It's simply remarkable how people can fall in love. Even if they appeared to be from different parts of the world, or perhaps, even from distant planets unbeknownst to us mere humans. That was certainly a theory, considering that humans only dream of extraterrestrial life-forms indigenous to the Moon or to Mars. But people even fall in love with each other from completely opposite perspectives of Life.
I was one of those people.
My family, formerly known by the last name of Austin, had recently converted to having our last name as "Tomlinson". As the eldest child of the family I took it upon myself to adopt the name. I was once known as Louis Troy Austin, but then became Louis William Tomlinson.
Anyways, enough of my surname.
My name, as you heard me say before, is Louis William Tomlinson of Doncaster, England. On 10 April 1912, I was going to America, commonly known as the Land of the Free. Or so they said. I always thought of America as the "Wild Side" of the world, mostly in part because the Americans refused to abide by the traditions of her mother country, Great Britain.
My body jerked forward as the clanking machine called a cabby halted to a stop in the middle of a dense crowd of peasants, their sweat and grime-laced fingernails flying everywhere around me. I involuntarily shuddered when I witnessed three drunk, loopy weasels from the local pub bellowing with laughter before all three collapsed to the dirt ground.
The vest worn above my expensive suit clutched at my chest, hugging my torso and cutting off my air supply every so often. It was extremely uncomfortable, but nonetheless, it was a requirement for me to wear when my father wanted me to look presentable in public.
Adjusting my button-down shirt beneath the beige vest, I waited until mother stepped out of the carriage, assisting her as best I could. Her silk-covered palms slid effortlessly into my bigger hands, clutching at my fingers until she was comfortably standing atop the ground.
"Dearest Mark, we must go before the ship leaves the dock!" she exclaimed, verbally ushering her husband from the motor car.
"Yes, Mum, I'm coming," he responded cheerily, climbing from the car before the steward shut the rickety door.
At last, it felt like the right time to be able to turn and witness the grandeur of the "floating palace". And my word was she breathtaking!
Four colossal stacks rose from the deck of the ship, blowing smoke occasionally like a man with his pipe; they were color-coded charcoal-black and gold. Along the railings of the deck stood people by the thousands, waving at the unfortunate people left behind here in Southampton. The ship seemed to rise a full kilometer from the water, yet was definitely more than a kilometer in length.
Mother helped the children leave the car before gesturing to them to wait around my awe-struck figure. Before long, the girls were all out of the car, and father strutted away towards the ship's boarding line, where the people boarding the Titanic flashed their tickets at the smartly-dressed gentlemen before proceeding inside. I helped Charlotte walk alongside me once I noticed the crowd engulfing her in their riot-like state.
The steward kindly directing the line of people to proceed inside the magnificent ship forced a smile at me, nodding curtly once he allowed our family inside. Something about them irked me, whether it was their forced manners or prejudiced faces that came into being once a teenager came aboard the ocean liner.
Once our family was inside the ship, we all awed with mouths agape at the truly rich splendor of the interior: velvet, burgundy carpets ran the length of the halls; peach-colored walls ran as far as the eye could see, painted with illustrious designs evoking royalty and wealth; and the rooms I managed to peek inside were nothing compared to my inquisitive imagination.