A Stroll on a Bridge

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Short story about a bridge

Submitted: September 07, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 07, 2012




They built a bridge over vast nothingness. Some boards were set with tacit assent by hands larger than their own. When they argued, it was momentary and inconsequential, like the snap of a dead branch, even where green and tensile.  He would break about aesthetics; She would break about structure. Sometimes they’d stop at the edge, crane their necks, and look down.

On nice afternoons they would spread out on a blanket, his back against the railing, hers against him. Their fingers intertwined drunkenly. He would drift, staring at lint or weathered leaves that meandered aimlessly, pulling his mind. She’d notice those fixed eyes and bite him. He’d say,  “Isn’t it stupid people think time’s linear?“ It didn’t matter if she understood.

It wasn’t long until they couldn’t see where they had started. They’d remember and laugh.  A fog precipitated; growing thicker the less they needed the view.  Along with it came honesty at knowing no one else could see in. They’d tread carefully on newly lain wood, step by step, she after he, almost jokingly, and then jump, landing where they took off with confidence. Some things were built that were not known. Often they blended in seamlessly. The bridge would crumble at the edges once in a while. They would stare at what was lost, watch that fire burn, and on cold nights they’d sit around it, enjoying the warmth and protecting that which remained.

They yelled at it all, importunely and with pity. They would satirize, playing roles and acting generally peculiar. They would spit off the railing and heckle from their perch, finding great humor in their being.

Under the cover of darkness a divide grew, each of the two working in their sleep. They’d wake up with arms through bars. It did not matter and they hardly noticed, each on one side, they built. It didn’t always line up. They’d eye the unevenness. She’d twist her foot on the crease like it was a cigarette. They planted vines, which wrapped around the bars, flowering and snaking purposefully. It flourished, reaching outward and blocking the light that reflected between their faces. They did try to kill it. Others might have said “…meagerly” but there were none. They tried to build around it, ideas shredded in its density.

Winter came and leaves dropped exposing each bridge to the other. It wasn’t too far to jump. They walked side by side for some time. Glances spared correlating inversely with the breadth of the gap.  When the distance was too great, they smiled, simultaneously and independently; thinking what a lovely stroll it had been. 

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