The Bridge

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In the glimmering moonlight, the hulking black metal facade of the bridge looms above me as I lean against the icy railing and watch the dark water flow silently by underneath.  It is a magical night; the face of the full moon peeks out from behind a fine, drifting white mist, which is dramatically set against a black velvet sky that is studded with twinkling stars. My thoughts turn to my mother who named me Star, after one of these pulsating orbs of pure energy.  I hated my name, and the kids at school would make fun of me and follow me around the playground singing that well-known nursery rhyme, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”  From primary school to high school, my name was a tool for relentless bullying.

Although those years of torment were over, and I had now reached my twenty-third birthday, I believed that the world held nothing for me. Failure with a big fat F! should be stamped on my forehead. It was like I was a misshapen puzzle piece that could not find the right puzzle to fit into.  Everything was a struggle, whether it was making friends, keeping a job, or maintaining a romantic relationship.  Most of the men I had dated were abusive, either physically or emotionally.  To try to make sense out of my crazy, meaningless life, I had sought out a psychologist. As well as his cold clinical diagnosis of my bipolar depression, he told me that my destructive relationships were due to my emotionally-absent biological father and abusive stepfather. Even as I tried to put into practice the steps of his Guide to Holistic Mental Help Program, life just sped on with me desperately trying to keep up. There seemed to be no reason to fight a battle that was never going to be won.   

Each day at the supermarket where I worked was the same. Endlessly scanning products and packing grocery bags, occasionally muttering an uninterested “hello” to customers without making any eye contact.  I listened to their banal chatter: about their children, husbands and partners, their weekend plans, and the expensive prices in the store.  Thousands of nameless people passed through my checkout and I could not help but wonder whether they were really happy with their lives.  Did they think about the purpose of being alive? Was it just about spending money, pleasing their partners, and raising their kids? Did they even consider what happened after life ended? These metaphysical thoughts consumed my mind even though I had no answers to any of them.  At the end of each day, I returned to my empty town-house and the only sounds to comfort me was the television as meaningless background noise. As I ironed my uniform, I would stare at my name tag in a silent fury. I replayed the image of the amused grin on the store manager's face at my first interview, the staff members' mocking laughter in the lunch room, and the curious looks of customers when they saw my name tag.  Did I really see that mocking grin, hear the mocking laughter and experience those humiliating moments? Maybe I just imagine it all. 

Many times, I had thought about changing my name, but it was the only link between me and my mother, who died when I was 8. My mum had been my whole world; her little precious Star.  We had such great times together, cooking and gardening. Sometimes, we would sit together on the porch looking up at the night sky and she would teach me the names of the different constellations. But those moments were rare as my poor mother suffered terribly at the hands of her alcoholic husband, my stepfather. Numerous times, I would huddle in my bed with the pillow jammed over my head trying to muffle the noise of their constant fighting. So many nights I would lie awake, waiting in fear knowing that my stepfather would come to my room to play those “games” that I knew were wrong.  

As mum got older, and after that monster had died, she began to change. She would just sit in her favorite rocking chair, staring out the window into the front yard, with an endless supply of beer bottles lying next to her.  Her red-rimmed eyes would try to focus when I asked her what was for dinner and she would reply in slurred speech that dinner was in the freezer - another tasteless microwavable meal.  But there was one memory that would be forever seared like a scar into my mind. I arrived home from school one day to find my beloved mother hanging from a rope that had been looped around the chandelier in the lounge room. Her blank staring black eyes, I can see even now. After that tragic and confusing day, the authorities sent me to live with my grandmother, a little wizened old lady who left me to fend mostly for myself. But it was better than having to live in a foster home with children who would torment me. 

So here I am, standing on the bridge staring down into the Stygian water.  It is winter, not a good time to jump into a river. Would it hurt? Would death be quick?  A tremor of fear ripples throughout my body.  If only there was another way, but the thought of living another second in my claustrophobic, soulless existence urges me on.  

I step up onto the bottom metal rim of the bridge and climb over the top of the railing. There is a narrow ledge down on the other side of the bridge, so I stand on it and lean back against the wire mesh, gazing down into the murky blackness of the river.  For a moment I am sure that I can hear my mother's voice calling out to me, but I cannot make sense of the words. 

“Soon, mother, we'll be together,” I whisper. 

Should I jump or dive into the water? I did not want to endure a long-drawn-out death. Sleeping pills had been my first choice, but I had heard they did not always work.  Choosing a watery grave was Number 2 on my How-to-End-it-All list. This way the water would just carry me away down stream. I tentatively extend one foot, and with one arm holding onto the mesh, I lean over to do the final act, and as I do, a voice cries out, “No! Please, don't do it!”

Quickly, I pull myself back and stare around wildly. I had assumed that the bridge would be deserted due to  the wintry weather. Whether it was another “jumper” or a curious voyeur, they were certainly not welcome to join me in my venture into the unknown.

He watched her get out of the car and walk onto the bridge.  There had been so many “jumpers” just like her; some came and looked over the edge, but could not go through with the final act of self-destruction, and had slowly returned to their cars and driven away.  Then there were the people with a determined stride and focused demeanor which meant they were committed no matter what. Some of them were so quick, he did not have time to get to them. It was only a few that he had managed to talk down. He listened to their tragic stories, and they had disappeared into the night. But this young woman was making a strong impression on him; with her arms stretched out in a crucifix position and her fingers tightly clutching the metal mesh. 

“Don't jump, please!” he shouts.

Shocked, I twist around and look up towards the sound of the voice. A young man peers down at me, his bright blue eyes blaze in stark comparison with his pale face and his short blonde hair is wet from the heavy fog that is swirling over the bridge in the frosty night air. 

“Go away, leave me alone,” I shout back.

He leans over further and shakes his head. “Sorry, I can't do that.” 

In surprise, I watch as he starts to climb over the metal railing like I had done only minutes before. My heart pounds in my chest. 

“No! Don't come any closer. I'll jump! I swear I will! “ I shout in fury. 

He is halfway over now, and he turns his head to look down at me, his eyes searching my face. As I stare into his eyes, waves of peace radiate into my soul. I shake my head to try to dislodge the feeling. I had planned this moment for so long. Nobody was going to stop me, not even a good-looking Samaritan. I am standing at the crossroads where the signposts showed life and death, and I am choosing death. But, I have to say, I am intrigued by this strange young man.  

Over near the river bank, to my left, there is a loud splashing noise as if something heavy has fallen into the water and I peer into the gloom to see what it is. The river bank is empty, and as I turn back, the young man is standing right next to me on the ledge.  I let go of the mesh to fall into the water, but he grabs me and pulls me back. I pull away, trying to wrench myself free, but his grip is firm and strong enough to keep me from shifting forward and causing both of us to fall into the water.  

I struggle violently against him and stare wildly up into his face. “Why are you doing this?” I mutter through gritted teeth.

He stares back, his blue eyes filled with compassion. “Because I can.” 

I shake my head. “Why? You don't know anything about me. Why don't you let me be?” I growl in frustration.

He indicates towards the ledge on the left-hand side to where I am standing, and I turn to look. “If you move along slowly, you'll see a hole in the mesh where you can climb through to safety.”   

I roll my eyes. “You're kidding me. I wished I'd known that before, it would've been easier than climbing over the railing.” 

“Let's go then, it's pretty darn cold out here,” he suggests, a hopeful tone to his voice.

I pull away from him again. “Then go! I'm not stopping you.”

He shakes his head. “We go together or not at all,” he replies firmly.

“You'll just have to freeze here with me.  Either way, I'm still jumping. The choice is yours.” 

He sighs. “If you're so committed to jumping, I guess I'll have to jump with you.”

I splutter in laughter. “You're crazy!” 

“Maybe we're all a little bit crazy,” he says quietly, “but nothing is crazier than jumping into a freezing river.  Once your body hits the water, it'll feel like a thousand razor-sharp knife blades slicing into your skin.”

As I stare down at the gurgling water, a sudden thought occurs to me and I look up at him sharply. “How do you know how it feels exactly?”

He avoids my gaze and looks away into the distance. “I just know it'll feel like that.” He whispers softly.

“Death would be quick and that's all that matters,” I snap back.

“It might, it might not. Your body might go into shock and you could have a heart attack or just slowly freeze to death.” He replies in a flat voice.

I stare at his face wonderingly. “Why are you here, tonight of all nights?  It was typical, I could not even end my own life properly.

“I come to the bridge every night.”  He whispers

“You come here every night.  Why?” I stare at him in amazement.

“I have nowhere else to go.” He replies.

A ripple of fear mixed with excitement pulses in my heart. As I study this mysterious stranger who is so concerned for my life, a bizarre thing happens. Instead of teetering on the ledge of a broken-down bridge debating life versus death, I am standing on the road next to my car.

I look around wildly. “How did I... how did we...get here?” 

The young man gazes at me with a shy smile. “It doesn't matter how; the most important thing is that you are off that ledge. You didn't jump.” He says triumphantly.

As we stare at each other, it all becomes so clear. “You were just like me. You climbed onto that same ledge, but you jumped, didn't you?”

He nods. “Yes, I jumped. So, you see, this is my penance now. I come back here every night hoping that I can save another soul from making the same fateful choice I made that night.”

I gaze up at the night sky, its black velvet expanse is starting to lighten as the new dawn approaches, and over in the east, a faint baby pink hue emerges over the horizon.

  Somehow, I feel better, a little braver, and a tiny spark of hope kindles in my spirit. I turn towards the young man who has saved me from self-destruction, but I am alone.