Written
by Abby
Normal
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.
Summer 1928
Cal Hockley leaned back on the park bench.
This summer, he had decided to take his family to Philadelphia for a long
weekend. It was the first vacation he himself had had in six years. He didn’t
like breaks. When he stopped working, he started thinking. Thinking about
everything he had done.
He had sent his wife and five daughters out
for brunch while he went for a walk. His wife. His boring wife. She was ever so
dull. She tired him and wore on him, but he loved their daughters. His five
little girls, his children who he didn’t know how to play with. He wanted to
teach them games and read them stories, but he didn’t know how.
Another little girl of about four, not his
own, ran by him. A tall, dark-haired man, presumably her father, ran after her.
The man vaguely reminded him of Jack Dawson, although he didn’t look anything
like him. Besides, that boy was dead, and Rose with him.
The father finally caught up with the little
girl, and she yelped with delight, then tackled him. The strong man fell to the
ground and played dead.
"Daddy, get up." She giggled when
he stuck his tongue out. She climbed up on top of her father and hugged him,
her golden locks spilling over his chest.
Cal sighed in pain. This was a real father.
A familiar female voice called to the pair,
and they got up. The man picked up the little girl, and they disappeared
through a line of trees. Instinctively, Cal followed.
Father and daughter were met by mother and
son. The boy was a toddler of about two, and the mother was a tall, red-headed
woman. The little boy climbed out of his mother’s lap and jumped into his
father’s arms as soon as his sister was set down, and she crawled into her
mother’s lap.
It was a perfect picture of family. A mother,
a father, a daughter, and a son all outside together with green trees and the
sunlight as golden as the little girl’s hair.
The wife pulled her husband’s face down for
quick kiss and then continued to unpack a picnic basket. The girl moved from
her mother’s lap and skipped off in Cal’s direction.
"Don’t wander too far," warned her
mother.
"I'm just going under the bush!"
shouted the girl.
"Okay," smiled her mother,
"but no farther." She shook her finger.
The girl crawled under the bushes…and a
little farther. She spotted Cal standing not too far away.
"Hello, mister."
He cleared his throat. "Well,
hello."
The girl squinted her eyes at him. She had
such a familiar countenance. "Why do you look so sad?" she asked. Cal
said nothing. "How can you be so sad when it’s so pretty out?"
"I don’t know. What makes you think I’m
sad?"
"I don’t think you’re sad. I know you’re
sad. It’s easy to tell. Sometimes when I’m sad my mommy sings to me, or Mommy
or Daddy reads me a story. Daddy sings, too, but he’s very bad at it."
Over by the picnic the girl’s brother had
gotten what appeared to be applesauce all over his face.
"What did you do, baby boy?" asked
his mother. "I don’t know how you get any of it in your mouth."
"Rose," said the husband,
"what time do we have to be at Rick’s?"
"Not until three."
Rose? Cal thought. It couldn’t be, but it couldn’t anyone else. Not with
that hair, much shorter than the last time he saw her, but no one else had hair
that red. Her voice, the way she moved--it was his Rose.
All those years he thought her dead. But her
she was alive as ever. Radiant and beautiful. But where was Jack Dawson?
Probably dead for all Cal could decipher.
He was thankful for Jack. He gave him
something he could hate, something to be angry about, even though Jack had only
wanted what he wanted, and probably loved Rose more, anyway. Nothing stirred
emotion in him anymore, save for Jack and Rose, and his daughters, of course.
Caledon Hockley was dead.
But here was Rose. Alive. God, was she gorgeous.
It hurt to look at her. He had caused her so much pain. But now she was happy.
She was so free and he was so guilty. His existence no longer mattered to her.
This wonderful little family she had was all anyone would need, he thought. She
had a husband who was good with her children. Cal Hockley was dead to Rose,
too.
"Hey, Mr. Calvert," said Rose,
playfully. "I know somebody’s who going to be very upset when her brother
eats all of her lunch!"
"Really, Mrs. Calvert?" asked her
husband. "That’s very interesting. I think I know who you’re talking
about."
"Oh, no!" squealed the little girl.
She clapped her hands over her mouth. She was about to skip off towards her
family, but first she picked a daffodil growing near the bush. "Here you
go. This is for you. Feel better."
She stretched out her arm, presenting him the
flower. Cal took it.
"Thank you."
"You’re welcome." She gave him a
little curtsy, and skipped off. "Bye!"
Cal watched the little girl crawl through the
bush and back to her family. He hoped she wouldn’t mention anything to her
parents. But she just seemed to go right for her sandwich.
After the quirky gang was done eating, they
romped and played. He recalled his eldest daughter reading the story of Peter
Pan to the four younger ones. The beginning described the Darling family.
It was said that Mrs. Darling had one special kiss that nobody could get, not
even Wendy or Mr. Darling. When Mrs. Darling danced and whirled in the joyous
miasma, you could see the kiss. She was the kiss.
And here was Rose, dancing and playing with
her family. She, too, was the kiss. The kiss that would never love him. Only
Peter Pan could get Mrs. Darling’s kiss. Cal only knew of one ever to receive
Mrs. Calvert’s kiss. Maybe this Mr. Calvert had gotten the kiss, but he
couldn’t be sure.
He examined that strange, merry band called
the Calverts for the duration of their outing. After lunch, they danced and
romped and sang like storybook characters. Sometime after, they became tired
and napped under the shade of a tree.
After her family was fast asleep, Rose
separated from them for a moment. Walking out into the middle of the small
field, she looked up to the sky. The blinding light did not seem to bother her
in the least; she stared straight up towards the sun. Her arms were down at her
sides, not bothering moving them to protect her eyes.
She seemed to give a sort of satisfied nod,
and then made her way back to her sleeping family. But she did not appear to
walk back to the tree, but drifted purposely towards them, just as she had
towards the light.
Rose stopped in front of the unconscious
band, watching them as Cal watched her. She lay down under the tree and kissed
each of her children on their foreheads, then finally rested her head on her
husband’s shoulder and fell asleep herself.
Cal continued to observe them for a time.
With nothing more to do, he stalked off. He decided to leave them alone with
their happiness.
Rose.
She lived. She lived. How did she go
undetected? Where did she go? What had she been doing these past sixteen years?
Did Ruth know she was alive? Poor wretch never left the old Bukater Mansion
anymore. It was all she had left, anyway.
Cal wandered around the city for an hour or
so before stopping at the cemetery. As the time passed, the sun withdrew back
behind the clouds at nearly the same time Rose disappeared from Cal’s sight. He
had visited Rose’s grave and that of her father countless times. He went to
visit them today with new sentiment.
In the distance, he spotted Rose again. She
was about to go through the gates near her family’s plot. Her daughter handed
her a bouquet of daffodils she had picked earlier. She thanked the little girl
and squeezed her husband’s hand, staring into his eyes.
There seemed to be an understanding between
the two, a strange, yet powerful, bond. They both had secrets. They seemed to
know of the other’s secrets, but never seemed to recognize them. Both Rose and
Calvert were strange enigmas.
Rose again drifted towards her destination as
if she was being drawn towards it. She placed the flowers at her father’s
grave. Cal crept closer towards her, making sure not to be seen by either Rose
or her Calverts. Next, Rose turned the grave along side Henry DeWitt Bukater’s.
She concentrated on it and let out a strange sigh. She turned away, back
towards her husband and children, once again leaving the headstones to their
solitude.
After she was long gone, Cal made his way
over to the DeWitt Bukaters. There was never a body below Rose’s headstone.
Now, there was no body at all.
He wished he could’ve approached her. But
what would he say? He would be blessed if she left him alive. He wanted
forgiveness, but he would dare not ask for it…ever. He knew he didn’t deserve
it.
He now knew the secret to Rose. He loved her.
He’d always loved her. But he held on to her too tight, so tight that she
slipped through his fingers. He realized how Jack and this new man Calvert
loved Rose. They loved her selflessly, as she loved them.
Now Cal loved her selflessly, too. But it was
too late. Rose was better off without him, nonetheless.
He let her leave in peace. He only wished her
further happiness, the happiness she had truly earned. Before, only his
daughters had made him happy. Now, Rose made him happy.
He stared at the letters:
In Loving Memory Of Rose Cornelia DeWitt
Bukater
February 24, 1895 – April 15, 1912
Lost At Sea
All the pain he had caused her didn’t matter
now, not to her. Caledon Hockley was dead to Rose Calvert. Her scars made her
stronger; his made him weaker. He grew feebler by the year.
Just before Cal was about to take his leave,
the sun began to break through the clouds. He looked up, squinting his eyes as
it became stronger. He put his hands to his face to shield his eyes.
He looked down at the graves. The sunlight
washed over Rose DeWitt Bukater’s tombstone. The grave no longer stood under
the gloomy, gray skies, but reflected the golden rays off its surface, much
like the woman whose memory it held. The sunlight spread so fast; it spread as
fast as the water that had engulfed Titanic. More and more, until every rule
Cal had known was washed away, too, and was once again replaced by truth.
The End.
