She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t stuck, crushed, defeated. She wasn’t broken. Not...broken.... But her thoughts betrayed her two legs, in an ever damning synchronicity, as they rocked on the ledge. Every second of regret was buried under a minute of torment, and that voice had finally gained control, and this time it would not be silenced. She had run for too long, she had hidden in the alcoves of fear for decades, and she could bear it no longer. That wind was bitter in December. She didn’t even bother to wear a coat that day, because what snow could possibly be colder than that of her heart? And yes, they stared. The few brave enough to venture out that freezing December afternoon beheld a girl in nothing but a t-shirt and some worn out jeans, knees disintegrated long ago from over-washing and a few toe-catches in the morning when she’d slowly slip them on. And those staring eyes couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing out there, all alone and freezing. But she kept on walking; she had to make it before sundown. Before the day was over.
The decision to act was spontaneous and erratic, her frantic cries for help long ignored by the world at large. “Get some sun. Go outside more. You’re just sad; it’ll pass.” Was that how it went? “Don’t think about it too much.” Ah yes. The deniers and the sympathizers all sounded the same. All mixed together in a huge vat of false sympathy sprinkled with the occasional sharp reproach. “Liars,” she said, not to herself. “You’re the liar,” she said back. God, she was annoying, and there every step of the way. Watching. Waiting. Ready to criticize and belittle at a moment’s notice. Her little keeper. The bridge was in sight. Only a few hundred more yards and it would all end. “Almost time...,” she said aloud, the words muffled by the sound of the biting wind and the beat of her weary heart. She mounted the railing, her two legs taking over in autonomous authority, and all that was left was her. The other girl. The one who’d lived in her head for as long as she could remember. The one who was always jeering at her from the sidelines. “Got you.” “Not for long you don’t.” “Oh no. This time, it ends. Here. Now. No more.” A slight chuckle. Turning, she faced the railing, and stood erect, her tall silhouette a beacon in the midday sun. The snow had stopped just before she reached the bridge, and the sun was ablaze high in the sky. A winter sun, on the shortest day of the year. The time of rebirth. She looked just once at the frozen river below. She knew the impact would kill her instantly if she made it all the way down without having a heart attack first. “Not today. Not ever again.” Her final thoughts before impact. When her feet touched the pavement of the bridge, she knew she’d made the right choice. Her violin was cold in her hands, her fingers hesitant to play the melody she’d written just for the occasion, but when the bow touched that first string, and the F sharp rang out in the frosty air, she knew she was home. That violin had saved her life. Just one year prior, she stood upon the same ledge, at the same time. To let gravity end her sorrow once and for all. She didn’t jump. In fact, she had meant to, but at the last minute Jacob had come from the shadows and put his arms around her in the most loving embrace she’d ever felt. Like a warm blanket, he covered her body and soul, and lifted her fragile vessel off the ledge and down to safety. The brink of death had been so inviting, felt so much like home...she’d wanted it all too much. She remembered Jacob, that wonderful stranger whom she’d never see again, and she smiled. Not just the smile of remembrance, of nostalgia, but a smile of hope. The true happiness that comes with rebirth. The violin had been his, a gift to her. “Take this, and learn to play it. It might just save your life as it did mine,” he’d said, shivering in the twenty-something temperature that day. He was on his way when he spotted a young lady ready to jump. The tattered case that held the lovely instrument had made it feel like home. Broken, but not lost. Battered, but with beauty lying just below the surface. And from that moment on, she wanted to live. Comments are closed.
|
Editorial Staff
|