Saturday, July 22, 2017

Jumping from the Bridge of July


I remember watching them jump off the old bridge. The boys were not that high up, but high enough. It is Ironic that I am tall and skinny: I hated heights, and whatever was down in the dark water.  But I didn't belong with the rest of the girls who just watched the boys.

Rick waved me up on the bridge: gorgeous in only his cut off jeans. He told the others to quit shouting names.

"At least she's going to jump!" Rick then turned to me, "I'm a little freaked out too. I'll hold your hand but you have to jump with me."

We jumped out and up. For a moment, we were above the plunge without gravity or time. There was terror, and joy, both unwrecked by a future. And then we fell.

The water's cold shock became a texture and time flowed out into a forever beneath the water. We were small, unthinking circles in the bigger one around us.

1 comment:

  1. We take a break from the Pequod, although Rockwell Kent's illustration style still haunts me.

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