The Titanic: A New Life

Chapter 3

The next morning, Marilynn, Michael, and I ran outside in our night clothes and stockings, sliding down the polished wood floors at high speeds.
Various people yelled at us as we giggled, running into someone more than once...and we weren't moving too slow, either.
We flew down the halls and stopped only to glide at the turns.
Our mother was still sleeping, and we wanted to have some fun.
When we noticed this, I came up with the idea to run around the ship. But why run when you can glide?
I wanted to do something that would make our mother mad, since she seemed less connected to me than she was to Marilynn or Michael.
She already saw me as the troublemaker. Why not prove her correct?
If anyone was going to get in trouble that day, it was going to be me.
Marilynn was in a pink nightgown that reached a little lower than her knees, the hem fluttering when we rushed fast enough. Her curly hair was in a neat ponytail that flattered her face, drawing the attention of all the passing teenage boys. I didn't care that they weren't looking at me. I was happy they admired my sister.
Michael wore black pants and a matching shirt with a single pocket, which he stuffed with silver tops (which were later called Hershey's kisses) and lifesavers that he had stolen off of a passing waiter's tray. Why the waiter was carrying candy, I didn't know.
I laughed in my white nightgown, quite similar to Marilynn's, my hair in a sloppy braid that flew behind me on our wild ride.
Eventually, I slid right into a nobleman and...well, let's just say there was no getting away from there.
We were sent back to our mother, who was intoxicated and irritated that we had done something so degrading.
"What were you thinking, Amberlynn?!" she screamed, causing me to shrink back in my bed. When she used my real name, I knew she was dead serious, and that was bad news for me.
"They wanted to have fun," I replied weakly. "So we had fun."
I hadn't anticipated that she would be so mad. But, then again, I didn't anticipate that she would be an alcoholic, either.
"This is unacceptable behavior," mother claimed authoritatively. "And I expect nothing such as this to happen again."
"Never again mother," I sighed apologetically. "Never again."
For the rest of the days on that ship, she would take out all of her frustration on the child that she thought was always at fault: me. And that led me to seeking refuge in my siblings. But, until my mother would accept me and leave me alone, I would find valuable ways to spend my time without her.
For the remaining hours of the day, I read a book on how to survive a sinking ship.
"Are you serious?" Marilynn asked when she saw what I was reading.
"I'm just being safe!" I defended, not ecstatic about my sister's criticism. "Better safe than sorry..."
"Can you make me my food, Laurie?" Michael groaned, still managing to sound cheery, even on an empty stomach. "I'm hungry!"
"Of course, Michael," I agreed easily, happy to help the young boy that brought my father back to me.
My father.
The parent that didn't think of me as a waste of time; a nuisance; a troublemaker. He instead saw me as a smart child with a bright future.
But my father was gone now, never to come back.
We had a simple meal of biscuits and gravy, with some fruit for dessert. The fruit had come in a basket that had been sent by one of our friends on the boat, although mother never told us who.
Marilynn and I proceeded with our usual nightly chatter, me crawling over to her bed so we could talk as the other child slept. It was my turn to go over to Marilynn's bed, after all.
We alternated between going to each other's bed and staying at our own, waiting for the other to make their way over.
It was my turn that night.
My mother was only pretending to be asleep so she could wait until we fell asleep to drink again.
"Today was fun," Marilynn stated obviously. "I wish it could be like this every day. This is so much better than England!"
We had come to ride the Titanic once before we would return to our home in the capital of London, England.
"I agree that it's nice to have mother not work for once," I agreed tentatively. "But I miss home."
At that moment, I had a bad feeling that made my stomach sour. A feeling that told me we wouldn't be going home.
I fell asleep that night in a similar manner to the one before, the sound of my mother drinking alcohol lulling me to sleep.
The next morning I woke up, my siblings and I went our separate ways. Marilynn went to socialize with the high members of society, and Michael came with me to the library. I was starting to get him interested in books.
But he only likes them if I read them to him. With my help, he was learning to read himself.
Of course, our mother had told us that we needed to meet back at the room at 3:00 to prepare for dinner.
I had asked why so early, but my mother just turned on her heel and went back to sleep, an affair she was involved in more and more often as the days passed.
When we reached the book filled room, Michael gasped and gawked at all of the books collected in that singular room, illuminated by windows at the top of each wall on every side, with book filled shelves that reached all the way up to the bottom of the window.
I pulled out a few books that I thought Michael would like and I started reading.
I got carried away with the time and had to ask someone what the hour was.
They told me it was 3:15.
I panicked and dragged Michael back to our room, where we were greeted by our angry mother, who screamed at us for being late. We apologized and threw on our clothes as fast as we could, watching as the already prepared Marilynn walked around the room.
I quickly learned why this dinner was so important. We were eating with the rich people in society; people I didn't want to associate myself with.
My mother had pulled my hair and poked me in the eye trying to apply make up so many times, Marilynn insisted she would do it.
She was more gentle and caring, and she finished getting me ready two times faster than I would have been done if my mother had done it, with one hundred percent less pain.
I made sure to thank her, to which she answered, and I quote, "It was no big deal. When you have to deal with that woman doing your hair half your life, you quickly learn what not to do."
On the night of the twelfth, we went as a family to the dining hall with the other nobles.
I wore a dark green dress of fine silk that reached the same length as the nightgown I had worn the night before, with full straps over my shoulders and matching shoes. I wore a bow in my hair that held two small braids back, the rest of my hair flowing down my back in delicate waves.
Marilynn walked with our mother in a matching white dress to the one that she wore, similar to mine but in color.
"Be on your best behavior," mother ordered impatiently. "Don't embarrass me in front of these people."
I was hurt by her bitterness. What had we done to make her so cold? Well, I had done plenty of things to make her the way she was, but what had the other children done? Nothing!
Michael tugged at the collar of his tight polo shirt, uncomfortable in his own skin.
"Laurie, I don't wanna wear this shirt," Michael complained childishly.
"Please wear it, for mother," I pleaded in a soft voice, hoping to convince him. Michael listened obediently and did as he was told with a sigh.
We sat down in our designated places and were given several scornful glances from our mother when we grabbed the wrong utensil or picked something up with our hands. Well, we had never had any training, so how were we supposed to know what to do?
But the meal made all of our mistakes worth it.
The table was an extravagant sight to behold, with silver plates and trays with foods of different consistencies, colors, and shapes, all of which I planned to try.
I helped Michael fill his plate with things he would like, and he gave me a lopsided smile that let me know he was truly happy with what I had done. I returned it with a smile of my own.
I filled my own plate and watched my sister elegantly use her fork and take small bites of her food. I imitated her and did the same, but Michael ate ravenously. His appetite never ended.
He ignored our mother's cynical glare and mortified expression as other people started to stare at this ill-mannered child at "their" table. He was eating, and he was going to enjoy it.
I knew he would surely be punished for what he was doing then, but I decided to focus on the here and the now and I continued to enjoy my meal.
We didn't really talk to our peers, seeing as they were our betters, according to the social pyramid.
When we returned to our room, our mother started yelling at Michael almost immediately.
"Where are your manners, young man?!" she screeched at him, her face flushed with anger. "That was the most humiliating display I have ever seen!"
Then she did something she never should have done.
She struck Michael across the face.
He reeled back with a hand to his red cheek, tears in his eyes as his bottom lip started to quiver.
Who did she think she was?
Rage flared up inside me as I stormed toward my mother, right into the eye of the hurricane. And do you know what I did?
I slapped my mother across the face just as hard as she had smacked my brother.
"You can slap me, discipline me, and even hate me," I growled menacingly. "But you do NOT hurt my brother!"
My mother cowered for a moment before she came firing back.
"Who are you to tell me what to do, girl?!" she shouted furiously. "You know nothing about children!"
"I know that you have been ignoring your children and that I have had to take care of this one while you drink the night away!" I retorted, finally over the edge and not able to take it anymore. This woman was not my mother. She was a cold, abusive witch of a human being who didn't deserve a place in our lives anymore. I had taken the position of mother, and that was where I would stay for the rest of my life.
The alcohol was destroying her, physically and mentally. Yes, that was it.
As this war raged on, Michael and Marilynn watched on with interested and fearful anticipation, waiting for the climax of our fight.
"If that's how you feel, then fine," my 'mother' told me, flopping onto her bed and rolling on her side, away from me.
"Fine!" I agreed, falling onto my own bed.
"Fine!"
And that was the last word.
The light of the moon gave our room a soft glow as it shone through the window, illuminating the silent tears sliding down my cheeks as I lay on my side, facing the wall.
"Are you alright?" Marilynn pried softly. I sighed. It was her turn.
"I'm fine," I lied, trying to keep my voice from shaking as I refused to turn to her.
"I honestly think you had a point," Marilynn confessed quietly. "Mother has been ignoring us."
I swear, if I could have seen my mother at that time, she would have cringed. She probably was, since I knew she was awake once more, as always, waiting for us to sleep. But Marilynn didn't know that.
"Thank you," I told Marilynn hoarsely.
"I will always take your side. I promise," Marilynn pledged to me.
I smiled as I finally shifted so I could see her. She had been crying, too. I was sure Michael was, as well. "You just don't slap a four year old."
"Never again," I replied, cold and serious. I found it ironic how I had spoken those same words the day before to the woman who had inflicted the pain on my sibling. I had always been protective of the only brother I had ever had, and now I needed to protect him from our own mother. It was a cruel situation for sure.
"Good night, Lauren," Marilynn bid me.
"Good night, Marilynn," I responded.
And I fell asleep in an eerie silence, once more knowing my mother was still emptying those bottles, one by one, slowly taking days off of her life.