The Bridge
01/01
My bridge was sturdy, strong, built with thick planks with metal railings for me to grab onto whenever needed. There was no place for my foot to slip, no faltering, no falling. My bridge was perfect. It held me up and I was never grateful for my bridge. I thought everyone’s was like that. I never understood that other people had cracking bridges and sometimes, even, their bridges would break. No one had ever told me that it was like that. I never knew. So I walked along my bridge, oblivious, living a life of bliss. Everyone’s bridge is fine, that’s what I was taught and that’s what I thought I knew. I thought it was the one thing in my life I could rely on, it was my stability. Everyone’s bridge was fine. And how was I to know that it was any different? I had always walked my bridge alone. No one walked on it but me, and I had never walked on anyone’s but my own. I never knew and I never could, unless someone came along.
This person, well, he was like nothing I had ever known. He smoked cigarettes and he used foolish words that only caused trouble. I don’t know why I ever talked to this boy; it must’ve been because he always tried to talk to me. He wanted to corrupt me, as he would say. I was perfect, in his eyes. My bridge is perfect. He called me a brat and grabbed my wrist. I would have been afraid if I had known better, but like I said before, I thought everyone’s bridge was just like mine. He told me he was going to show me something, because he wanted me to know what it’s like. And he took me to his bridge. I cannot even begin to explain how I felt as I stared out at it. Flimsy and rotted out.
‘This is my bridge,’ he said. I blinked, my eyelids reopening to find the same sight in front of me. It was his bridge. It was broken, like him. ‘It goes on forever, y’know? The struggle goes on and so does my bridge.’ The sight of my own passage way was short as I remembered it. It was clean, short, easy. And I felt ashamed for never knowing and the acid in my stomach tumbled around making me feel even more uneasy. He sat down on the edge, his feet dangling off of the side as the water moved smoothly three hundred feet below.
‘I never knew,’ I muttered with my fingertips against my lips, my eyes still wide from surprise. Every wall that I ever created, every belief I thought I knew was blown away. I had nothing right anymore, I knew nothing. I asked him to teach me everything, told him that everything I ever knew was wrong. But he just took his hat off his head, laid it in his hands and stared off at the infinity in front of us. He didn’t want to teach me everything, maybe he didn’t want anyone to go what he went through.
‘Go back to your bridge,’ he said, flipping his hat in his fingers casually, ‘It’s easy over there.’
My sigh was laced with exasperation and then I wondered.
‘Does anyone else walk on here?’
He didn’t respond for some time, the hat constantly flipping, the water drifting below us, but no movement from his lips. I wondered what he was thinking about; it should be a simple answer, one that would come almost too easily. But he sat there, staring off as if he never heard what I said. But I knew that he did. I may be naïve, but I knew he heard me. His hands stopped and the hat rested on his head once again.
‘No.’ His voice cracked towards the end and he stared down at the broken planks, hopping over one that was clearly about to break. ‘I have to go now.’ But I couldn’t let him go alone, so I did what I thought was right. What my new stability was. I grabbed his hand and we walked; he never bothered to comment about it. And we walked his bridge, together. And we walked forever, and I learned to love every flaw and crack and mishap along the way. And I realized. Everyone’s bridge is fine... when you have someone to walk with.
This person, well, he was like nothing I had ever known. He smoked cigarettes and he used foolish words that only caused trouble. I don’t know why I ever talked to this boy; it must’ve been because he always tried to talk to me. He wanted to corrupt me, as he would say. I was perfect, in his eyes. My bridge is perfect. He called me a brat and grabbed my wrist. I would have been afraid if I had known better, but like I said before, I thought everyone’s bridge was just like mine. He told me he was going to show me something, because he wanted me to know what it’s like. And he took me to his bridge. I cannot even begin to explain how I felt as I stared out at it. Flimsy and rotted out.
‘This is my bridge,’ he said. I blinked, my eyelids reopening to find the same sight in front of me. It was his bridge. It was broken, like him. ‘It goes on forever, y’know? The struggle goes on and so does my bridge.’ The sight of my own passage way was short as I remembered it. It was clean, short, easy. And I felt ashamed for never knowing and the acid in my stomach tumbled around making me feel even more uneasy. He sat down on the edge, his feet dangling off of the side as the water moved smoothly three hundred feet below.
‘I never knew,’ I muttered with my fingertips against my lips, my eyes still wide from surprise. Every wall that I ever created, every belief I thought I knew was blown away. I had nothing right anymore, I knew nothing. I asked him to teach me everything, told him that everything I ever knew was wrong. But he just took his hat off his head, laid it in his hands and stared off at the infinity in front of us. He didn’t want to teach me everything, maybe he didn’t want anyone to go what he went through.
‘Go back to your bridge,’ he said, flipping his hat in his fingers casually, ‘It’s easy over there.’
My sigh was laced with exasperation and then I wondered.
‘Does anyone else walk on here?’
He didn’t respond for some time, the hat constantly flipping, the water drifting below us, but no movement from his lips. I wondered what he was thinking about; it should be a simple answer, one that would come almost too easily. But he sat there, staring off as if he never heard what I said. But I knew that he did. I may be naïve, but I knew he heard me. His hands stopped and the hat rested on his head once again.
‘No.’ His voice cracked towards the end and he stared down at the broken planks, hopping over one that was clearly about to break. ‘I have to go now.’ But I couldn’t let him go alone, so I did what I thought was right. What my new stability was. I grabbed his hand and we walked; he never bothered to comment about it. And we walked his bridge, together. And we walked forever, and I learned to love every flaw and crack and mishap along the way. And I realized. Everyone’s bridge is fine... when you have someone to walk with.