Perhaps it was the fact I knew the people at the dinner party would never see the light of day again... Or maybe it was because where I precisely stood, would soon be floundering at the bottom of the Atlantic.. All I saw in front of me was his dark, Victorian complexion, his violin resting comfortably under his chin as the ballad, Nearer My God To Thee wailed in its breathy modulation, hordes of people wandered lost in some alien terror...
There, mist the chaos, stood Wallace the Saint. Even in our final hours, he was still entertaining - whether the passerby bothered to listen or not. He never seemed to be humiliated by this plain reality. He only played with a passion that the great Beethoven himself would envy. An utter madman on the violin - all the mundane people could not comprehend his musical genius. Even in our final hours, he was still entertaining.Tonight I realized I would not see him again. I'd never see his damned fiancee again. I wold never be able to hear Orpheus, or any other concerto that made tears come to my eyes. My throat started to clot up. My heart... my heart....
There were always these illogical rumors whispered in fear during the deepest hours of the night in regards to men being attracted to men. However, I never thought it would be considered relevant to me, that is until these past four days, all leading up to this top moment...
The sudden realization of this dawned on me, making sense at last. Like a puzzle had come to together at last, or a magnificent story coming to and end. No matter how many times I've been introduced to affluent, blushing women, I have never been quite attracted to them. It was always this man who looked me dead in the eye during concerts while performing and in and out of tempo changes. He was brought to the RMS Titanic due to his contempt to take on bigger challenges. The goddamned Wallace Hartley is the one I love. I was perfectly sure of it, even as the reality of the sinking ship pulsed around my cello and I. I didn't love him with a pure brotherly love; I love him the way I should've loved a woman. As we neared the last verse of Nearer My God To Thee, he stopped shortly on the last note, as the ship groaned beneath us, a stricken calm look on his face.
"Gentlemen, I bid you farewell."
As the other men picked their instruments up and began to walk away I went to Wallace, before I could lose the nerve. "John? What are you doing? You must leave and seek--"
"By God, man!" I declared my sole monocle in place, "You are magnificent!" Before he could react, I took his face in my hands, and kissed him full on the mouth, my lips locked firmly on his. Slowly he began to kiss me back, as a mob of people rushed past, several open mouthed in awe, other figuring they didn't see such a thing. I for once was tired of pretending. Kissing Wallace in those final moments seemed to set me right. As we gently came apart, he observed me with a scrupulous intensity.
His dark eyes incalculable, "John," his voice gone soft. "Be careful, my good man. I would certainly hate for you to lose your life on this dreadful incident." "And I to you, dear Wallace." I reply, my voice hoarse, as I give him a small salute and disregarded the aghast expressions from all around us.
Wallace gave a self-righteous smile. “ We shall bide through this, just you see! Take care, good Woodward, be careful." I nod my head, slightly and kissed him cautiously on the cheek as I bid him my farewell. There was no time for my precious cello, as the lifeboats were filling quickly. Mobs of women and children awaited all sides, as shots from the crew filled the air with the all-familiar stench of fear overwhelming us.
Feeling withdrawn from the hordes of people I paused yet again as the boat creaked along the middle of the ship, "Everyone get back! Women and children on the boats now! Get Back!” We clamored further up the ship; afraid of certain death, terrified of the tragically romantic fate that lay before us. Wallace. My mind clammy with the sudden thought of the indubitable circumstance of this inevitable “unsinkable” iron ship,
Slowly groaned into the Atlantic, ensued the echoes of the ships' victims. I could barely see the ship as it was claimed by the Atlantic's icy grip. But, all I could think of when I closed my eyes was the ballad Wallace had imprinted into my memory that had now become my personal metaphor.
Nearer My God To Thee.
