Cold Concrete

The wind up here blew stronger than she’d expected, whipping her hair across her face and blocking most of her vision. If she’d had at least one free hand, she could have moved it from her eyes, so that she could see the swirling black sea below her before she jumped. But instead she held onto the bridge’s guard rail in the crook of both her elbows; she feared falling if she let even one of her arms release the rail. Falling and jumping were entirely different things, she realized. Jumping entailed intent, something planned and well thought out. Falling, on the other hand, meant a loss of control, which went against every reason she’d come here in the first place. And as she shifted her bare feet against the freezing concrete ledge, her legs trembling from the fact that she’d stood in this position for over ten minutes, she felt immense regret over having forgotten to put her hair up first.    

There were other things she regretted. 

She wished she’d remembered to give the dog a treat before she’d left the house. The old hound had lifted his head toward her as she’d slipped out the front door. She hadn’t wanted to meet his eye, lest he discover with some primordial instinct what lay in her heart and announce her intentions in plaintive howls to the rest of the household. Still. She felt she should have laid out one of his favorite bones beside his bed or given him some other offering. She hadn’t patted him on the head or even looked into his old gray eyes before leaving. She wished now that she had.    

She thought about the load of laundry she’d forgotten in the dryer. Adam’s soccer uniform, as well as a pair of Ellie’s junior-sized blue jeans, now likely sat cold and wrinkled in the darkened steel drum. She should have taken the time to fold them neatly and place them on top of the basket so that, afterward, the kids would each know their mother’s hands had touched them before she’d left the house today.  

Derrick would already be worried, no doubt. Going to the store, she’d said before heading out. I’ll be right back.    

That had been an hour ago. She never took this long to return home from the neighborhood store. Since she’d decided against a note, Derrick would have no idea as to what had happened until they found her car at the base of the bridge. When she didn’t return his worried texts, he’d no doubt travel their usual route to the store, maybe even thinking to ask the cashier if they’d seen her. After that, he’d contact friends and family. Then the police. She’d done her research and, assuming the wind didn’t blow her falling body into the rocky support outcropping, her body would sink below the water’s surface soon after impact. There it would remain for two days, or perhaps even three. Then gasses would expand in her body’s cells, causing it to bloat and rise to the surface. But the current here flowed strong and whatever remnants of her corpse hadn’t been eaten by crabs and fish would likely be found miles away.  She’d researched that, as well.

Of all the thoughts passing through her mind now, the one that surprised her most happened to be how uncomfortable cold concrete felt against her bare feet. Pretending to be a jogger, she’d made it up the steady incline at a shuffling pace. Runners and bicyclists made this climb regularly, albeit rarely at night. But she’d had little choice in the matter. Daytime traffic meant too many eyes. Parking atop the bridge would have invited immediate inquiry from concerned motorists. There’d been over one hundred jumpers from this place in the past few years alone. And hiring a taxi or Uber had been no option at all.  

Destination? Hmm. Top of the Channel Bridge should just about do it....  

When she’d reached the top span, a lone car had sped by, and she’d made sure to continue jogging down the reverse slope so that the car’s driver wouldn’t recall a woman standing alone at the top. When the car’s glowing taillights had descended the slope and curved toward the highway, she’d hurried back to the crest. The only other cars approaching had been a half-mile away, their headlights like searching fingers of light in the night.    

She’d had to act fast.  

Out of habit, she’d removed her shoes and socks post-run. Standing there with them in her hands, she’d felt ridiculous, and then had done the only thing that made sense at the time and stuffed the socks into the toes before chucking the shoes over the railing. Watching them disappear into the swirling abyss below, she’d considered how definite a conclusion the police would make upon finding a shoeless body below a bridge. Gone would be the possibility, however slight, of her having fallen by accident. True, her life insurance policy’s provision against suicide had elapsed its mandatory waiting period, but family and friends didn’t think about dollars and cents when opening the door to somber-faced policemen.  

Now she regretted chucking the shoes. Her feet struggled to grip the concrete ledge, which in the chilly autumn air may as well have been ice. She forced her mind from it, instead tilting her head at various angles until her hair finally came away from her face. She focused on the darkened horizon that had at first seemed indistinguishable between sea and sky. But soon her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she detected the bobbing light of a channel buoy, the only evidence to the black and churning sea ninety feet below her.    

How long will it take? she wondered. Should I close my eyes or keep them open? Face up or down, or will it really matter?  

In her mind’s eye, she recalled climbing the four-foot metal railing, swinging her legs over one at a time, and then carefully lowering herself to the bottom rail. She’d turned around so that she could support herself with the crooks of her elbows and, since most of her body would be positioned below the roadway now, a passing motorist would be unlikely to see her. This should be private and not a spectacle. If her husband and children sat ignorant at home, doing homework or reading the newspaper, the dog also lying idle and dumb before the droning television, then so should the world. 

The sound of vehicles approached. She had counted three of them before climbing the rail, all coming from the same direction. Now two of them passed in quick succession, their tires humming over the pavement as they went. The third vehicle approached, but the humming its tires seemed different. Careful, as if they were living things sensing something amiss. She listened closely to the tires stopping altogether at a point not far above her position. Her mind seized with panic. Had someone seen her climb over the railing, or been concerned about a woman running alone toward the top? The police took suspected jumpers as being deadly

serious. This being the highest bridge in this part of the state, it had garnered much unwanted attention since its completion. No amount of prevention had stemmed the tide of souls taking their final leaps from its heights, leaving authorities with not much more than shaking heads and shrugging shoulders to provide answers. 

An image of Derrick flashed through her mind as she adjusted her aching elbows. Had he somehow found her car in the parking lot below, having detected some hidden clue in her voice as she’d left the house? Had he thought back to the weeks of her unexplained weeping, or remembered the hours she’d spent alone and gazing out the bay window, forlorn in her thoughts? Had he opened the medicine cabinet and seen her collection of pill bottles, being reminded of their impotence against her long-suffering blackness of soul and spirit? The doctors’ grim expressions had said more than words ever could. For all his faults, Derrick remained a good man. It shouldn’t have surprised her if he had indeed found her in this place, having pieced together enough clues to now look over the edge and extend his hand to her, telling her, Please don’t do it... you have so much to live for. The kids and I would die inside. Please. If not for you, then for us.  

But it wouldn’t be Derrick. His being here would constitute a fantasy. He would, of course, be at home, glancing at his phone and expecting any minute to read her hurried message: 

Ran into an old college friend. Be right home.      

Or,  

Decided to grab a bottle of wine at that new store down the street. White or red?  

And certainly not,  

Took a drive to the Channel Bridge and am hanging from the ledge. Kiss the kids for me.  

She grimaced, her fingers beginning to grow numb. She needed to reflect. Time seemed to be speeding up. An obvious notion struck her just then—no one ever rehearsed something like this. You got one jump. One squeeze of the trigger. One time to tie the knot just right and step off the ladder and hope you wouldn’t end up strangling yourself instead of snapping your neck just right. No method seemed foolproof. Nothing seemed for sure. Except this place, serene and lethal all at once. From this height, water’s surface tension became much more than water. She’d researched that, as well.

 The sound of a car door slamming shut sounded, and then nearing footsteps. She pictured someone peering over the railing—a policeman, perhaps. Someone had spotted her car parked below and called it in. If not, then for sure Derrick had already reported her disappearance. Two plus two. Feeling her arms begin to slip, she readjusted her hold on the rail.   She tried listening for any identifying sounds from above, but the wind blew too strong in her ears. Looking left, she saw only a line of ghostly bridge supports decreasing in size as they led back toward where she’d parked her car. To her right lay a similar sight, except that from the corner of her eye, she detected the dark shape of a person leaning over the railing about twenty feet down from her position. 

I understand now! Derrick would shout down to her, his eyes filled with compassion. I didn’t see before, but now I do! 

Or the officer saying, Ma’am, this isn’t the way to solve things. Once you jump, it’s too late to change your mind.

Craning her head around as far as she could, she waited for the plea or admonishment she knew would come. But instead of yelling down to her or offering help, the figure did something she didn’t expect. With growing curiosity, she watched as the shape climbed up the railing and slipped one leg over the railing, then the other, and finally began to climb carefully down the railing’s outer side until they reached the same ledge on which she now stood. Squinting through the dark, she recognized the shape to be that of a man. Not Derrick and not the police, from what she could determine. A normal-enough looking man, dressed in a shirt and tie and black slacks that fluttered around his legs because of the wind. Still facing the bridge, he hooked first one arm and then the other around the lowest rail until he’d rotated his body to face away from it. A gust of wind caused him to slip momentarily, but he righted himself on the ledge. Perhaps reconsidering the slippery-soled dress shoes he wore, he kicked them off one at a time and they fell end over end into the blackness below.

From her position, she watched with silent curiosity as he bowed his head as if in some sort of prayer or deep thought. Another gust of wind came up just then, catching his tie and blowing it straight across his body. When he raised his head, he stood taller against the rail, poised as if he had reached some final decision, and when he bent slightly at the knees like a

diver about to spring from a platform, she realized with sudden alarm that the man was just moments from jumping.

“Don’t do it!” she screamed, her words coming before she realized she’d even spoke them. And in her mind, she thought, This is my thing! How dare you try to share it?

Startled at her voice, the man snapped his head around to face her, but from his forward jutting head he appeared to be confused.

Above her, a bridge support cast her in shadow, and with her dark clothing and wind-blown hair, she realized she must have appeared a ghost.

 “Are you...real?” the man shouted back, his voice dubious even in the wind.  

Ninety feet below them, the water churned, whitecaps slapping against the rocky outcropping. Stars blinked in the velvet sky and a sliver of moon peeked from behind midnight clouds. A gasp of air escaped her just then—an unheard plea for him to wait for her to jump first, please, because if he went before she did, she knew she wouldn’t have the courage to follow. But he did not jump. He clung to the rail just as she did, his legs visibly shaking as they struggled to support half his weight, and even through the veil of darkness she swore she could see the whites of his eyes. 

She felt herself beginning to slip, her strength almost gone. She would have to let go soon. That, or jump. A final act of control. She imagined the instant relief of no longer holding

herself up, her muscles relaxing from the sudden relief of pressure. Would some part of her brain jettison the last of her adrenaline, enabling her to leap gracefully into the air, with her arms outstretched, her feet pointed and joined? How long before the impact with the icy water below? She imagined, somewhere in the world, a hand scribbling an equation in chalk—her weight, the wind, the arc of her body as it sliced toward the water below—with an equal sign and some exponent representing what she would become in that precise moment after impact. Could there be, with the billions of minds working across the globe, the trillions of combinations formed within their synapses, such an equation being written at this very moment that would portend her fate? She wanted to know. She needed to know. There were endless possibilities for what waited

on the other side—eternal light, damning darkness, or perhaps something hidden and crouched in a corner, ready to spring upon her conscience in that split second her body broke apart on impact.

She swore she heard the dog’s plaintive howl on the wind. The salt air stung the back of her throat and she swallowed hard against it. Try as she may, she couldn’t shake the image of Derrick opening the door and finding a policeman standing there, hat in hands, saying he’d found her car abandoned at the foot of the Channel Bridge. She considered the goodbyes she had not given, the shaking heads, and the grief that would surely haunt the children, perhaps even into old age. A hundred other things. Each of them bombarding her senses until some unknown force had her pulling herself back against the rail, her grip seconds from breaking, and then a cry escaped her because never more in her life had she truly wished to live. If days would come for her to weep again, for her to stare vacantly out the bay window, then so be it. But days she would have. Or months or decades. Her face contorted with these thoughts as she let go with one arm, twisting her body around and clutching the railing with all her might. Groaning against the pain that coursed through her near-frozen feet, she willed them to support her body enough that she could reach up to the next rail. Gripping it, she hoisted herself up rail by rail until she reached the top. With a desperate cry, seeing her life pass before her like a handful of flipped photographs, she flung herself over the top and landed breathless on the roadway below the rail.

 Rising to her feet, moving on trembling legs, she limped several yards to a parked car on the bridge shoulder. Peering over the edge, she saw the man still in the same position. Having detected her presence above him, he swung his head around so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Whatever you do, don’t let go!” she called down to him. “I’m going to help you up.” Stepping up onto the concrete support, she climbed the railing and bent over the top, extending her arm down as far as she could. Even if he turned around and reached upward, though, she realized he wouldn’t be able to reach her hand from where he stood. 

“I—I think I’ll fall if I try to turn around,” he managed.  

Sensing that he might slip from pure anxiety, she leaned more fully over the railing, her center of gravity now such that if he were to suddenly reach up in a panic and grasp onto her, she would surely topple over the rail. But an inner urging inside of her compelled her to do whatever she could to help the man. He was clearly very frightened and had by all appearances reached that point where he could no longer help himself. Despite her newfound will to live, she could not fathom watching another person fall to their death. 

“Hold on with one arm and face the other way. Do it quick and don’t think about it,” she urged him. A tittering laugh escaped him, as if he thought what she suggested to be impossible. But she insisted he try and told him she wouldn’t leave until he did. Readying himself, he let go with one arm and swung around to grip the final rail with both arms. Another sound came from him, higher in pitch this time, as if he was surprised at his own success. Reaching up to the next railing, he pressed his body against the bridge support, seemingly afraid to look either up or down.

“Look up at me,” she said, panting against the still-howling wind. “Reach up for my hand.”

Wincing, the man did as she’d instructed. Grabbing hold of his trembling hand, she pulled upward, and when his foot slipped again, she felt her body weight slipping over the railing. At the last second, she hooked one foot beneath a rail and stopped her momentum.

If not for that single act, the both of them would surely have tumbled ninety feet into the icy water below.

“You’re too heavy, and I can’t pull you up by myself,” she groaned. “You have to help me!” 

“I—I’m trying. I don’t want to die anymore,” he pleaded, panic in his eyes.

“You aren’t going to die. Now step up from the ledge onto the bottom rail. That’s it. Hold on with your other hand and step upward. Good job. Two more steps and I can pull you over.”

He did as she instructed, and when she felt as though she had a firm-enough grip on him, she yanked his body toward her over the railing before he had a chance to jump or fall

backward. They landed together in a heap, side by side on the roadway. Their limbs entangled, they both stared into the sky with their heavy breaths forming clouds of vapor that rose and disappeared as fast as they came. A car whooshed by going in the opposite direction, its occupant either unaware or uncaring of the two human forms lying behind the man’s parked car. When it had passed completely, and once again the only remaining sound came from the swirling wind, the man broke their silence.  

“I would have jumped if you had.” 

“I know,” she said.    

For some reason, that made them both laugh.