A little bit of good.

“A little bit of good.”

D.H. Irving

The old train trestle was in the middle of nowhere, and had been out of use years before we had discovered it.

My best friend Mike and I had stumbled upon it when we were just kids, riding our bikes on some grand, pointless adventure that only youth seem to have the ability to embark on. It became our spot and our place to hang out; a secret fort of rusty nails and warped wood. We’d go there to get away from our parents, siblings, school, and above all else, any and all adult supervision. It was our oasis of independence, where we could talk and climb and camp and do all the things that you only felt free to do without some disapproving, watchful eye warning you of dangers that you knew would never come. The dark, aged wood was rotted or all together missing in some spots, and the hastily cobbled together railings and cold metal tracks were painted in shades of rust by the brushes of disuse and relentless weather by the unseen hands of time.

Yet somehow, we knew exactly where to step. We knew the wobbly spots that you couldn't trust to hold your weight, or what beams undoubtedly would. Using this knowledge, we’d carefully make our way out to the center of the bridge to a surprisingly sturdy railing and watch the rushing water below in the sort of victorious silence that only breaking the rules of common sense could afford you.

As the years grew shorter, and summer jobs or girls inevitably pulled us apart, the bridge became a fond memory, and with Mike’s passing last year, a forced memorial of sorts. We had once promised in a macabre childhood pact that if something ever were to happen to one of us, the other would climb out here every year on the last day of summer, so that the energy and life that we had once put into this place would never get a chance to fade.

I took Mike’s death pretty hard, and in a way, I felt almost responsible for it.

We had drifted as even the best of friends will eventually do, and Mike had fallen in with some of the less desirables that we often used this place to escape from. Drugs, alcohol, petty crimes; he became a stranger, and at the time, I mourned him from a place of moral superiority, instead of one of love.

But now, not even a year later, I felt as if I understood.

My own life had taken a couple of nasty turns, and suddenly I felt closer to my childhood friend than I ever had before. Bottle in hand, it had taken me longer than I remembered it taking to get here. The path had overgrown, the tracks were shrouded in thick vegetation that formed a concave tunnel of green, and the sun had long since set before I made my way out over the rushing waters that crashed and whispered beneath the center of the bridge.

As I stared down into the swirling chaos of dark water and jagged rocks, a flood of childhood memories washed over me, and my heart sank. It was no longer a place of love or laughter, but a skeletal reminder that no matter what you do in life, any joy you feel eventually dies.

“Wow.” The voice next to me split the chill of the night air and startled me out of my sorrows. “I forgot how long of a way down that is.” It continued with a low whistle that ended in a theatrical splashing noise.

“Mike?” My heart knew who it was, before my brain could even begin to argue that it was impossible.

“Heya Jonesy.” Mike smiled, leaning over the railing not three feet away. He looked good. Young. It was the Mike that I had remembered from my childhood, the Mike that I had shared my life with, the Mike that he was before it all began to fade. I didn’t question it. I just reached out and hugged my friend, and he hugged me back. Fresh tears poured from my eyes and his as we both laughed and embraced each other in a show of genuine love and affection. Sniffing, Mike wiped at his eyes and pulled away in a creak of protest from the battered leather jacket that he always wore.

“How? I don’t understand. You’re - ” Words failed me. I knew it couldn’t be possible, or real, but it was.

“Dead?” He supplied, smiling sadly. “Yeah.” Came the almost embarrassed confirmation. Taking a deep breath, he laughed a short, awkward laugh before leaning over the railing and staring down into the spinning waters in appreciation.

“Is this real?” I asked, searching for some logical explanation.

Mike shrugged as he continued to peer into the depths below. “It's as real as anything is, I suppose.” He forced a smile, his eyes still wet.

“But how?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You were going to jump.” There was a sad flatness to his voice. It was more a statement of understanding than an accusation.

“No I wasn’t.” I lied quickly.

Mike smirked, but gave me a long, hard sideways look. “Dude.” The single word held a book’s worth of meaning, and almost dared me to continue my lie.

“I wasn’t.” I insisted.

“Then why am I here?” He challenged, leaning against the railing as he awaited my answer.

I shook my head. This couldn't be real, but we both knew that he was right. 

You’re saying that you were sent here from heaven to what? Stop me from killing myself?” I asked, the ridiculousness of it all ringing in my ears. “Like some sort of guardian angel?”

Mike laughed at the concept but shook his head. “Not heaven man.” He sighed. “And definitely not an angel.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Think lower.” He hinted, leaning over the edge and spitting into the darkness.

“You mean?”

“Fire and brimstone, Jonesy.” He nodded. “The burny place.”

“Hell.”

“It’s not the heat, it’s the…well yeah, it’s the heat.” He offered me that sad, crooked smile once more.

“You’re in Hell.”

“Well, not at the moment, obviously.” He unnecessarily pointed out as he gestured to the trestle. “And with a little bit of luck, not eternally.”

It didn’t make sense. Mike had fallen in with the wrong crowds, sure, but he wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, he was probably one of the greatest influences of right and wrong that I had in my life. He had made his share of mistakes, but he didn’t deserve to burn for them.

“But you were a good guy!” I protested. “That’s not fair!”

“The whole place is lousy with good guys, man.” He laughed wryly. “Turns out, there’s really not a lot of rules in life; well, not as many as you’d think, anyway.” He waved a hand in the air. “And none of that go to church every day, say your prayers, don't get to third base with Debbie Henderson in the backseat of your dad's car bullshit.” Mike clarified, before pausing in retrospect. “But the rules that they do have are pretty much set in stone, and I broke me a big one.”

“You killed yourself.”

“Got it in one.” He snapped his fingers.

“So, if I would have jumped…” Endless horrors both imagined and apparently very real, stole the voice from my throat.

“I would have dragged you down to DisappointmentVille, kicking the shit out of you the entire way for wasting all of this.” He confirmed.

“Some waste.” I snarked.

“It is a fucking waste.” Mike said, raising his voice as he turned to me. “Christ. You really don’t know what you have here, man, do you?” He asked, an annoyance growing as he spoke. “What you could have here, if you stopped feeling sorry for yourself for two goddamn seconds.”

“Oh yeah? And what is it that I have?” I asked, growing angry myself. Who was he to judge me? Especially now.

“What do you have?" He parroted incredulously. "You have a chance Jonesy, a real, actual chance.”

“A chance at what?” I felt my temper warming the tips of my ears. “Some worthless, dead-end job? A girlfriend who dumps me because all I do is bitch and moan and it depresses her? Or how about a best friend who kills himself without even saying goodbye?”

He sighed, his own annoyance abating as he visibly softened. “Life, man. You have a chance at life.” 

“It was my birthday.” The words left me like a well-aimed dagger. I wanted him to feel guilty, and judging from the look on his face, he did.

“Yeah, that was pretty shitty of me.” He agreed, hanging his head. “And I’m sorry.” There was no denying that he meant it, and I could feel his remorse. “I didn’t realize the date man, and even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have cared.” He explained. “I was in a bad way, and feeling sorry for myself. It doesn’t excuse what I did, and it doesn’t make it right.” He said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” I repeated his words. I wanted to lash out, but I felt the venom leaving me, drained away by the sincerity of his apology.

“If it helps, I promise that I’m paying for it in ways that you can’t even begin to imagine.” He said, tilting his head with a hesitant smile.

I laughed through my tears. “It helps a little.” I smiled. We hugged again, and it was comforting and tight, and it was real.

“So now what?” I asked, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket.

“So now, you live.” He said adjusting his collar. "You totter your ass off this death trap of a bridge, walk home and maybe learn to do the one thing that I never could do.”

“Pull off a leather jacket?”

“You learn to appreciate it, man.” He said quietly. “All of it.”

I knew the lesson he was trying to impart, but Mike was dead. He didn't know what I was going through, he couldn't know how I felt, and the hopelessness of it all came rushing back in like the waters under our feet.

“What’s the point?” I shook my head, leaning heavily on the railing.

“What’s the point?” He asked, his voice going high with disbelief. “Life is the point you moron. Life. You live. You eat and drink and get fat and then maybe work out. You meet some girl that loves you and squeeze out a bunch of little Jonesies. You laugh and cry and you get to be happy and sad. You enjoy and you suffer, and you keep going until the end because that’s what life is!”

“And I do all of that, so what? So, I can just end up just like you anyway?” It came out harsher than I intended, but I still meant it.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He asked, slapping his palm against my forehead with a loud smack “You think that you’re the first guy to feel sad, or lonely, or to throw himself a stupid little pity party? This isn’t your life man, it’s everyone’s. Everyone in this world feels like this at some time or another, and do you know what you do? You suck it up, and you live.”

“Suck it up and live.” I had to chuckle. “You’re telling me that’s it? That's the secret of life?”

“Yeah.” He allowed himself a whisper of a sheepish smile.

“Wow.” I laughed. “That’s really not the great cosmic answer that I was expecting.”

“I know, right?” He smirked. “But it’s really not about the bad Jonesy, so stop focusing on it. Life is about the good. You live your life for yourself, sure, but without even realizing it, you live it for others too. That homeless guy you gave a blanket to last winter? That stray dog you fed your burger, even though you really wanted it? All that little shit matters man, and honestly, that’s all that matters. Live, make a difference, even if it’s just for an instant, put a little bit of good out into the world.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” 

“So what? I live and suffer and try too good, and then what? Hopefully I don’t end up-” I tried to stop myself, but it was too late, and I could see the reminder of his fate as my words struck home.

“Yeah.” He nodded sadly. “You don’t end up like me. Like this.”

For a long moment, we both just leaned against the railing and stared into the river as it crashed and flowed over the rocks beneath the bridge.

“So I don't jump." I had known from the moment that he appeared that following him was no longer an option. "I live. I do good, because you told me to." I turned to face him. "What happens to you? Are you free now?” I asked, fearing the answer. Whatever he had come here to do, had worked, because I felt a weight that I didn’t realize was pressing down upon me, lift.

“Naw." He waved away the thought with a dismissing hand. "Now, I go back.” Mike gave a half-hearted shrug of acceptance. “I suffer. I face my demons, literally, every single day.” He said, his eyes dark like the water that we could no longer see.

“And then what?” I asked quietly.

Mike smiled. “And then, some dumbass might feel like taking the stupid way out, and maybe, just maybe, I get to come back for a little bit.” He turned to face me. “To talk them out of making the same mistake that I made, so that maybe they don’t suffer in the same ways that I do.” An actual, hopeful grin split his lips. “I get another chance to do that little bit good.”

“Sounds like a lot of work for a few minutes above ground.” I pointed out.

“Yeaaaah, but it’s worth it.” He took a long, deep breath of the crisp night air, savoring the chill. “Totally worth it.”

“Because you did a little bit of good.” I echoed.

“Stupid, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “That the meaning of life is just, hey - do a little bit of good.”

“To tell you the truth, I was hoping that it was about aliens or super powers or something.” My admission jostled a sharp bark of laugh out of him, interrupting his enjoyment of the night air.

“I love you Jonesy.”

“I love you too Mike.” I felt, better. Whatever this night had started as, it had become something completely different; a chance at closure.

“See you next year?” I joked, turning to face him, but he was already gone.

“You better not.” The disembodied warning sounded into the night, leaving me once again alone, but for the first time, not.

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