On a Bridge

“What is he doing?” the woman beside me asks no one in particular. She has joined the rest of us to watch what is sure to be a collision of life and death. At first it was just me, entranced by the man on the edge of the bridge. Soon others joined; a magnetic gathering of morbid curiosity.

My shoulders rise and fall in response. My answer says I’m not sure, but that is a lie. I know what he’s doing. He’s looking for an end to the anguish, the cessation of pain. He’s searching for peace.

A police officer stands a few feet to my right barking into a megaphone. His pleas fill the void between the man and his growing audience but there is no sincerity in the officer’s eyes. He is simply doing his job; keeping order, avoiding chaos.

It is a beautiful evening for the end of this man’s story. His clothes ripple in the wind as he stands against a sky painted in pinks and golds. The clouds hang in tufts, offering his soul a place to rest before it continues onto the next leg of its journey. This moment seems almost frozen in time. The serenity is chilling and I shiver as goose bumps race across my skin.

The officer’s voice continues its monotonous begging. Please step down. You have so much to live for. Think of the people you love. We call those who end their lives cowards. We say they are selfish. But it is we who are those things. We are selfish to want to keep them even though they want out. We are cowards for being unable to say good bye. What right do we have to make decisions for others? We sit upon our pedestals of righteousness and cast our judgments down upon the heads of those around us.

But I offer no judgment. I merely stand, silent, and observe his internal war from the outside. A feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me his decision is solidifying. His mucky crystal ball is finally becoming clear.

He moves his hands to his head and runs his fingers through his hair. The crowd grows still. The sound of the city, which I always considered to be cacophonous, is somehow muffled as we stand here watching, waiting; barely breathing.

A few torturous seconds later he drops his hands. He turns to face us and the officer beside be gives him an atta boy. He tells him he’s making the right decision. Everything will be okay.

His face is a mask of power. He exudes confidence. His posture is proud. He raises his arms with painstaking slowness as his lips spread in a smile. And just like that his body tilts back as he freefalls to the river below.

Gasps and screams escape the mouths of the gathered. All I can manage is a sad smile and a sigh. How wonderful it must feel to be free, to find happiness, no matter the cost. 

©2014 Courtney Ann Howard