The Bridge to Now

The sun announced its pending arrival early, with fanfare and pageantry. A symphony of clouds shone with growing intensity. The overture, a dusky red, shifted magically to fleecy white. Lit by the sky, the shimmering river found its way between dark, tree-lined shores.

Grant and Jill watched it all.

Their long night studying, debating and consuming gallons of coffee had run out of steam. Grant pulled her to her feet.

“We’re fading. Get your coat. Come on.”

Bundled against the cold, they walked to the bridge. Spanning the river, it offered the university easy access to downtown.

She asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re up. Let’s take in the sunrise. Get the blood moving.”

She’d never seen a sunrise. Only photographs. He grinned at her moon-face beaming from beneath the funny knit cap.

“You’re incredible. Up all night and your smile out-shines the sun.”

They huddled close against the late winter chill. His cigarette glowed. Her breath bloomed and vanished. Few cars rumbled over the high bridge. Occasional headlights reflected off ghostly remnants left by snowplows weeks ago. Wilted bouquets lay half-buried in trampled snow.

“This is good.” He leaned against the railing into the pale light. She took his picture. He flicked the cigarette butt. It tumbled, shedding sparks before vanishing into dark water.

Jill said, “I’m so happy. I’ll always remember tonight.”

He kissed her.

She sighed, “I can’t believe I’ve never watched a sunrise before. This is incredible.”

She raised her smartphone to take a picture.

Grant said, “You get nostalgic. I prefer ‘the now’.” He weighed the word. “The eternal ‘Now…’ Everything rides on… each individual moment. It can’t be pinned down.” They smiled. “Each moment is a jewel. Slipping away only to be replaced by another. Forever. Like being on the threshold of a doorway I can cross. Or not. And not choosing is also choosing… It’s infinite!”

The sun, holding back, dropped another veil.

“…And everything coming after is determined by each moment’s choice.”

A tug-boat, towing a barge, emerged from the river’s shine. Its wake roiled, churning against the current. They watched it get closer. A solo longshoreman stood on deck facing the wind.

When the boat got close, Grant kicked a chunk of old snow and sent it plummeting. For a moment it seemed to float. Shards of ice sparkled as it fell toward the barge. The longshoreman watched it arc toward him. It hit the deck and burst into a star at his feet.

The barge passed under the bridge and was gone.

“That was beautiful. Did you see the star?”

“You almost hit him. You could have hurt him.”

“It was like a snowball. Not ice. He saw it coming. That glorious moment tied us together forever. That’s what I mean by ‘the now’.”

Jill squinted into the sunrise.

He said, “Being in ‘the now’. It’s real.”

Jill turned, “But our experience, everyone’s, is based on memory. The past informs the present. For instance, we only know what we know from words learned in the past.”

“True, memories color our lives. You and I share time and space. But experience is subjective. I can never truly see things through your eyes. Even here and now.”

“I’m here and you’re there.” She pointed back and forth. “And in the past it all changes. Over and again.”

Grant’s face brightened. “There it is. Only we see where it was eight minutes ago.”

“So even ‘the now’ is elusive.” Grant saw her laugh. “One thing for sure, the sun never sneaks up on you. You always know it is coming.”

“Yeah, its secrets hidden in the light.”

Jill stretched, celebrating. “It’s amazing!” She pressed close and rested her head on him. They stood in silence, in awe of the new day.

He said, “That longshoreman shared our moment. We communicated. Will he remember that moment of beauty?”

“In the past.” He shook his head. She added, “Lucky he doesn’t have your address.”

A hundred pigeons wheeled about and returned to their perches on the girders below. The city seemed to awaken.

Grant said the name of a local poet, “This is where he jumped last week.”

Jill groaned. “Oh, I heard... Terrible.”

“I took his class. He was brilliant.”

“You knew him? I’m sorry.”

He quoted a line from a poem of his. Something about a ‘book of straw’.

She thought, ‘Say that five times fast.’ But said, “He wrote that? Wow.” It sounded like a one liner to her. But she realized what sounded ‘off’ might be due to her exhaustion.

“Never understood why people jump. So much to do. To see.” She took his arm in hers and leaned in.

“He submerged himself in words. Did they stop flowing? What were his last thoughts?”

Those bouquets they passed made sense now. She pulled him close.

“What? You think…?” Smiling, he said, “That’s not me, Jill. I can’t die. Too busy.” He laughed. “I’m always stopping to edit a thought.” He grabbed her arms. “Can’t you just see it? If I jumped, I’d be composing a thought and then think, ‘wait, it would go better…’ Splat!”

She winced. “Fixing the past. Right?”

“Trying to locate that elusive itch.”

“You’re the itchiest person ever.”

“My secret to my immortality. Always another itch.”

The rising sun offered no warmth. They’d stood too long. The cold had found its way in. She shivered.

He said, “I want to be present for whatever... Don’t want to be distracted by something which no longer exists.”

“I’m always in the now. But I can visit the past and the future too.”

He insisted, “’The now’ creates the past. ‘The now’ is the source. I have it all if I stay aware in the now.”

He kicked another ice chunk and they watched until it splashed.

“See? That snowball, the barge and us were the perfect dance of circumstances.” He danced a circle around her. “Like the sun, the moon...”

She grabbed him. “And earth… Earth to Grant…” They laughed. “And actions in ‘the now’ have consequences. Past and future are entwined.”

“Of course! “Didn’t I cover that when discussing crossing thresholds…?”

“Oh, I remember. Back in the past!”

Laughter exploded. They collapsed into each other’s arms and settled to the ground. Their weary eyes sealed with laughter’s tears. She snuggled and became still.

Grant shook her and clapped his hands.

She groaned. “What!”

He stood. “We can’t sleep here. We’ll freeze. This is now. Let’s go.”

“I’m tired. Let me sleep for a year.”

He started off. “Sleep is for the weak. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Let’s grab breakfast at Five Corners.”

Laughing, she raced to keep up.

~

Jill sat on the dark porch listening to the crickets. The moon, a bright bone, peeked over the hills. It had been so dark and of a sudden, there it shone. The lake brightened. A loon laughed crazily. The echo lingered. An owl answered. Something moved in the brush.

She wondered, ‘How many moons have swung by since that amazing night? That crisp dawn?’

Jill knew she would always remember this night coupled with that long past, endless night. Twin mirrors, reflecting each other, multiplied to infinity.

‘Whatever ‘now’ he currently inhabits,’ she thought, ‘…we will always be together, laughing in the snow. Time will be our bridge.’