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Order this writing in the collection book Bending the Curve available for only 1495 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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A Boy and a Bridge
Mel Waldman
How long does it take to cross a bridge? Gee, I don’t know. But the other day, I saw this kid do it in no time. I was amazed.
I went home and thought about the kid who did it. How come? When it’s late and you can’t sleep, you wonder. I fell asleep later. I saw a lot of bridges in my dreams. But not even in my dark kingdom did I cross one bridge-not even an old crooked one ready to crumble. Not even that kind.
I woke up. You have to if you’re not dead. After I watched a golden sunrise, I looked for that boy who made it. I couldn’t find him or the bridge he crossed.
Can’t get that boy out of my head. Maybe I’m obsessed with him. He looked familiar and I felt I really knew him. The day I saw him I was wandering around town, going nowhere in particular, when I passed this bridge but didn’t cross it. I circled around and slowly approached it. But I kept my distance. Took a few steps before I turned around. Guess I was scared out of my skull. And then this fellow came out of nowhere and walked right across the bridge without hesitation. That was phenomenal.
I’d like to praise that boy in person and tell his mother he’s a fine lad. And brave too! Not many cross a bridge today.
I looked for the place all day and night. In fact, I had the whole town looking for the bridge. I went from bar to bar, church to church, synagogue to synagogue, crap house to whore house and just about everywhere. No one knew where the bridge was. No one ever heard of a bridge in this town. Hey, what is a bridge anyway?
He reminded me of someone. He looked like many folks I’ve seen. But I felt he was really close to me, like a twin brother or a son.
I haven’t crossed a bridge since the days when things were different a long time ago. I guess I crossed a bridge before The Change came. After it happened, I never crossed a bridge again. That’s why I know that boy is brave. I still remember that part of my past. But folks around here don’t even know what a bridge is.
I could be drunk or crazy. You see, I’m this fellow who saw a boy cross a bridge the other day and I want to thank him.
The boy vanished. And the others never saw him. I did and I’m proud.
Say it. Come on. Ask it. What kind of folks don’t know what a bridge is? And how can a bridge disappear? I bet you even wonder if the boy really existed. Yeah, maybe I was hallucinating or high. You see, I’ve stayed away from bridges for many years, except for the other day when I saw that courageous boy cross the bridge. But the others don’t remember.
I know what a bridge looks like. I’ve been on one. After IT came, however, no one crossed a bridge. We went to bars and drank until we forgot. We crawled and crept and cried for strong legs, not the crumbling kind, but we never went back.
The others say they never heard of a bridge. And they didn’t see the boy. I don’t care. I saw him and the bridge. He was brave. I never asked him if he knew what a bridge was. He just crossed it, you see.
