A Meeting Upon a Bridge

Content/Trigger Warning: Contains language some may find offensive; Self-harm briefly mentioned.

The salty drops of water from my eyes fall to join the flowing water of the river below me. How stereotypical, crying over a man. I silently scold myself and wipe my eyes with my coat sleeve. You get five more minutes up here to pull yourself together, then you need to get down.

My feet dangle over the edge of the bridge as I watch the lazily flowing water beneath me. The sun is saying its last goodbyes to the world and will soon disappear over the dark green line of trees surrounding the river. I want to at least catch the last glimpses of the beautiful golden orange sky before I get down to face reality. The reality that my boyfriend of 2 years decided it was a good idea to show his privates to another woman.

I’d been cheated on once before, back in high school. But that was nothing compared to this heartbreak. This man that I’d envisioned walking up to in a white dress, sharing a home with, potentially sharing children with—all those things I now had to let go. My fingers grip the metal railing of the bridge until my knuckles go white. “I fucking hate men!” I shout into the opening the river made in the forest of trees.

“Why’s that?” I jump at the unexpected voice behind me. I turn around to see a man around my age, somewhat rugged in his appearance, with a beard and black beanie holding down his curly dark hair. His red plaid jacket matches the typical blue-collar aesthetic of our town just up the road from the bridge we’re standing on. I’m surprised someone else is out here, seeing how this bridge is about half a mile from town. I’ve come here plenty of times to clear my head, and all that passes by is the occasional pickup truck. I see a serious look about his face and take notice of the way his body is poised—one black boot just barely in front of the other, knees slightly bent, arms a few inches away from his sides, ready to take action. I realize he thinks I’m about to jump, which makes me burst out laughing as I say, “If I wanted to do serious damage, I’d find a higher bridge to jump from.” He doesn’t return my laugh, but his body becomes less rigid, and he slowly walks over to fold his arms over the rail near where I’m perched.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” He says it without demand, simply curiosity in his voice. 

“You mean why I hate men? How much time do you have?” I laugh. He looks at me, as if knowing a more serious answer lies beneath my lighthearted exterior. I sigh, then continue, “Well, I just found out my boyfriend is cheating on me. But it goes beyond that. I’m 26 and I’ve never experienced real love. I’ve had men cheat on me, emotionally manipulate me, financially take advantage of me, and leave me for the girl they told me was just a ‘work friend.’ I’ve had my heart stepped on over and over, as if it were a fucking mat to scrape the mud off their boots.” I take a deep breath before I let anger overtake me in front of this stranger. Why I’m opening up to him, I’ve no idea. I mean, he did ask. Although I’m sure he's now regretting doing just that. I look over at his face, but he’s looking out at the river, nodding, a serious expression on his features once again. I take notice of the gold from the sunset reflecting in his brown eyes.

“You know, love is a tricky thing. I haven’t had much luck with it so far, myself,” he says casually.

Taking this as an invitation to keep venting, I continue before I can stop myself. “And on top of all of that, I can honestly say I have never had an example of that kind of love to look up to. It was a miracle my grandparents didn’t kill each other. And my parents divorced as soon as I moved out. All my friend’s parents simply tolerate each other. Where is the love I’ve read about all my life, the kind I’ve seen in movies?” I realize I sound pathetic, like a starry-eyed little girl. And I hate it.

“Hmm,” is all he says.

I realize he seems to be a man of few words, and this annoys me. In his silence, I rattle on, “You know what, I’ll never find someone who will love with as much devotion as I will. Who will dedicate themselves wholly and deeply to me the way I have done in every single relationship.”

“What would you do if you found someone like that?” I turn to him and find his honey brown eyes meeting mine now, no longer fixated on the river. I blink. I was truly not expecting that response.

I suddenly notice how close he is standing to me, how intimate the short distance between us feels. With his eyes locked on mine, the air feels electric, on fire. I wonder if he feels it too, and I quickly look away.

“That’s wishful thinking. No man like that exists,” I answer coldly.

“Well, you say you would love that way, and you exist. So, by that reasoning, a man like that must also exist.”

His logic is sound, but not wanting to admit this, all I do is scowl in his direction, which elicits a warm smile from him that I hate to admit I enjoy the sight of.

“I’ve dealt with plenty of men, and none of them came close,” I answer, keeping my voice stern.

He’s still smiling when he says, “Maybe you just haven’t met the right one yet.”

I look at him, annoyed. “I’ll bet you’re about to say some bullshit about me finding my soulmate or whatever.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t believe in that crap.” I open my mouth to say something else, but he starts talking before I can.

“My grandparents were that example for me, the one you said you’ve never had.” I steal a glance at him, and he has a distant look about his expression, facing the river again. Almost like his memories are carrying him somewhere else. He pauses, seemingly unsure if he should share whatever story lies behind his lips. After a moment, he continues. “Every time I visited as a kid, their house was always full of life, joy. And fresh baked cookies. I don’t know how they did it. Even when I’d show up unannounced, they’d be dancing like wild horses in the kitchen with a fresh plate of my favorite cookies for me. I’d never question it, just take a bite and join in on their craziness.” He laughs at the memory, as if he could visualize it, and I find myself surprised at how much this stranger is sharing, for being so silent just a few minutes prior.

He pauses again and furrows his brow. “When my grandmother got sick, my grandfather made sure to keep that joy, for her. I always looked forward to the hospital visits because everyone still laughed. I was young and didn’t fully understand how serious her disease was. He was with her, up until her last breath. And that’s when he lost his joy. He was gone within 2 weeks.”

I’m forming the obligatory apology everyone gives when someone has told you about a loved one passing when he interrupts my thoughts.

“They were each other’s soulmates.” He looks right at me and says with such conviction in his voice, “Soulmates are real, whether you believe in them or not.”

I just stare at him for a moment, my mouth slightly agape, both from surprise at the depth of emotion he has chosen to share with me, and regret at my careless words from earlier speaking against the love he so clearly believes in. I take a deep breath, trying to form an appropriate response, but he speaks before I can get anything out.

“So don’t give up on love just yet. I’ve spent almost my entire life searching for someone who is willing to share with me at least half of the love and devotion my grandparents taught me.” He pauses and looks down at his hands. “It would be a damn shame if I found her, and she had already written off the idea of love based on a couple idiots she’s dealt with in the past.”

Then he looks up and gives me a mischievous grin. I reluctantly return it. He pushes off the railing and reaches out a hand, offering to help me down. “Can I walk you back into town?”

I only hesitate for a moment before accepting both his hand and his offer. “I’m Anna, by the way.” I say as we start walking in the direction of town.

The last rays of sunlight glisten in his eyes as he smiles at me and says, “I’m Henry.”