Walking The Bridge

Walking the Bridge

BY: ASHLEY YOUNG

I feel the cool strands of grass tickle my feet through my sandals. The sun is painting a mural of warm, welcoming colors as the day comes to an end. I ponder the last 97 years and wonder if I did enough. As I walk by the swings I see a little girl no more than five years old. Her smile matches that of her brother pushing her from behind, carefree and innocent.

 I remember those days when kids would go to the park without parents, accompanied only by a sibling and their imagination.  My brother and I spent countless hours here. Sometimes we were pirates on our way to find buried treasure. Other days we were royalty eating only the finest foods. Our special ingredient was dirt. When my brother picked the game we were gangsters. I remember one day we were in the middle of an important bank heist. We were so close to getting away…

 I continue my stroll through the park. Everything is turning green again after a long winter. Along with the flowers, a new love is blooming. A young boy and girl sit on an old wooden bench. The girl blushes as the boy hands her a flower. 

I remember my first boyfriend. He was sweet and caring. We would go to the cinema nearly every weekend. We watched nearly every genre; it didn’t matter as long as we were together. We met at school but most of our time together was spent at this park. We sat on that bench together too many times to remember. I still remember my excitement when he pulled out that flower. That was the first boy that had been anything more than a playmate. I remember my face turning pink as he asked me if I would be his girlfriend. I assume I was nervous, I’d never been a girlfriend before.

 I walk past the old bench. The sky’s orange tint is relaxing. I feel at home here. The calming breeze dances around me, reminding me of all of the springs I experienced. I’m blessed to have seen so many years of life. I like to think I’ve lived each one to the fullest. As I continue my walk, I see a young couple, late 20s or early 30s, walking along a trail. The young man suddenly kneels down and pulls out a small box.

 I remember reacting in shock when I  was proposed to. I was unable to imagine that somebody wanted to spend the rest of their life with me. Warm tears melted out of eyes. My vision became slightly blurred. I saw the outline of the man I loved kneeling before me .  I shook my head up and down, unable to speak. He slid the ring onto my finger. It was warm from being inside the box all day. It felt nice on my finger; it fit me perfectly. 

As the sun sets, the sky becomes more red. There’s a clearing in the trees not far off of the path I’m walking now. I notice a white wedding  arch and a gleaming white gown. I take a few steps forward and see the beautiful ceremony.

On my wedding day I was incredibly nervous; I could hardly think.  My father walked me down the path filled with flowers. I wasn’t focused on any of the guests. None of them mattered to me at that moment. That day was only about my husband and I. I felt the rush of emotion as my mouth formed the infamous “I do”. I don’t know what I expected. I guess I thought everything would feel different. I thought that  maybe I would feel trapped, but I didn’t. Everything felt the same. It all felt… right. I was excited;I was a married woman.

I step away  from the familiar ceremony and continue my walk. I see a vague white light in the distance. I feel calm as I approach the light. My attention is taken from the light and given  to the young couple again. They look a few years older now… and they have a baby.

My first born was a girl. I remember how anxious I was to meet my baby girl the entire time I was pregnant with her. I was excited to see what features of mine she had and what features she inherited from my husband. This same excitement is what I was feeling while giving birth. It helped to distract from the pain. When I first saw my baby I was overwhelmed with love. I loved my little girl so much. I had never felt this strongly for another person before, not even my husband. She had his eyes and my nose. She was perfect. As she grew up my love for her only  grew stronger. I did everything in my power to give my daughter the best childhood I could. We didn’t have a lot of money, but I think I did a pretty good job.

This couple in front of me fades and the light grows brighter. I see the little girl with her dad’s eyes and her mom’s nose running around with two boys, her brothers.

My husband and I  had always wanted a boy. I remember giving birth to my second child; I remember the excitement when the doctor announced that it was a boy. I felt the same rush with my third child. I was bursting  with joy during every moment I spent with my three kids. We would go on family picnics every Sunday after church, we took plenty of walks down our calm cul de sac, and most of all we tried our best to have fun. We still didn’t have the money for all the newest toys but we made do with what we did have. The kids were close, the whole family was. We had each other and that’s all we ever needed.

The light is almost upon me, it’s about to swallow me. I notice an old woman, maybe in her mid 80s, sitting on the bench, crying. She holds a picture in her hand, a picture of an old man.

 My husband passed away about 14 years ago. Everyday I miss him; everyday I wish he was still by my side. All of my kids came to  stay with me for his funeral. Not much was said that weekend. That was the first time that I felt incomplete. My kids were there along with all of our family, but I was missing something. I was missing my best friend. I  was missing my other half. I was missing my husband. For the first time I felt like I couldn’t get through anything; I felt like I couldn’t keep on going. My kids helped me through it. I knew that they were hurting as well and I tried to give as much support as I could without collapsing in on myself. Eventually, I got back into the swing of things. I adjusted to my new normal. My kids came to visit as much as they could, but they had their own lives now, their own families.

I reach the end of my walk. I am surrounded by white. In  front of me stands an old wooden bench, just like the one I had walked past earlier. I approached the bench feeling a sense of welcome and peace. I sit down and close my eyes. I take one more deep breath. I smell  the fresh grass and the budding flowers of a new spring. I felt new life erupting throughout the park. I exhaled and thought “I hope I’ve done enough to get to Heaven.”