Bridges
by Abigail Engle
As I open my eyes, I know what the calendar will read before I turn to look: December 27th. This year it’s a Monday. Last year it was a Sunday. Last year I went exploring with Cadan the afternoon of Sunday, December 27th. The weather was not ideal—overcast, snow flurries, and a high of 20 degrees—but we didn’t care. Well, he didn’t.
I realize I’m crying. What a way to begin the day. I roll over onto my back. Now the tears stream down the side of my face, but the wet stuff produced by my nose has to stay there. I wonder dimly if I will suffocate on all that snot. I don’t care. Suffocating wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.
“Madelyn?” My mom is banging on my door. Why is she banging on my door? It’s only 10, and I’m on Christmas break. And anyway I don’t ever let her bother me.
“Madelyn, are you up?” More banging. I don’t want to say anything; the last thing I need today is for her to catch me crying. I sit up and start frantically wiping my face with the sleeves of my pajama shirt. But now they’re soaked and I’m using my sheets. It’s no use anyway, Mom is standing over me now.
“Madelyn, honey, what’s wrong?”
Her hand is on my shoulder. I shrug it off. “Nothing,” I say.
She sighs and stands up. Good, she’s getting used to this. Maybe soon she’ll learn to leave me alone.
“Well, pull yourself together and be ready to go in ten minutes. Can you do that for me?”
“I don’t need to pull myself together and I’m not going anywhere.”
She sighs again. I hate that sound. “You’re going with us to the movie. Grandpa bought all of us tickets, which was very generous of him. I need you to get up and get dressed and brush your hair…try and do something to look at least presentable. I’m not going to do it for you, you’re fully capable, and you can’t stay barricaded in here forever.”
❈
I’m stuck in a situation I would have loved a year ago: squeezed in the back of a minivan, surrounded by my siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles. The conversation is loud, the music is louder, and I’m not interested in either sound. In this sea of color and family togetherness I stick out like a sore thumb, one that’s infected and rotting. But I don’t mind. I like it like this. I just don’t wanna be here.
“Hey, Madelyn,” my cousin Tracy nudges me. “Remember that time when we were like, eight, and we went to that amusement park in Indiana and we both ate too much popcorn and threw up?”
I give her a blank stare. “Yes,” I say, refusing to betray any emotion.
She keeps trying, the fool. “Well, that was funny, wasn’t it? Like, just think about it,” and she goes on trying to explain the joke to me, but if she thinks treating me like a two-year-old is going to make me have a good time, she’s dead wrong.
“So don’t you think it’s funny?” she concludes. I shrug, roll my eyes and retreat to my corner with my hood pulled over my face. I can’t help but think that Tracy used to be my favorite cousin—she is only two months older than me, after all. I feel a twinge of…something. That’s not regret, is it? I’ll only feel regret for one thing.
An image appears in my mind: flashlights illuminate a twisted body at the bottom of the ravine. A dusting of snow has already fallen on it, and more is drifting down around it. The ground is a mess of dead leaves leftover from fall and snow tainted by both dirt and blood.
I shudder. Though I’ve seen this image countless times, it never fails to chill me to my bones. I have to blink back tears, especially as the minivan is now parking by the movie theater.
❈
The movie is entirely too long. I have a headache by the end of it, yet I haven’t paid any attention at all. It’s a nonsensical cartoon about animals and there were several moments that tempted me to run to the bathroom and vomit. But I had strategically been placed in the exact middle of the row, right between Nora and Lora, my annoyingly giggly twin cousins.
When I’m home, I try to escape to my room but I’m intercepted. “Not so fast, young lady.” My mom latches onto my arm. “You’re going to go thank your grandfather for buying us tickets, and you’re going to tell him what a good time you had with your family today.”
“Mom, no.” I try to wrench loose, but she’s gripping too firmly. I’ll have to make something up. “Can I just go to the bathroom first?”
“The bathroom?”
“Yeah. I haven’t gone since before the movie.”
She reluctantly lets go. “Okay, but come right back. And I want you to spend some time with us today. It’s not good for you to stay locked away.”
“I know,” I mutter as I walk away. I don’t really have to go to the bathroom, but I’m starved for some alone time. The second the door closes, though, I know I’ve made a mistake. I sit down on the lid of the toilet, hug my knees to my chest, and cry as silently as I can. I shake violently from the effort. Somebody’s going to hear, I think as I take in a rasping breath, but my grief is too big to worry about being heard.
I cry because there are no more distractions to keep away the visions of that Sunday late in December, when I lost one of the most important people in my life. No, that’s not right. You silly girl, any outsider observing you would never think he was just “important” to you. This boy must have been your everything. Why else would you be sobbing hopelessly in the bathroom, your body shrouded in black, an entire year after losing him?
And for the first time, I actually ask myself: Why haven’t I moved on?
Because he was your best friend, and you will never have another.
Why not, though? Why obsess over the dead when you can find happiness among the living?
My family has nothing to offer me. They know nothing of my pain.
Are you so sure?
None of them know my mind.
Have none of them lost people they loved?
I don’t like this internal dialogue. I press my hands against my temples, as if that will make it go away. I’ve stopped crying; arguing with myself has turned out to be quite a distraction.
“You’ve got to do something about your oldest, Rebecca.”
My grandmother’s voice, coming from the living room, makes my head jerk up. That’s my mom’s name. I’m her oldest. They’re talking about me. I sit frozen still, straining to hear what’s being said.
“I agree.” I think that’s my uncle. “She’s never going to go anywhere in life if she doesn’t drop the goth look.”
I’ve heard that one before, and I don’t intend to go anywhere in life.
“I know,” sighs my mom. “I should’ve talked to her sooner, but I really wasn’t worried at first since…well, you know. I just thought she was going through the grieving process. It’s just gotten so out of hand….”
“Well, you can’t blame yourself, dear,” consoles my grandmother. “She won’t even talk to you, right?”
My mom laughs bitterly. “She won’t hardly be in the same room as me, let alone talk to me, beyond telling me to ‘leave her alone’ or ‘give her space.’”
“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” my uncle joins in again. “What has she done the entire time we’ve been staying here, besides doing who-knows-what locked up alone in her room?”
“I’ve seen that room of hers,” says my older cousin, Derek. I don’t like Derek. “It’s literally a goth wasteland, dark and smelling of rot. She doesn’t have anything normal in there, like, I don’t know, books, or pictures on her wall, or anything besides her bed and blackout curtains over the window. You really should have her clean it sometimes, Aunt Rebecca.”
His father scolds him. “Now, Derek, that’s no way to speak to your aunt in her own house.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to be related to that kind of trash.”
And I hear no more. I know Derek is right. He’s a jerk, but he’s right. I am little more than trash. I have no reason to be alive any longer. What have I even accomplished with my life, besides causing pain and bringing shame to my family?
I hardly realize what I’m doing as I stand up and walk out of the bathroom. I turn and start to go down the hallway.
“Madelyn?” It’s Tracy. Of course she had to run into me now.
“What?” I glare at her.
She shrinks back at the harsh reply. “I just wanted to say hi. We haven’t caught up in a long time.” She pauses, as if to take a closer look at me. I don’t like being examined, like I’m some kind of artifact or endangered animal. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” I brush her off and walk away, right out the back door.
Next thing I know, I’m going down into the woods.
I know what I have to do.
❈
“Have you been down this way before?”
We’re standing in the middle of the woods, and he’s pointing down an abandoned, overgrown asphalt road. I shake my head. “No. At least, not in a long time.”
“Oh, it’s super cool. There’s a bridge about a quarter mile this way. The whole thing hasn’t been used in decades. Do you wanna go see it?”
I smile. “Yeah. Why not?”
I have nothing else to do. I agreed we would spend the afternoon exploring, and Cadan wants to go down this way.
But he frowns at me in concern. “Are you sure? It’s cold out here. We can go back if you want.”
“Oh, it’s not that cold. I’m good. And I want to see the bridge.”
He smiles big, that pure, goofy smile that demanded a return smile from even the grumpiest of old men. “Okay, if you’re sure. It’s totally worth it.”
“I believe it. Did you say it was a quarter mile down this way?”
“Yeah, why?”
A smile that I hope is mischievous dances on my face. “I bet you can’t beat me there.”
And I take off into the woods, running as fast as I can without slipping in the rotten snow and wet leaves. “Hey! No fair,” Cadan yells as he makes chase after me. I laugh, overcome by a sudden rush of joy. I am young, I am free, I have a best friend.
There’s a bridge all right, and I do reach it before him. I collapse in exhaustion, my body tingling from exertion and cold. It’s so cold.
“I beat you,” I call out to Cadan as he gets to the bridge.
“I noticed,” he replies as he bends over, trying to catch his breath.
I laugh again as I stand up and walk over to the edge of the bridge. I’m higher up than I was expecting. “Whoa. How far is that drop?”
“What?” He’s still recovering.
“Come over here, you idiot.”
“Okay, okay,” he says as he obliges.
“So how far do you think that drop is?”
“I don’t know. Twenty feet, maybe.”
“Hmm. Pretty dangerous, right?”
“I guess.”
We stand there for a little bit, looking down into the bottom of the ravine. There may have been a river there, but now it’s just a mess of the same dirty snow, rotting leaves, and trash.
“Wait, I may have an idea.” Another smile is dancing on my lips.
“What is it?”
“Well, what if I dared you to walk on this ledge”— I tap the bridge’s railing—“all the way across? From end to end?”
“And what if I do it?”
“Then I’ll buy you hot chocolate.”
He nods, smiling, as if he’s considering my offer. “Okay. And what if I chicken out?”
“Then you’ll buy me a hot chocolate.”
“But I want one too.”
“Then you’ll buy one for you too.”
We both laugh. “All right, you’re on.”
“That hot chocolate is going to taste so good—especially since I won’t be buying it,” I tease as he walks to the other end of the bridge.
“Oh yeah, same.” It’s a lame attempt at a roast and we both know it, but it doesn’t matter.
“All right, here goes nothing.” Cadan hoists himself up onto the ledge. “Whoa.” I see him wobble just a little bit.
“You good?” It’s just now occurring to me how potentially dangerous this could be. I try to shrug off the feeling. We’ll be fine.
“Yeah, it’s just a little higher than I thought it would be.”
“I love hot chocolate.”
“Okay I’m walking.” He takes one shaky step, then another. The wind picks up as he makes his way across the bridge. It tousles his messy dark hair. My stomach flip-flops as I realize how truly handsome my best friend is, and how fragile he looks in his current position. It scares me. I’m about to call out to him, never mind, I’ll buy you hot chocolate anyway, this is a stupid dare, and then the wind really picks up. I struggle to stay upright as the frigid blast slams into me. But though I stay on my feet, I’m not able to react to what I see happen before me. The tall boy in the bright blue coat teetering on the edge of the railing loses his balance. His arms flail in the air as he tries to steady himself. He lifts one foot, and a scream finds its way out of me as he puts it down hard on thin air. Then he’s gone.
I scream again, and it echoes in the frozen forest. I stare at the railing, not wanting to go look over it. So I turn and run, even faster than last time. I slip and fall twice, but I pick myself up and keep going. I’m an absolute mess when I finally reach my house. I’m covered in mud and leaves and melting snow and tears.
“Madelyn, what’s wrong? Madelyn, what happened?” The faces and their questions swirl around me, and all I can manage to say is “Call 911. Cadan fell.”
The next hour is a blur. Flashing lights arrive. Men in heavy uniforms ask me more questions and I try to answer through my hysteria. The sun sets.
“Madelyn, listen to me,” my mother says. “You’re going to have to go show the firemen where the accident happened. Can you do that for me?”
Somehow I do it. I lead them down the road, down to the bridge, then we’re looking over the edge, and the image below sends me right over the edge.
It’s Cadan’s body, twisted and destroyed from the fall.
❈
The sky is alive with sunset as I hoist myself up to that cursed railing. I swing my feet over the edge and watch them dangling in the fading daylight.
It hurts to be here. I have avoided the woods at all costs for a whole year.
Probably the only thing you’ve actually accomplished this year.
Yeah, not like it’s worth anything though.
Kinda like me.
I look myself over. Black leggings, black hoodie, black shirt underneath—not quite adequate winter wear. A small gust of wind hits me and I shiver.
The brick of the ledge is hard underneath me. It’s a reverse oven, sapping the heat out of me, much like it indirectly took Cadan’s life. Indirectly. Now, am I directly or indirectly responsible? Do I stand equal with this ledge, or even worse?
I didn’t mean for him to die. I didn’t think he’d fall. I’m just naive and stupid. I’m not evil, I’m just stupid.
Stupid people are mended easier than evil people, but they both have to learn. But while that’s the extent of what stupid people have to do, evil people must learn in order to then be reformed.
Thank goodness I’m not evil.
I would be crying now, but all my tears are gone. Instead I sit numbly, tracing my fingers along the cold, cold stone of this ledge. I am very cold. The feeling is rapidly fleeing my extremities. I wonder, will I freeze to death if I sit here long enough? I’m tempted to see what happens if I spend the night here. Obviously no one will come for me.
But no, that’s not true. My mom still loves me, I think, though I’ve treated her horribly this past year. And Tracy. She was only trying to be nice to me—which is more than I can say for Derek.
And besides, if I want to stop being stupid I have to learn, and I can’t learn if I’m dead.
So maybe every day is an opportunity. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. I breathe in the crisp fresh air. At last, I feel alive again.
“Madelyn! Hey, Madelyn, what are you doing?”
My automatic reaction is to be annoyed at the disturbance, but then I catch myself. This is an opportunity to learn, to try again.
It’s Tracy, calling from where she’s just come into view. Oh, I guess she’s running now.
I lift my hand in a lame attempt at a wave. “Hi Tracy.” I sound stiff and gross, but it’s a start.
She reaches the bridge and stops short. “Oh.” She’s just now realized. “Is this where your friend…?”
I nod absently. “He fell off this railing and died.” It feels strange talking about it. Nobody likes talking about stuff like this, even after a year.
“Oh man. I’m sorry.” She comes closer now, her hands in her pockets. There’s pity on her face and I hate it. I don’t want pity and I certainly don’t need it.
I turn away. “Don’t be. It’s been a year.”
“Well that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”
She’s coming even closer now. I hope she doesn’t touch me. And I don’t like what she’s saying.
“I don’t think it should hurt this bad, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve become a self-centered jerk. I stay in my room all day and I bite off heads if someone dares exist around me. I keep dwelling on the past when I should be focusing on the future. I’m…stupid. And I shouldn’t have treated you like that today.”
I fall silent. Why did I just tell her that?
“Um.” Tracy is thinking, I can tell. “Well I guess it’s good that you’re self-aware—”
“Oh, good grief, Tracy, never mind me.” I whirl around to face her. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been thinking a lot. What did you come out here for?”
She brightens. “Oh yeah, your mom wanted me to come get you for dinner.”
“What even for? She knows I never eat meals around other people.” You hardly eat meals at all, you 100-pound shrimp.
“Just come on.”
❈
It’s dark by the time we reach my house, crunching up the hill in the snow. Light shines outward from the windows, creating a glowing effect. I can hear conversation and laughter from inside.
I shrink back. “I don’t really want to go in there,” I say lamely.
“Oh, stop being silly. It’ll be fun.”
But the second I step through the back door, I know I’ve made a mistake. The kitchen is full to bursting with people I’m related to, and they all quiet down once I appear. I don’t like this. Everybody is looking at me.
Then I see the banner. “We Love You, Madelyn,” it says.
I scan the room frantically, then lay eyes on my mom. “Mom?” I squeak out. “What’s going on?”
Tears glisten on her face. “It was Tracy’s idea, honey. She put all this together. She misses you. I miss you. I feel like I don’t know my own daughter anymore. But I still love you. I’ll always love you, no matter what. And I think I speak for everyone here when I say that.”
“She does,” my grandmother agrees, as she reaches an arm around Mom to hug her tightly.
Other voices chime in, too, assenting.
It’s all too much. “But Mom,” I say through tears of my own. “I’ve been so horrible to you—to all of you. I’m a jerk. I don’t know how….”
My mom is hugging me now, comforting me—that’s something I haven’t let her do in a long time. “It’s okay,” she says, running her hand through my hair.
And for the first time in a whole year, I feel something nice: peace.
I’m not okay, not yet. In fact, I’m still crying. But this time it’s different. These tears will heal me. And I will try again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until everything is made right again.