A story from Meadow Bridge

Little Billy

I am Little Billy. I may be the smallest of brothers, but I am the bravest when I get hungry. Well, this illusion popped like a balloon when I went to cross Meadow Bridge on this early sunny morning.

It was sunrise, and I could hear the birds singing. I knew that misty mornings were always a promise of a fresh start! The grass on the other side of the stream had always been stubby and juicy and looked like green toothbrush bristles. After days of wondering, should I go or should I stay, I decided to be brave.

So I went trip, trap, trip, trap… The energetic rhythm of my hooves sounded like knocking on a door. I was thrilled to start my day with this delicious buffet.

Monster

People call me a Monster, but my name is Tormund River-Overbridge, Leader of Layouts for Structural Integrity and Stream Ecology organisation—T.R.O.L.L. for short. (I made the badge myself, and it's laminated.) It's not that I loathe goats. I hate splinters, loose planks, and unsafe load distribution. Also, loud hooves spike my misophonia. Under the bridge, I keep wrenches, river rocks for ballast, and flashcards from therapy that say:

"Use 'I' statements."

"Big feelings don't make you big and scary."

"Boundaries are not bridges, but they keep bridges from breaking."

Today, I'm busy tightening a bolt and practicing my assertive voice. And, to be honest, my "assertive voice" actually sounds like a thundercloud gargling gravel.

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Little Billy

I headed to this fresh meadow, and to my surprise, I saw someone whom I don't really fancy seeing. A shadow rose from the slats. Two green ears. One neon safety vest. The Monster said, "WHO'S…that…trip-trapping on MY—uh—community-shared footpath requiring gentle crossing?" He held up a clipboard. I saw boxes labeled "Noise Level," "Hoof Count," and "Snack Preference."

"I-I'm just going to the fresh and yummy grass," I bleated.

He inhaled. "I—feel—overwhelmed by sudden percussive hooffalls. Could you please be so kind as to schedule your crossing or proceed with minimal impact?"

I heard "impact," and my brain translated it to "imminent munching." I babbled, "Please, don't eat me! Wait for my bigger brother. He's…crunchier! And very, very much delightful".

I scampered back fast without even looking for his answer.

Middle Billy

I'm the middle brother. Besides my average height, I also have above-average opinions. When Little returned petrified, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. He is such a chicken! "C'mon! Trolls are a myth!" Then I went trip-trapping onto the bridge with confidence, trying to copy the epic sounds of Japanese drums.

Monster

"Oh—please—sir—your cadence is exceeding the recommended per-plank decibel—"

God is my witness, I did my best to smile! But on my face, this smile looked like a cliff collapse. The goat seemed to have frozen, as hard as a stone, its huge eyes fixed on me. Then I remembered a flashcard: "I am not going to gobble you," I said. Well, I guess he only heard gobble. Everyone always hears gobble! What's wrong with these creatures! Do they have carrots in their ears?! Isn't my explanation clear enough? Listen, cross my heart and hope to die, I'm plant-based. Goat cheese upsets my stomach and my ethics. My dad kicked me out when I was 14, when I told him I was done with the meat! My family disowned me once and for all since this day….

Middle Billy

I puffed up, felt my muscles tighten so hard I was about to freeze and topple over. "If you must gobble, gobble my bigger brother. He's basically a banquet!" I clattered off the bridge. Barely made it to the other side with my heart hammering. My stress levels went up in space!

Big Billy

I'm the biggest and broadest, and I'm proud to be the beardiest brother. And I really don't like bullies. When Little and Middle told me there was a troll threatening to gobble, I felt extremely aggravated. I stomped onto the bridge. TRIP. TRAP. The timbers groaned. The river hissed like tea on a stove, and my beard could feel the fight that was about to happen.

"Come out, Monster," I said. "We can settle this like mammals."

Monster

I emerged with my hard hat on and my clipboard up like a tiny shield. "Please don't charge," I said, and heard my voice shaking. "The bridge is rated for one large hoofed ruminant at a time. You could all fall in, and there's an endangered trout nursery under Span B."

The Billy lowered his horns. The bridge squeaked. And there was this immense pressure on my chest, like I was suffocating, my throat squeezed. I got this déjà vu, a flashback to my childhood: kids tossing rocks, yelling "monster," "Scare 'em off or the bridge breaks,". My therapist says, 'Name the feeling, not the person.'

"I'm not mad," I blurted. "I'm anxious! Loneliness is drowning me….. People run when they see me. I am loud.. I care about this bridge and everything it holds up—goats and trouts, and mornings and possibilities." I could hear my voice growing, and then it suddenly lowered. "I don't eat anyone! I fix things. I care! But every trip, every trap sounds like a countdown to a crumble to me.

Big Billy

I paused mid-charge. The Monster's hands shook. I didn't see hunger this time. I saw a creature with a heart…. I know what it's like to be called "too much." I set my hooves softer. "You could've just said, 'Hey, I get overwhelmed. Go one at a time.'"

"I tried. I tried this many times, but alas…" he said, showing the flashcards. One read, "Try a compliment sandwich," with a doodle of bread and lettuce.

I snorted. "Okay. Compliment: great vest. Concern: We almost snapped this plank. Compliment: excellent lamination."

Little and Middle Billy

We peeked out. The river smelled like mint and mud. The big one wasn't head-butting. The Monster wasn't growling. They were…talking?! What the hack was going on there?

Monster

A crack pinged through Span B—thin as a violin string. I panicked, and my instinct took over. I lunged—not to grab a goat, but to wedge a support beam and my own back beneath the weakest board. "Everyone OFF the center, now! Feather steps! One at a time!"

Big Billy

I guided my brothers: "Soft hooves, please. Now breathe." We all tiptoed and tried to do it softly. Imagine four ballerinos and one trembling guy in a neon tutu of virtue. The bridge held. The crack hushed. On the far side, the meadow opened like a green curtain. If there were music, there would be an opening theme by Hans Zimmer for sure!

Little Billy

When we turned, we could see the Monster sagging against the rail. He looked dusty and dignified. I trotted back as softly as I could and offered a wildflower. "Thank you for being a caring Mon…uhh creature and also for saving our hooves. And the trout, of course,” I added.

Monster

My throat did that embarrassing tight thing. "You're welcome. And…sorry, my voice sounds like an avalanche. It's just…my instrument." I unclipped a tiny sign I'd been too shy to post:

BRIDGE ETIQUETTE:

One goat at a time.

Soft steps on the center span.

Compliments encouraged.

Say hello to the Leader (Moro reflex issues).

Big Billy hammered it in with one careful tap. Middle adjusted it so it was straight. Little drew a smiling trout in the corner.

Middle Billy

I cleared my throat. "We…uh… might've jumped to gobbling conclusions." The Monster nodded. "Happens. My therapist says people see teeth and forget teeth are also for smiling—from certain angles." We laughed, the kind of giggling that untangles knots you didn't know were tied.

Big Billy

We crossed back and forth that week, one at a time, soft-hooved and very mindful. The meadow salad was superb. We invited Tormund to picnic—he brought beet hummus and facts about riparian buffers.

Monster

They asked about my job. I showed them how a bridge is a promise: "I'll hold you up if you treat me kindly." We practiced rhythms—Little's whisper feet, Middle's moderated march, Big's careful cadence. I realized the sound of hooves can be music when you trust the musicians.

Little Billy

When travelers came, we introduced our friend. "This is Tormund, the Leader," I said. "He's not scary. He's careful." The travelers stepped more softly, too.

Middle Billy

We put up a second sign: MONSTERS WELCOME (Especially the Misunderstood Kind). Tormund cried exactly one tear, which is obviously the legal maximum for monsters when anyone is watching.

Monster

Once, a child asked, "Are you a bad guy?" I said, "Sometimes people call you names when they don't know your story. I'm not bad; I may be peculiar. I get loud when I'm scared. I want things to be safe and fair. That can look like fangs when you are still learning how to read between the lines." The child nodded and handed me a sticker shaped like a star. I stuck it on my badge. It felt like a big promotion.

Big Billy

If you ever cross Meadow Bridge and hear a deep voice rumble, please don't run. It is just a friendly reminder about cadence and courtesy. And if you look down, you might see a green face shining up like a mossy moon. And if you look from the right angle, you will see a big smile.

Monster

And if you’re still curious about monsters—here’s what I’ve learned: sometimes a monster is just a neighbor whose ‘no’ comes out louder than their ‘please,’ someone who figured out how to guard a bridge before they ever learned how to guard their own heart. I’m still learning both.”

All

One goat at a time.

Soft steps.

Compliment sandwiches.

And room on the bridge for every kind of traveler.

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