I jerked my head, to see dozens of liquor bottles from the bar crash to the ground. I knew it was serious. My heart started pounding.

How different the situation had been only minutes earlier. I was staring out that large circular window and eating my lunch. There were many lining the ship but I kept my eyes fixed on this one ahead of me. All I could see was blue, half ocean and half sky. It was peaceful.

Dessert was served and I took the first bite. I felt the boat tip slightly but dismissed the feeling of unease. It’s a boat. They move. It’s normal. Usually the boat would tilt a little to one side and then correct and the cycle would continue. But the boat wasn’t correcting. The tilt continued and my stomach churned.

My dessert slowly started sliding down the table away from me. I kept my eyes fixed on the plate as it slid. Keep calm. It’s a boat. They move. It’s normal. But I could already feel my heart beating.

I looked at the faces of my family. My eyes met my brother’s and I remembered what I had told him that morning, “It’s the 98th anniversary of the Titanic today. Isn’t that exciting?”

Since childhood, I had always been fascinated with the Titanic. I would borrow books from the library about the layout of the ship, it’s history, even the stories of the passengers. I had been telling him facts from the Titanic all week. It wasn’t exciting. I didn’t want to feel like I was on the Titanic now.

This wasn’t fun anymore.

I looked ahead and lost my breath as my eyes met the window. Now, it only displayed the ocean. We had tipped passed the point of sky and all I could see was water.

I heard the first object fall, probably a glass off someone’s table. I turned my head to see hundreds of dollars of liquor crash off the bar. I violently turned my head back and forth to keep up with the different objects sliding and falling around me: glasses and plates of the tables, plants, decoration, bottles, empty chairs and a cart.

No one screamed. No one panicked. No one moved. The room was dead silent. My dad turned to us with a calm and quiet voice, “Keep calm. Get up and follow me.”

I had to step over fallen chairs to get out. The boat started to correct and tipped the opposite direction. I picked up my pace and leaped over a small tree that was now blocking the exit. We took the stairs to the docks. The ship had stabilized. We looked out over the water. How calm the ocean looked.

“Jess, is today really the anniversary of the Titanic?”

“Let’s talk about it another time.”

I was interrupted as the ship’s intercom speakers signaled that a broadcast was starting. We heard the message in several languages. They apologized for the inconvenience and explained that that Captain had been required to make a “special maneuver.”

“But what happened?”

“I don’t think they are going to tell us.”

We were never given an official answer.

On Friday, the last day of the cruise, my mom filled out a survey about our experience.

How likely are you to go on another cruise? “Unlikely.”

How likely are you to go on another [company name] cruise? “Can I cross off the options and write never?”

She turned to me as she finished the survey, “I am never getting on another cruise ship. It will be nice to go home and relax.

That Monday, we boarded a cruise ship set for Greece. Never say never.