Five Murdered People on the Bridge?
Posted: Monday, February 06, 2012
by Christofer French
Rain Dancer Associates, LLC
“There you are standing at this stone bridge. People breezing by, full of their lives, preoccupied with action and acquisition. Anticipating eating, ruminating. Lusting. Wanting the girl coming at them, desiring that gent in great garb. Look at them all full of the life’s juices. Flesh alive bouncing, breathing loving consuming.”
But now this creek bed has walkers and runners and bikers that scale the ribbons of walkway that line the creek. And this one hundred year old pedestrian bridge carries the electric beings that are the vital bustling business human bundles of activity. The old bridge fairly shakes with the bouncing bi-peds full of life’s vibrations.
“Who the hell are you? Why you sounding like you know something about me? If you want coin, I don’t have it.” The lonely guy with heavy eyebrows seemed to be crushing what used to be a merry countenance.
I cleared my throat with a tiny polite rumble. “I am a friendly guy. And I think I might be one of your last friends.”
The man in a leather jacket pulled out a cigarette and lit up. He leaned against the stone of the bridge. “Last friends? You’re not a friend now. What do you mean?”
“Did you hear about the suicide they found in the creek the other day?” I leaned against the bridge along with him. The lunch crowd was thinning out.
He did not reply. He drew in one of those smoky inhalations and exhaled a long dramatic puff.
“I specialize in being dramatic with people who are contemplating suicide. Since I know you are very close to it, I just want you to listen.”
Smoking Before Suicide
Of course, he was completely shocked, but he just kept smoking. He just stared at me.
“I want you to cross this bridge with me. When we get to the other side of the bridge, I won’t try to stop you. Just cross this bridge with me. You don’t have to confess to having suicidal intent, just walk with me.”
He was as stiff as he could be. But we started off together. The air was cool. He threw his cigarette into the creek.
The Kid
All of a sudden a kid popped out of nowhere. “Hey Mister. Would could you spare a buck, I need bus fare?” The man came to life. He reached into his pocket and gave the kid a several dollars.
“Wow. I want you to know man. I really do need this. I shovel snow and mow lawns. My Dad died when I was two, but I want you to know, I’m a kid who’s goin’ places. I am going to become an ace mechanic, go to one of those institutes. My Mom’s boyfriend has a ‘67 Camaro that we are going to restore. Just wanted you to know that I am no street kid. Thanks.”
The kid ran on. The guy smiled. “I was a car guy.”
The Teenager
We looked at each other, and started off again when a beautiful teen aged girl tried to elegantly push her way through us. Her green eyes flashed as she stopped. “Would you two gentlemen be my friends, I need some street cred.”
A tall football player type came right up to her. He had a University jacket. “Jim. I want you to know that you have to come to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me. My uncles here, I would like you to meet them.”
Jim looked everybody over. “Stacey, look, I want to come with you. I know I am a busy guy. I really like you. You don’t need to pretend these guys are your relations. I know you don’t have family. I had family problems.”
My depressed friend’s eyes were showing lots of white. “I lost my Dad early.”
Young Father
We took two more steps and got surrounded by a young father with two kids walking and one in a carriage. He stopped and turned around. “James, there’s your mother. She can’t see us. Go get her.”
The little one ran into the crowd to get his mother. The man apologized as he stopped right in front of us. “Sorry guys. Got a load of kids here I’m trying to keep track of.”
We got to the middle of the bridge. We stopped. He had to smoke again.
“Unusually crowded today.” He looked up into the clouds. “All these people talkin’ to me, Man. Kind of spooky.”
The Divorced Dad
Just then a Gent in his late 40’s walked right up to our friend. “Sorry to bother. Could you spare a ……” He made the body language cues for obtaining a smoke.
“It’s alright, I understand.”
The two of them talked the weather and then some heavier topics. Turns out they were newly divorced, their kids missed their Dad. They had both lost their jobs. Both felt lost and without purpose. They had no apparent answers or solutions for their complaints. Our friend bucked him up. As they parted, he gave him several of his cigarettes. He patted him on the back and shook hands with him.
We walked a little farther and stumbled into a smoker who looked to be in his 70’s. He was dignified, well dressed. His hair was cut short but he had a full head of silvery hair.
He stopped us as we approached the other side.
The Grand Father
“You know, I was going to ask you for a drag, but forgive me, but I am trying to kick a life-long habit. The Doc says it would do me good. I have been smoking since I was a kid. I would go into the garage and work on cars on the weekend. Then I tried to cut back when I was a busy Dad, went through a divorce and smoked like a fiend. But then things stabilized. The smoking, I never did quit. My Grand kids don’t like it. I would really like to. Seeing you. I was thinking. You know I really should tell a young man to quit. He has so many years left to be healthy in!”
Our friend and the old man truly tossed the last pack in a garbage can. They shook hands and the old man went on his way.
Five Murdered People and One Suicide
I stopped him before we reached the other side. The crowd was easing, even more.
“You know there will be five murdered people at your funeral.”
The man’s eyes twinkled with imagination come alive. “I think I see what you are saying.”
“A suicide is not a singular act. It involves much more than you. It murders all of those characters you used to be.”
His eyes moistened.
“And the old guy?”
“The old guy is who you would be murdering in the future. The you of 15 years from now.”
“Never thought of it that way did ya?”
“Who are you and where did those people come from? Was all that magic?”
“On that Bridge, people don’t know it, but you can meet yourself coming and going.”
“That Bridge is not really a bridge. You just met 5 you’s, all of whom you will be killing if you do what you are contemplating.”
“If you commit suicide, I will be at your funeral. But if you agree not to murder those five people, and you agree to quit smoking, I will be your life-long friend.”
“Damn. What are you a metaphor for?”
“My dear boy. It is the Bridge that is a Metaphor.”
They walked along and the depressed man became merry. He became animated and gleeful. I walked with him for a little. I knew he was not going to kill that old man, because he was not going to commit suicide.
The Umbilicus
He stopped a few hundred feet away from the Creek.
“I am not going to kill that old man, and keep my old selves for the heavenly winds.”
“That’s quite beautiful. I am glad I spent the time I did on you.”
The now gleeful student lifted his arms and embraced me.
I laughed. No greater joy do I have working with that Bridge.
“Wow, what is that Bridge for?”
“My name for it is the Umbilicus.”
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Top-level comments on this article: (10 total)A great piece of writing.Thank you very much Arlene.
Goosebumps, magical piece Christofer!Thank you sir.
What a tale . . . what a walk . . . what a bridge. There's a lot of insight here. You have a gift for dialogue -- to the point, no wasted words. It could have been horrible. It could have taken so many directions . . . but it's like you were bringing us all home. I can't be objective -- it moved me too much. The pacing is just like walking, then arriving. Your style is very subtle, easy to follow. Considering the short length, there is so much going on here! I'll read it again . . . and again . . .Thank you so much, Octavia. That means a lot coming from a talent like yours.
What a metaphor! Really good.Thanks, Elle.
No, it's not dark at all. This story comes from a dark place you could say, but coming from my own experience I don't know anyone who hasn't felt that darkness. I think you hit the metaphor idea out of the park and in a really creative way. I also think that this could realistically make someone who is suicidal take a step back and think about what they're doing. It's not sugary nor is it sarcastic. Always be daring with writing, you (and I! and your readers!) will never be disappointed.Thanks so very much Amanda.
Gripping read, thanks.Thank you very much for that. Welcome to our group. Looking forward to reading you.
Yours,
Christofer
Provocative, gripping and beyond a keeper, I hope this gets posted on a thousand bridges. A metaphorical home run for sure.
Kind Regards, dawn
Thank you Dawn. I hope so too. Glad for your comments.
You wrote this beautifully, Christofer; wonderful metaphor and a very creative way of understanding suicide. And you've shown life to be something of immense and immeasurable value. I bet somebody's life is going to be saved through your article.
I've been through times when the idea of suicide has been like a haven, but I came to realise I didn't want to die, I wanted the loneliness to end and the critical inner persecutor to die.
This shakes me. Thanks very much.
There was something in your dialogue, Christofer, that reminded me of Stephen King. I liked the description 'gripping' because I, too, was riveted. Well done, well done.Two people in the past have said that I sound like Stephen King. Don't know what it is. Thank you very very much for your comment.I'm glad to know I'm in good company with my assessment.
Moving and with much thought. Certainly told with depth. Really well done!Thanks so much OGM. Good to see more of you. I have been kind of away myself.
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