Written by Chromatique
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.
June 18, 1916
Cal sat down on the park bench
wearily and heavily. It wasn’t often that he came to Philadelphia anymore; he
had long since relocated to Boston. It was ever so much more convenient for
business. Business. It was such a dreadful word for him. It was empty, and it
reminded him of a bottomless abyss leading to nowhere. Business was the precise
reason he had traveled on the ten o’clock train to Philadelphia. He had taken a
lonely walk to the park where he had previously tried to win over Rose from his
hotel on the edge of the city. "Cancel all my appointments and don’t take
any messages for me," he had said dejectedly to his new valet, Oliver.
"I’m not taking any calls today. I wish to be left alone." He had
taken a liking to Oliver, even if it was a grudging liking. Oliver couldn’t
hold a torch to Lovejoy, of course. Few people could. But simple Oliver always
did as he was told, and he did it quickly and efficiently. He also didn’t
appear to suspect anything of Cal; to the contrary, the boy seemed to worship
him. So here Cal sat, on the bench, and all of a sudden he wished he hadn’t.
Whenever he sat like this, letting his mind wander freely, he often came back
upon the past and he got rather moody and brooding, which was very unbecoming
to him. He calmly sat in the warm summer afternoon, appearing as a man at ease,
but inside of his mind was a whirling torrent of emotions and questions. Why
had Rose left him for Jack? What had he done wrong? Could he have fixed it if
he had realized it? Had Rose survived? Did Rose miss him? Did anybody miss him?
Where was Rose now? Was she rich or poor? Was she happy? Was she married? Was
she dead?
Cal’s stew of thoughts was
shattered by the sound of a familiar voice singing and coming down the path to
greet him. A fair soprano voice was singing gaily the lyrics of a show tune
that Cal had heard but had long since forgotten. Down the cobblestone walk came
Rose. Rose. His Rose; his wild, fiery Rose, whom he had lost and not seen in
four years. Outwardly, she looked the same, with her sapphire blue eyes and
flaming, curly locks, but there was an aura about her that was never present
when she was with Cal. Almost immediately, Cal was able to pinpoint what it
was. She looked happy. She had been able to feign happiness when she was around
him; oh, yes, she was an exceptional actress, but this happiness was genuine;
there was no mistaking the spark that lit up her eyes. The sunlight was
shattered by the trees growing alongside the path, and the scattered light
caught in Rose’s hair, teasing the red color and tinting it gold. A slight
summer breeze swelled around, catching a violet Rose had placed in her bun and
pulling it away, back towards Cal. Quick as a flash he snatched it away from
the summer breeze and clutched it to his heart. He watched her ambling down the
path, still singing, now a ballad, and he thought about his life and what it
could have been.
The End.