April 10, 2004
New York City.
On Avenue A, in an apartment on the seventh floor, Fabrizio De Rossi was just now waking up and starting on a brand-new day.
He sat up in his bed with a small yawn as he gently rubbed the remnants of slumber from his eyes. He brushed his thick hair away from his forehead as he reached over and turned off his digital clock, which read 6:30 AM, on the stand beside his bed.
He uncovered himself from the sheets. Walked over to his one window, and pulled back the curtain where sunlight was streaming through.
He opened the window and looked out over the magnificent city that was his home. . . He saw tall buildings, and skyscrapers that seemed to almost touch the endless blue sky where thin clouds were parting and the sun had just risen. In the distance he could see Lady Liberty with her torch, guarding her city. . .
"Good morning!" he said to the sun, and somehow the sun seemed to say good morning as well.
He did some quick, easy exercises for ten minutes. He then stepped into his bathroom and took a quick shower, washing himself thoroughly.
He went to his dressing mirror. He took hold of a thin, silver-white comb and began to tidy his jet-black, shiny, silky hair, combing it gently behind his ears with the smoothest of strokes. After this, he brushed his pearly white, perfectly set teeth.
He dressed himself, tied on his shoes, tucked a clean handkerchief into his jean pocket. He stood in front of his full-length mirror and smoothed out his clothes. He was wearing a shiny, dark brown leather jacket that matched his eyes, and black jeans. He then tied a white/red striped ascot around his neck.
He put on his hat, which was a prized possession of his, and exited his room.
He took the stairs, as he did every day when he left for his daily job. He found this to be good exercise, and it may also have been another reason why he was in such fine shape.
After skipping lightly down the front steps of the apartment, he took a moment to look at the sun, as he did every day, even when it was raining.
Fabrizio was a tenderhearted and very agreeable young man. He had been born and raised, for a while, in a small town outside of Venice Italy. When he was seven-years-old, his father had moved the family to New York. Fabrizio remembered when he had come to America as a little kid, he hadn't known any English at all at the time, and had struggled for years. He now could speak English fluently, and had been doing so for years, though his accent remained as broad and as beautiful as ever.
He was a well grown, medium sized man at five feet ten and a half. He was athletically built and looked so strong yet so gentle. He was almost twenty-one-years-old, though his endearingly youthful looks made him seem somewhat younger. He somehow always looked happy. He was full of hope and life and love for everything and everyone.
Helga Dahl, like Fabrizio, was just getting started on her day. She was a nurse at the city's hospital, and was very efficient.
She was tall and slender in her white nurse's uniform, crisp and clean. She had a very porcelain doll quality to her. Her hands were as delicate and gentle as could be imagined, she had pink, rosy cheeks, and deep, sea blue eyes that always smiled.
Adjusting the white cap that was set in the midst of her many strawberry-blonde curls, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
She then found her clipboard, and went over her schedule for the day.
Fabri should be arriving at any minute, she thought, dreamily.
Fabrizio was her boyfriend. She had known him for a month and they had been going steady for almost as long. She could remember the day they met like it was yesterday. . .
It was a typical day for Helga. She had just completed her grocery shopping and was taking the large sacks containing the items she had purchased out of the cart that she had been using, truly minding her own business.
Without warning, a young man who seemed a year or two younger than her, approached and said in what seemed to her like the voice of an angel, "Please, let 'a me carry these for you."
She started to tell him that it really wasn't necessary, but he was immediately taking the heaviest sacks, which contained a few boxes of fabric softeners, as well as clorox bleach, into his arms. He was smiling as he did so.
His arms were lined with gracefully curved muscles, and his hands, while very delicate, showed genuine strength. However, it became apparent that he really couldn't handle the weight of the sacks. He took one step, stumbled, and they fell freely from his arms, landing with a soft thump on the concrete.
He gave an embarrassed little chuckle, and continued smiling as he bent to gather the items, which had fallen out of the sacks.
"I'm a' so sorry. I'm a' so clumsy, today." He apologized politely. He held the sacks, which had been slightly torn on the impact. His arms trembled slightly.
Helga smiled with amusement, and gently took her sacks from him. She held them tightly in her own arms, with no difficulty whatsoever.
His cheeks were now lit with a rosy blush. His apple-red lips formed a sweet smile, which made his dark, warm, soft, dreamy, kind eyes shine like two bright stars in an evening sky.
"I'm Helga Dahl," she introduced and extended a hand.
He shook it, and then kissed it. "I'm Fabrizio DeRossi."
He was so cute she couldn't help but smile.
Shrugging slightly, he took the three remaining sacks from the cart, which contained the lighter items. "Well. . . I suppose I can 'a carry these for you," he said.
Helga consented, and Fabrizio walked with her, the short distance to her apartment. All the while he was smiling, with an occasional giggle.
Once there, Fabrizio was let inside where he helped her put away the items.
They then agreed to meet each other again that evening, at which Fabrizio made her his own special, homemade pasta.
It was then that they had started on their relationship, and so far they both had found only happiness in it.
Just as she had figured, it was at that very moment Fabrizio entered through the hospital's revolving door. He was bathed in the early morning sun's rays, which changed position as he entered. His smile, like his eyes, reflected his soul, she decided. Beautiful beyond all comprehension, and always there to comfort.
"Buon giorno," he greeted.
"Buon giorno." She returned his smile and then embraced him.
She brought her hands around his back, and then up to his neck, and then smoothed over his hair. It was so lovely and soft, and she loved how it was wavy and straight all around, yet somehow curled up in the back.
She pressed her lips against his and they kissed. . . it felt so sweet.
She really loved everything about him; his personality, his manners, his little boy voice, how his eyes always sparkled, even when he was frustrated.
Their kiss lasted for a few seconds. Fabrizio sighed happily, nodded to Helga, and then went in the direction of the hospital's cafeteria. He had taken the job when he had met Helga, just so he could be near her.
Fabrizio loved Helga dearly, and needed her as much as she needed him, for though he looked like an angel, he was completely human.
Helga checked off the first thing on her schedule with a smile, and then went to tend to a patient who had just came in to get a cast removed from his arm which had previously been broken.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the city, Jack Dawson was also starting a brand-new day.
Jack nodded, and continued on his way. He had with him, two possessions that were of great value to him. A light brown leather portfolio which contained dozens of charcoal drawings. He had done them all himself from life. He sported a wrist watch which had the words Make Every Day Count engraved on the band. His clothes were somewhat worn and second-handed, but they were clean.
Jack was six feet tall and rather thin, with slightly overlong, dark blonde, sun-streaked hair, and gentle, warm, greenish-blue eyes that reflected his free-spirited nature, and inner wisdom.
Jack was truly a good man with a kind heart. He was honest and responsible, and had a very sweet sense of humor. He had come over from Wisconsin after his parents had both died in a tragic accident five years ago. He had stayed with his uncle for a while and then moved into the rental trailer that he called his home.
At the same time as this, Rose DeWitt Bukater had woken up, though she wasn't smiling, not that there was anything for her to smile about. She would rather not be awake, just for the day she would have to live. For the past eighteen years of her life, every day had been so predictable, all of them just like the other.
Wearing her flowing, white silk nightgown, she left her four-poster bed, going to her dressing mirror. It was very large and rimmed with gold, and reflected nearly everything in her unbelievably clean and spacious bedroom.
She sat and gazed at her reflection. She saw a beautiful, young, healthy face. She had very fair skin, and full, deep red lips. Her eyes were green, like Summer leaves. Beyond this though, was an indescribable loneliness.
In spite of all that she possessed, her heart felt very empty. All her life she had been raised to conceal her true self, her thoughts and emotions. She kept herself shrouded by society and luxury. Deep inside, she could constantly feel a completely different woman burning to be free.
Ever so slowly, her small hand found a tiny music box. She turned its key and began listening to the melody it played. She had had it for most of her life, and its song used to bring joy to her, but now it brought her sadness. It reminded her of father, who had passed away last year, which was when she and her mother had moved here from Philadelphia.
She took a fancy hairbrush and began running it through her red hair of seemingly endless curls.
"Rose dear! Are you awake?" her mother, Ruth, called from the next room.
"Yes, mother," she answered dryly.
"Hurry and get dressed! Mr. Hockley has just called. He has plans for today," Ruth continued, importantly.
Rose knew exactly what her mother meant. Caledon Hockley was the son of the Pittsburgh steel tycoon, Nathan Hockley. Rose and Cal had been dating for close to four months. Her mother thought him the perfect suitor for her. Truthfully, Rose did not like Cal at all. He was handsome on the outside, but inside he was very arrogant, and so unfeeling to everyone and to Rose. Yet she could never seem to break up with him, she was afraid.
I am probably doomed to remain, as it seems, trapped inside of my own self for the rest of my life. She found herself thinking forlornly
With a long, deep sigh, she got up, going to her very large closet. She looked through her many dresses for a moment, then chose a pale blue, cotton dress with long sleeves and ruffles. She thought it fitted her mood just perfectly.
She went back to her mirror and applied her makeup. She held her hair up, neatly placing a butterfly comb in it.