe God is holding the ship so Papa will be saved. Or is he in the water? I look around for him, hope slightly warming my chest. But I can’t find him in the darkness.

With a groan the rest of the ship sinks beneath the surface. The water froths, like a monster lies beneath the depths. Then it stills. But the screams still echo in my ears. Someone swims beside us. The boat rocks violently as he tries to climb over the side, begging for a spot. The officer hits him with an oar and he lets go, sobbing for someone named Molly.

Lottie cries and I hold her against me, blowing my hot breath on her cheek to warm her. She’s so very small. I must take care of her. Papa said so.

“Goodbye, Papa.” My whisper hangs over the ocean before the dead catch my farewell and carry it to the depths.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca Morgan has been writing stories since before she could read—or at least, she thought she was! All these years later, she is definitely writing, having written four novels and countless stories and poems. Rebecca aims to write stories that heal and bring healing through the written word. Besides writing, Rebecca loves cooking, reading, journaling, blue oceans, and salsa. She lives in the South with her family.

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