Bridge Vigil

By Rose Q. Addams

How long have I slept? No matter the amount, it’s never enough.

I rise from my damp bench, searching the edge of the bridge ahead of me.

Why are the nights always so cold when they come here?

Sure enough, there stands a thin, forlorn girl in a windbreaker—useless in this frigid air. Her shoulders shake with her grief as she clings to the railing, staring down at the choppy water.

She’s getting up the courage; I need to move.

Stepping quietly so I won’t frighten her or push her into jumping prematurely, I approach. Her sobs echo across the pavement as I get closer. They sound so raw, and my heart hurts for her.

“Excuse me.” I stop about five feet away, giving her the space to make a choice. Just a tiny choice, but a valuable one. She needs to feel heard.

The young girl winces and tries to stifle her tears before she turns to me.

“S—sorry,” she stammers.

She’s shivering, and I step closer, just enough for her to see I come in peace. “Sorry for what, hon?”

She turns to face the water. “I’m in your way.” Her shoulders hunch and sag at once. I can almost taste the metallic disappointment she’s experiencing—caught before doing the deed, and she’s ashamed of it.

“No, you’re not.” I gesture toward the expanse of asphalt between us and the other railing. “It’s not a busy place. Though I seem to meet lots of people here.”

She shrugs, and I soldier on.

“Lots of people come for the same reason you did.” I take a deep breath. “To end it all.”

She stiffens. Silence. Then, “How did you know?” The question comes out flat. Tired. She shivers again, but even that looks lifeless.

“I can tell.” I sit on the railing now, facing her. “Like I said, I’m here a lot.”

“You’re gonna tell me I’m doing the wrong thing.”

“I don’t know your life. You might see this as the best option. Or the only option.”

I swallow. I always hate saying this, but it’s true. She knows her own story. And I’m not a mind reader, though I come close sometimes with these kids. So many of them are young.

“But you don’t have to be alone. Or leave anybody behind worrying about you. Fearing the worst. Never knowing what happened. They can have some closure. You can leave a message with me.”

“You won’t try to stop me?”

“I’m here to talk. What choice you make is up to you.”

She hugs herself tighter. “There’s nobody I’m leaving behind.”

“There’s always someone, kiddo.”

“Not for me.”

“I’ll remember you, if nobody else does.”

“I just wanted things to be better. Different.” Her eyes well up and she sits down beside me, scrubbing at them.

I scooch closer, and she leans on my shoulder, sniffling.

“I wasn’t ever the pretty one. The popular one. The smart one. I never fit in any of the boxes. There was always somebody else to live up to. Somebody else did it better, and it was always ‘Why can’t you be more like them?’” Her sniffles turn to weeping again.

“So I… told them I was leaving. To prove I could handle it. I thought they’d maybe try to stop me, but…” She breaks down, and I wrap an arm around her heaving shoulders. She shakes even harder. I remember that I have no warmth to offer and pull back.

“It’s been harder than I thought. Everyone’s mean, and I’m always hungry, and they won’t want me back. They didn’t even want me when I was there! They’ll really be ashamed of me now. I’ve been on the streets for two years. I haven’t bathed in forever.” She sobs into my shoulder, and I hug her tentatively.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I wish I could undo the pain. But please, don’t make this choice without seeing for sure that they don’t care. Please don’t cross the line before going home.”

“I’m scared,” she sobs.

“I know. But do you know why I’m here?”

She shakes her head, still teary-eyed.

“I was the one left behind. Someone I loved very much decided he couldn’t take his burden anymore. He felt like there was no other choice. He forgot there was someone who loved him waiting for him to come home.”

I still remember the day he walked out. I hadn’t known we were that deep in debt. He’d been hiding it and taking extra shifts at work. We’d had a terrible fight that morning, and I told him to come back with a better attitude or not to come back at all.

He never did.

“I wasn’t there for him like I should’ve been.” I blink back tears. “So I come here to be there for the ones who have nobody else. Their choice is something they make. But if I’m here, and I listen… most walk back off this bridge.”

Her eyes light up. Just a little, but it’s there. “Thanks,” she whispers and slowly gets up. “I’ll try going home. But if it doesn’t work out…” Her voice drifts off.

“I’ll be here.”

A light suddenly pierces the darkness, silhouetting her.

“What are you doing out here by yourself, miss?” The police officer took in the shivering girl. The empty bridge.

“I’m not—” She looked around and gaped. “But…”

“Tried to jump?”

She blinked, shocked.

“A lady talked you out of it, yes?” He wrapped her in his down jacket and guided her to the squad car. “You saw the Lady of Bree Bridge. She… reverse haunts it. Died on that bench, waiting for her husband. His body was found on the river bottom when they dragged it a couple years later. Since then, there hasn’t been one death here.”

A breeze rustled through the officer’s windbreaker, and the frost on the bench twinkled.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Q. Addams loves cheesecake, hats, and her family, who she blames for her love of reading. Some of her best memories are hearing tales of Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, Beauty and The Beast, and the prophet Ehud— which explains how her taste runs wildly throughout genres. She can be found scribbling madly on any paper she gets, or sneezing in the dust of the curious shop where she pretends she’s sane.

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