It’s April 10, 1912, and I’m cruising across the Atlantic Ocean on a ship called the Titanic. It’s a big boat that needs feed an endless amount of coal just to keep its engines a blaze.

I had to get out of the smoke filled boiler room and out on deck. I needed fresh air, and to distinguish my roasting skin with the cool ocean breeze.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, as I leanimy palms onto of the railing. When I open my eyes, I see your hand in front of me holding a handkerchief.