Cross That Bridge

“Mornin’,” a man in a black woolen coat nods with a grin. Leaving off the important “good” beforehand seems on par for the course.

“Morning.” I really shouldn’t be so harsh. It’s a pretty day. Leaves like a pallet of Bob Ross colors line the path on yawning trees. Just a bit chilly. He dressed right for the weather.

Just a nod. Our hellos and goodbyes wrapped up nicely with a single jostle of the head. So long, good sir. The man, maybe in his sixties, walks the path toward the lot at the start of the trails. He must own the only vehicle I saw when I pulled in.

He leaves.

I enter.

The drive felt like it took forever. Just a chilled morning in early October. No one around. Just me and nature. Perfect.

I listen carefully. The shuffling steps of an aged man gradually disappear. Still, I feel it’s right to be careful. Crunching all the leaves would be loud. Like playing a game where you avoid the cracks. A few minutes of childish fun won’t hurt.

Overcast. The winds whisper to the trees who whisper to me. It’s a terrible game of telephone. Guess the woods are just as young at heart.

“Anything else to say?” I keep my eyes level. I need to avoid the crunchy piles, but I don’t want to miss the rolling grays sneaking behind the scandalous branches. “Didn’t think so.”

It’s not that I expect the woods to talk… but I want them to. Just a little glimpse into something different. I don’t need a fairy to pop out and teleport me to some unknown land of endless sugar where Diabetes is just a nighttime story to freak out the kids. Just a little something. Anything. Something to tell me it’s not so bland.

Taking in a fresh breath, it’s like the dried chill of a cemetery. The scent of decaying leaves settles my nerves. That sort of smell that makes you excited for pumpkins and hot cider.

That’s asking far too much. No matter how many times you’ve watched “Lord of the Rings”, you still end up dreaming of that horrid world. I guess it’d be cool to fly or hear the trees talk, but this place is dense enough I’d never even see the orc before a big blade popped through my chest.

At least I can smile at that. All that green grass on the other side of the fence isn’t a better pasture. It’s just shit painted to look nice. That’s what each choice gets you. More shit someone’s put more time into painting than just using it to fertilize the area.

Let’s see what the world is doing today. Such a beautiful day, and I’m the only one here. I should’ve brought a jacket, but I’ll manage.

“No one?” I glance over my phone, pulled off to the side of the trail as if I’d be a bother to someone. “Sad.” Like I spent so much time here. I haven’t been here for years. Just… couldn’t think of a nicer place.

I click through some screens and see a few faces doing different things. Updates I needn’t know about people I barely recognize—if at all.

Three pages. No notifications.

Nothing in my texts or call list either.

Slow day, that’s for sure. I know I’m never particularly busy. I know most people aren’t. Everyone has time. It’s the energy we don’t have.

I can understand that.

So busy. Instagram? Facebook? Hell, I’d even take a message on Myspace if I still had it up. Wonder if I remember my login?

Jeeze, even my boss hasn’t called me. Guess they really don’t need me there. No big concern. One day off in a few years ain’t bad.

Oh well. I’ll just enjoy the day.

Beautiful fall colors warping the light like prisms hung from the trees. It’s so soothing. I wish I’d’ve spent more time out here. It’s a decently long trail with garniture flora leading the way. It’s like the woods welcomes me.

I’ll do my best to return this favor.

I can hear the bubbling waters. Can’t be too much farther to the river. Declining paths split. One goes along the river to a small landing. I remember my dad took me fishing down there once. I don’t even think we caught anything. Just a nice, wooden dock for people to pretend to fish.

The other path carves through the trees and drops a bit. From here, atop the hill, I can hear the sounds of ol’ Clear Waters. It rushes onward no matter the issue. So odd to consider it part of our community, but everyone here knows Clear Waters. It’s been a long time since factories really screwed up the river… assholes giftwrapping us a dying world. Now, at least, most of the river’s been cleaned up. They renamed it back in the ’80’s I think. I can’t remember the old name.

Just swept those terrible days under the rug.

Now, people fish and even swim in the waters again. Like dipping a toe in first, a few brave souls chanced the toxins. No one really eats the fish still, but some older kids always told us you could catch some bottom feeders and bash their heads in. So cruel… until everyone saw how their numbers were choking out the other species. Then it became a pastime.

Just a few people in a nicely furnished room made the decisions that almost destroyed cities. That thought alone is almost too much to bare. Then what happened after? A few fines? A few apologies?

Just another stone on the shores of a drowning island. It’s all that remains, but soon, it too, will sink beneath the waves.

Kicking out like some Russian dance, I skitter down the length of blacktop toward the level ground just at the fork. Looking down the straight path, I don’t see anyone through the trees up ahead. I don’t hear laughter or talking. There mustn’t be anyone at the docks. No one fishing. No one playing.

Just a quiet day on the Clear Waters.

Sort of a silly name. Even after they filtered out the ground and dug up whole trenches between the dams, the water’s not clear. It’s a brownish green. I mean, from here, I can only see the white caps as the high waters conform to the whole. That rushing sound is louder than the leaves rustling, the wind howling, or even my own heart racing in my chest.

Just a bit further, and I’ll be on the bridge. The blacktop rises slightly to connect to the steel and wood length across the river. This is one of the thinnest stretches of water along the whole Clear Waters. Still, it’s probably about forty or fifty feet. I’m not sure. It’s long, that’s all that matters.

It’s not quite flat either. A simple curve rises toward the center and falls back to the other side. The banks of the river are almost gone as the swelled mass pulls at weeds and trees. It’s an angry river, and it has every right to be.

I’ll do what I can. That’s for sure. I mean, it’s not the main reason I’m here, but I’ll do what I can. Perks of the job, I guess.

I used to be terrified to step up on this. Every wave seems to bend the bridge little by little; like the bridge wouldn’t mind dropping a few people into the waters. On a normal day, I could probably swim back to shore, but today’s current is more comparable to a riptide. When did I even swim last?

Water splits around the sturdy legs beneath the walkway. I can feel that rumble in my feet. Traveling up my spine, I remember why I hated this gorgeous bridge. Always so neat and painted yearly, the structure stands as art connecting one side of the river to the other.

The distance across almost seems to extend like I’m getting tunnel vision. It isn’t that far to the other side… yet I know I won’t make it. I’ll just stand here a little longer. No one else is around. Just appreciate it all.

Shriveling leaves scrape like thousands of grasshoppers singing together. That wonderful breeze… it almost seems too good to let go. I knew I’d do this, but it won’t work. At the edge of the bridge, I examine all the pages on my phone again.

No messages. No calls. No one asking where I’ve been or if my comments meant anything more. Just the same daily life of disconnection in the most connected time in history.

I hit the first of a few sixes. I know “MOM” shows up from the contact list because of the letters on the number. Seeing her contact information pop up makes me clear the call. Right back in my pocket. No need to worry her.

Just remember why I’m here. It’s to relax!

Beautiful colors that continue to change.

Just as life, seasons are born to perish.

I’ve always liked the soothing sound of the river passing by. It’s gibbering a soft song.

Poisoned once, it’ll be poisoned again. It does all it can to survive.

There’re no birds or wandering eyes, but its obvious animals call this park home.

A small pocket of land just waiting to be paved over.

I’m okay with this place.

It’s a good place to rest.

My first steps up the rising side, the water grows louder as it surrounds me. It’s numbing really. As if the whole world is listening in.

But they aren’t. Everyone’s gone. There’s no one coming through the woods ahead of me, and there was no one behind me. Dragging my hand across the metal railings, the smoothed length is chilled. I can’t help but shiver as I continue toward the center where the railing leads me. It’s been waiting, and I’ve come for it.

Halfway across, I can’t bring myself to continue any further. Instead, I’ll take a moment to catch my breath. I’ve come this far.

There’s no turning back.

I’ve never fully crossed. Why start today?

Black bars fall from the flat railing to the body of the bridge like a constructed ribcage. Some failed creature that we did our best to use. Every part has to have a purpose.

I’m sure I’ll be recycled.

Rushing water sings a lovely tune. Halfway between the paths, I stop and watch the river speed around the bend to my left and then disappear into the distance to the right. I can see the rocky beach probably half a mile away; just before the bend where the river vanishes around the colorful woods. There’s still a mill down river… bastards.

“Huh,” no one around. This air… it’s almost sweet as the world begins to slow down and sleep. I hope I can sleep that soundly. “Last one.”

I check my phone and see how all the pages are static. Refreshing the pages does nothing. No new posts. No messages. It’s almost like the internet’s finally died; mummified in its electronic perfection.

“So, how’s this going to go.” I lean onto the railing to watch the waters churn beneath. “What’s next, huh?” Left and right, no one’s around. “Nothing? Just the river and trees substituting friends and family.”

I just need to hear a voice. Even if it’s my own.

“Couldn’t’ve been a better day.” Clear Waters won’t stop. It’s going to keep running and getting better… little by little. “You got anything left to say?”

More folding lines as the high waters curl around the posts of the bridge below. White strands bubble and warp around me; dragging my attention away from the bridge that holds me. Maybe I should take some time and sketch it.

This really is a beautiful scene. I’d hate to leave it behind without paying it forward. Let the world see it as I see it now. A picture on last year’s phone won’t do much… but a personal touch could give it that spark.

It’s not worth it. Not to mention it wouldn’t really fit the theme of my notebook. Sort of out of place. It’d make me look crazy. Crazy isn’t what I’m going for. It’s got to be concise. It’s just reality; not a graphic novel with a “Happily Ever After” lazily plastered across the back.

Dropping my bag doesn’t seem to lessen the weight… it just feels heavier.

This is it, huh?

“Yeah, it is.”

How’d we get here?

“You know that answer.”

Maybe I should draw something. The crazy’s coming out in the end, I guess. Just the comfort of a voice rising over the rushing waters is enough to steady the bridge and nerves. “It’s been a good run.”

I take out my notebook and flip through it. Forty pages of carefully jotted notes and thoughts. This should be more than enough to wangle change. No one could see it and do nothing, right? Something good will come of it, because people aren’t that shitty.

I know they aren’t. They’ll read every page.

They’ll hang on each word.

A lackadaisical existence will rekindle all that’s been left to wither and rot. Clear away the decay for more to exist. That seems to be the only way.

I’ll do my part.

My notebook is tucked safely in the back pouch. A series of tangled cords release tension and poke through the opening. This final friend calls for our dance.

“This it?” The blue and white cords seem thick enough. “It said this should work.” Pulling out my phone, I glance over the static screen. “Alrighty then.”

Deep breath. I drop to both knees to start rummaging through my backpack. All that was and is right here—right in front of me on this bridge between two sides of Clear Waters. Like a black hole, the pack drags in the world so I have to yank the cords free. I made sure to get more than I needed. Just in case.

Blue and white stripes; coiled up like two serpents joyously mating. They get to do something spectacular. Just above the Clear Waters… will you both hold strong?

“Nice day, huh?”

A quick jolt grabs the bag and pulls it close to my chest. When did my hands move? I look up to see that I’m not the only one on the bridge.

“W-w—”

“Expected.” He’s shorter than I am, and he’s got quite a few years on me. His black hair seems thin, yet it’s slicked up and back like waves of an ocean much darker than the waters beneath us. Blue eyes almost look sickly, like something akin to cataracts spreading over the icy azure, as they stare down at my bag. “Packing such pleasantries can only mean a most exciting outing.” He winks with a smile peeling back the deep wrinkles in his dark-tan skin.

I… what do I say? Someone just walked up. I never heard him coming. The water was that loud.

“Man of many words, I see.” His hands push the front of his long, black pea coat. Following the slant upward, across the golden buttons, I see him still smiling down on me. “Why don’t you tell a stranger your name.”

Answering his command, I lose control of my throat. “Cole.”

“Cole.” He smiles again. It’s a grin I don’t think I could ever imitate. Why does it feel like I’m staring at an Aztec god? “A diamond in waiting. Bit of pressure and presto!” He wiggles his hands in the coat pockets. “What brings you out to this beautiful bridge on this spectacular day? Little hooky to just hang about?”

Gripping my pack tighter to my chest, I try to stand. My knees feel like giving out. Maybe I’ll just pass out…

“Well, it seems I’ve disturbed you. Apologies,” leaning back with wide eyes, he turns to leave.

He’s leaving. Just like that. Another face to add to the collection of empty inboxes. A black shade with icy eyes walks right through the veil of my life.

“W-wait.” Did I just ask him to stay? Why can’t I control myself? This unknown man…

“So he does speak.” He glances over his shoulder with one frozen eye. “But does he have anything to say?” That eye opens a bit wider; calling for me to answer.

“Probably not.” Even with my bag against me, it’s like I could just reach right through my own chest. I’m sure he can see the other side of the bridge like I’m not even here.

“Confidence is key, my boy.” He turns and takes a small step back; like I’m on display. “Yet, you seem fresh out. Strappin’ lad like you?” Those glacial orbits narrow. “Now, why’s that?”

“W—”

“’Cuz you plan to kill yourself.”

My bag could just fall through me. Have I ever existed? No, I obviously have. Who is this guy?

“I-I—”

“I, I, I,” pursed lips and a cocked head keep me fading in and out of physicality. Is he really mocking me? In this moment, now? “You’re at this crossroads, staring off the side of a wonderfully constructed bridge over a darling river, ready to make your boots dance, and you can’t find the courage to speak to a stranger?”

“Who the Hell are you?” That’s it. What’s this dude’s malfunction?

“Just a passerby. Whether you do it or not,” he shrugs, “I get a show.”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, I mean, a tragedy is nothing but a comedy with more pain. Either way, the crowd claps and cheers.” Spinning on his heels, he peers toward the bend I’d admired. This old man… “Art to be admired, even adored, by the senses.”

Taking a look around, there has to be a camera. Is this guy just trying to provoke me? Maybe he’s got friends. “Hey,” he just glances at me from the side, “Can I help you with something?”

“I thought I’d just made myself clear, albeit in a flowery way.” Inhaling deeply, his black coat rises in front of him. “In all honesty, I thought today would be pretty boring. I’d go for a stroll and find myself loathing the idea that someone called me out here.” He faces me again and points one thick finger at me; aiming with squinted eyes. “I find you instead.”

“You found me? I’m just out for a walk, and you start babbling about—”

“Now, now.” He holds out both hands and slides them through the air as if he’s cutting invisible strings holding up the bridge. Those blue eyes almost shimmer like a gathering blizzard. “Don’t you lie to me. Not very courteous. I’m sure your mother’s taught you better than that.”

“Shut up, old man.”

“Respectful, too.”

“What’s your problem?” I slide my backpack on and take a step back. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Boredom.”

I freeze; like I’m caught in his calm gaze.

“You mess with someone, freak ‘em out, just because you’re bored?”

“I never meant to startle you,” the man shrugs. “You just didn’t see me walk up. I wasn’t even sneaky about it. I was ready to wave or nod or something, but you were glued into that bag of yours.”

“You say I’m not respectful, but what about you?” I can’t keep my arms from flailing a bit; like I’m drowning in the waters below. “You come over here and start…”

What am I doing? He’s just an old guy walking through.

“Man,” I throw my hands forward. “Forget it. Have a great day.”

“No need to ruin a perfectly good conversation.”

That’s it.

“Listen,” I turn back with fire in my veins. I couldn’t care less about the cold coming over the bridge. “Leave me alone.” I get about a foot away. Looking down, I’ve got at least half a foot on him. “You don’t know me. Drop it. Go on back to whatever asshole you crawled out of.”

He isn’t backing down. In fact… he’s grinning through it all.

“You think this is funny?”

“More that you’re funny.” He chuckles once. “All that rage. Hit me if you’d like. That always makes people feel better.” Those icy blue eyes open wide, “It won’t make that lovely bungie jump look any less pleasant.”

“I told you to drop it.”

“Only if the boots click at the end.”

“Are you looking to get your ass kicked?”

He laughs. It’s a real laugh. I can’t recall the last time I found that sort of real humor in life.

“No, Cole. I’m simply trying to understand you. I finally got you to talk.” He raises his eyebrows as if he’s moved his piece to pin my king in a corner. “It wasn’t too difficult. Anger, you see, always gets people to open up. Truest form of humanity, in my humble opinion.

“You haven’t leapt. I’d say that’s a victory in itself.” His glance pulls me to the Clear Waters. “You’re standing in such beauty, yet you find bliss only in the ending of it.”

That hole in my chest feels wider. No filter. The words fall right out of my lungs.

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do.” Why? Why is this man here? Why is this happening to me? “No one gets this far without just accepting the one-way ticket they vouched for in blood.” He’s at the edge of the bridge. Leaning onto the railing, he draws in another long breath through his nose. “Ah! That clean air. Fresh waters. A painted woods that cycles between life and death. You chose this place for a reason.”

A soft hum breaks my lips. Did I laugh? Could I ever again?

“I’m sure you’ll tell me why.”

“Tell you?” Huffing over the water, he shakes his head as a newly exposed pipe fills with fresh tobacco. Light movements like wind flowing through the grating of the bridge. “My boy, I can’t even tell you why I’m here today.” Professional hands pack the pipe and light the match—never once flickering in the wind that curls over our backs.

I… he’s a voice. Damn the world as it is… it finally answered me.

Leaning over the edge, I rest a foot away from the older man. Clouds of white smoke bellow out of his lips like a steam engine. It’s a beautifully carved, lengthy pipe, but I can’t imagine that his pipe pumped all that into his lungs. How long has this guy been smoking?

“Why’d you stop me?”

“I told you already. I’m not a difficult man to understand. As blunt as a cricket bat catching you in the forehead.” Another heavy draw of the pipe. “I saw someone on the bridge and thought I’d say “Hello”.”

“That’s it? Just,” shrugging leans me forward. Neither of us reflect back in the darkened waters below—a lack of sunlight leaving us shades in the void. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say or do.” Waters feel connected; strung together by a thread of fate. Down the river, pulling slightly at my eyes.

“Knowing what to do or what to say,” puffs of white fall to dissipate over the water, “is the sign of a confident liar. Everyone’s just gripping the edge of their seat hoping their chair isn’t the first to be ejected from the plane.”

Water churns as the white tendrils beat like owl wings across the surface below. It’s never been my thing, but the aroma is soothing. An herbal mixture that almost reminds me of mass. I haven’t gone since I was young… what scent is that?

“If you still want to do it, then do it.”

I hear the words, but there’s no anger in me right now. Just the numerous angles of the Clear Waters moving forward. All of this is like a lullaby; as if I know a nightmare’s just around the corner but my eyes are too heavy to keep open.

“I won’t stop you. Maybe it’ll be fun.” The old man snickers as a few plumes of white escape him. “I mean, if you’re going out anyway, let the rest of us have fun with it.”

“What?” I’m unable to fight. Hear him out.

“You’ve seen a piñata, right?” He motions a lazy swing with both hands on his pipe. “Pop. Candy falls out. Kids go nuts.”

“You’d just whack at a body?”

“You’re not using it. Why not at least be memorable? I’d do my best to refrain from pissing over the edge, but that’d sure stick in people’s heads, huh?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“A great, great, many things, Cole.” The old man sniffs at the cold air. “The world’s even madder than I.” He points out to the woods; no particular target in mind. “You think any animal would be kinder? If no one comes by for a day, or even notices you from the paths up the hill, you could be there for days. At least a bit of urine would keep some beasts at bay.”

Why does my stomach hurt so bad? Is an unforeseen future of insects and vermin my fate, should I step from the ledge. “Never thought of that.”

“Few do.” The old man continues. “You’d swing until some poor soul finds you, probably a child running ahead of their parents, and end up needing therapy to get over what you’d done.”

“That wasn’t my goal.”

“Your goal has little meaning once your voice is silenced to explain. Words can be left behind,” he draws from his pipe, “but the reader interprets the meaning. That child? Hell, they probably won’t even know you left a note. Just a corpse swinging over the Clear Waters.” He chuckles, “Hope they have good insurance.”

“I just want it to stop.” I barely hear my own voice. Am I choking on my words? Did I even say them? Why am I opening up? Why can’t I continue my lie?

“What would you give?” I hear him clearly, but he’s still looking out over the water. Where’s the sound of the waves? Why do I feel so cold? When did the wind pick up? There’s no whistling or howling; just the stillness spreading out from his question.

“I-I,” it’s like there’s something stuck in my throat. Like hair’s balled up against the back of my mouth; too far for my tongue to wriggle free.

“What would you give me?” The old man’s words sound like hisses from sodden logs stacked in the pyre. “What would it take to make a deal?”

I should run. That’s the first instinct that comes to mind. I should be running.

My legs are frozen. It’s not cold enough to slick the bridge with ice, yet I can’t seem to lift a foot.

“So bashful?” The man’s mellifluous voice draws me in; staring directly at the white teeth behind cracked lips. “A life worth ending exists in abundance. What of the soul?”

“I-I don’t believe in souls.”

The man’s lips widen; farther than a man’s should be able to. White teeth clench together as thin curls of smoke escape between them.

“Then what’s the harm?” One hand, the farthest from me, stretches out. No gloves. Just rough fingers extended out to finalize a mythological deal.

It’s not winter… is it? I swear the temperature is reaching zero. Plummeting down into the negatives. Will it stop? I’m not dressed for this!

“I’m done here,” my voice is as solid as the Clear Waters. How do I speak? Are these sounds making actual words?

Rushing waters distort the world. It’s as if I’m hearing my own blood pumping through me. Have I always been able to hear it?

“Coward!” The man’s eyes continue to open… wider and wider. I’m not sure where they connect to the skull any longer. They shine like portals to a desolate tundra. “We could have so much fun!”

I feel as if I’m falling backward. Distance grows between us like Earth tipped on its side—flinging me toward space. No, I’m just walking backwards. Thank whatever gods are watching, my legs know what to do.

“You’ll be back.” Smoke plumes up about his face. A shield of wispy white… no pipe in his hands. “The offer stands.”

He doesn’t chase me. As a statue set against a master’s painting, the scene is both splendid and horrific. The Renaissance births swirled, Autumn colors depicting the turning of life… cast into the background by a single figure, slightly elevated, on the center of a bridge over troubled waters.

“It’ll be fun.” A shadow, pouring white into the air as to erase all the splendid colors of Fall, grins through the fog. “I’ll be waiting, Cole.”

How long is this bridge? How far must I go? The slope back just drops; steeper and steeper. I descend into the unknown all in hopes of escape. Standing there… smiling… he watches me through the vapors wrapping around his face.

Dissembling warmth wafting about the chilling air. It’s the man, this beast, that flows the Clear Waters. Never shall they freeze as he stands upon the arch of the bridge with one hand extended in my direction.

“I’ll always be here.”

My first step onto the paved path; split apart from the crossing. I catch myself at the sudden correction. Blinking away the instantaneous shift in perspective, the vapors roll over the bridge and through the slits of metal.

I’ve crossed.

Nothing but a normal bridge. Nothing but my backpack in the center with bungee cords and a notebook of silly poems and lengthy monologues. Nothing of value.

It’s just another cool day near the Clear Waters as I continue to backpedal up the new trail. I can’t take my eyes away. He could come back. He could be there waiting… just like he said.

I carefully round the corner and begin the ascent through the woods. It isn’t until the trees block most of the bridge and river that I turn on my heels and take off. The cold winds across my cheeks are a lovely pain.

I’ve never seen this side, and it rushes by as I speed through the trail.

It’s exhilarating, really. The burn in my chest. The ache of my muscles. The chill that pulls tears from my eyes and threatens to freeze my face.

The colors of the trees and the crisp song they sing… I just hurry through it all; grasping at as much as I can. It’s beautiful this side of the Clear Waters.

Taking my phone from my pocket, I hit the six twice… I’ve always done that…

“MOM” comes up. I delete them and punch in the first three of her number. I hit the call button and wait for her to answer. I haven’t spoken to her in a while. I think it’s about time I did.