The Bridge

The Bridge

He gave the city his final look of despair, shook his head and removed himself from the last bridge he’d ever climb.

Once, a long time ago, he used to follow dreams, chase rainbows, and climb bridges. At first, it was just a mere fascination with height or maybe a feeling of power being high above the rest of the miserable world. Late at night when they were all asleep, he would slip in the night to his bridge and moving in time with the soft murmur of the waters below, he slowly began his ascent. 

Carefully as not to be noticed by those with suspicious eyes, he stole up the giant beams and girders inside, then out until at last, he reached the summit. Now he was supreme and one with nature; where nighttime was no longer a division of a day, the winds did not blow about the earth aimlessly but were specific and concentrated beings, each divining their own way.

And the waters below; the cool dark waters that he often imagined as female, flowing without effort, luring men to her side and calling out their names, really was alive. Now she lay before and below him, wanting him, waiting for him, whispering his name with her wooing waves; softly singing her lullaby of a faraway trip, an endless and soothing voyage deep into her world below.

Darkness and its seasons allowed the earth to be warm, which was all the better for her. She sang of how she could envelop him, comforting his soul with her warm waters; luring him back into the womb where life began, where there was peace, where silence rippled with the motion of her life.

All the while he sat quietly atop his bridge, resisting her and all her temptations. In a sense, he was at peace with himself, or so he thought. Just before dawn crept in, he eased down from the bridge to go back to his lonely home and to face another lonely day as well as the rest of the mundane, daytime world. 

Gloom and depression were his constant companions throughout the day, and he longed for night to come so he could once again return to the bridge. He made countless trips to the bridge, always being careful not to be seen. For hours at a time, he sat upon the rails humming to himself, occasionally writing notes, poems and the like. And all the while she lay below him harmonizing as he hummed; her waves dancing in the moonlight, provoking his thoughts as she methodically hypnotized him into her grip.

He laughed at the thought of joining her. Sure, she was warm, and he was alone, but there on his bridge, he had it all; a view of her for miles, his friends the winds, cools darkness, and more often than not, silence. Oh, the wonderful silence. How often he wished so many times during the day that all the noise and its people would just go away, but he knew this would never happen, which was why he figured that nighttime was created. 

The blessing of darkness gave him cover to live as only a man should live. But just as waking interrupts dreams, this bridge, his only satisfaction in life, his only solace and real reason to live was about to be destroyed. 

It was getting late in the afternoon on Friday, his last day at work. Ahead of him were two weeks of urgently needed rest and removal from the world. Pressures and stress had been in excess the past few months, and anticipation of the many nights to come alone and free on the bridge almost canceled out the turmoils of life.

At last, he was off and free and had only to wait for moonrise. From above, there came a slight drizzling mist and daylight seemed to fade away a bit faster than usual. A fitting beginning to his upcoming rest, he thought. But as he drew near to his own metallic pedestal, he observed barricades and flashing lights at the mouth of his trestle.

What was all this sacrilege, he thought as he moved closer? Those people and all their confounded noise! He was content to put up with and leave them to their daylight, why couldn’t they just leave him be?

As he moved closer, fear followed close behind him until at last it overtook him and in an instant, terror swallowed him whole as the signs posted on the now deserted span screamed out in unison at him; CONDEMNED! What do they mean condemned? This was his only happiness! Sure there had been a need for a few repairs, the paint may not have been the best, and all this talk about it being a suicidal haven; what utter nonsense!! No more people cast themselves from his bridge than others in the locale.

It wasn’t fair! He’d even climbed the other bridges. They were almost as high; people could have died as well elsewhere. But they picked on his bridge. They picked on him!! Those people had placed and were suffocating his bridge with all these blasted lights and signs, and that’s what they had planned to do; blast it to the bottom of the river! This couldn’t be happening, not now!

As he stood there, darkness crept in and the mist became droplets and the noise from the terrible blinking lights was about to drive him… insane. Backing away slowly, he took in the sight of it all. He found himself lost in thought an hour or so later, maybe longer; he didn’t really know or care as he stood there just taking in the gleaming magnificence of the supreme structure in the misty moonlight.

So many hours he spent with himself and nature on the bridge, listening to the soft murmur of her waters below. But now, tonight, she seemed to be crying, almost as if she knew of the bridge’s impending doom. Tonight, her waves did not dance but swayed mournfully back and forth against the aged concrete pillars that supported the causeway for so long, almost caressing if not holding onto what was to become; a memory.

The bridge was more than a place, a useful link from one shore to another, the bridge was his only friend. Memories flooded his mind and spilled out from his eyes, and as he wept, his tears only seemed to increase the dark volume of the sad waters at his feet. And it seemed to him that the evil decibels of those blinking lights increased as well.

Gradually, he realized that his purpose was twofold. Squaring his shoulders, he walked bravely toward the bridge beyond those terrible blinking lights, to the place where, like so many times before, he made his ascent. And without hesitation, he again began his climb, intending to remove himself from those lights and to once again become one with the cold steel beneath him. He’d often heard the phrase “tears fell like rain” and he knew now where it must have begun, or at least how. 

Softly and with measured courage, the cool waters below began singing her soothing and inviting lullaby to both of them; he and his bridge. Their silhouettes rippled against the flowing depths all alone in the night, and no one cared. She sang to both of them, knowing the fate of one and wanting to secure the fate of the other as her sorrow revealed itself to be greed. He wept in three-quarter time with her melancholy aria. He gazed long into the heavens and realized his loneliness, and hours of dark loneliness fell hard on his mind like the rain now beating down into his eyes. 

And he also came to realize that this world was divided into pairs and seemingly twice against him. The moon and stars, day and night, love and hate, and here he sat atop a defunct structure all alone! Now as he bowed his lonely head, she called out to him from below, begging him to come now, down into her soul, separate himself from the bridge, join her and await his only friend. Her waves urgently washed over his mind, telling him that he was not alone, but soon would be if he delayed. 

Come now she whispered through winsome waves. He pondered about the world and its noise, its pain, he mourned about his bridge, the joy, the oneness with nature it gave him. This was his only solace in life. He reached deep within himself for the answer that she must have given. For with her, he would not be alone forever. He thought about the countless souls that lept from his bridge being swayed by the magic of her call. How her soothing voice lured until she secured them all. And now she wanted and called for him. It was nice to be wanted. 

Silence overpowered the ticking of the terrible flashing lights, and an unusual peace and warmth filled his soul. He realized perhaps for the first time in his life that indeed she was right; he would not be alone forever. He would not be alone forever. Now there, atop that cold and lonely bridge, suddenly, he was at one with himself. He knew he was free. 

So with courage and peace in his soul at last, he gave the city his final look of despair, shook his head and removed himself from the last bridge he’d ever climb.

The question is, did the young man jump from the bridge, or did he climb down?

Paul O. Snawder