Bridge Jumping

Chapter Eight

One day, my dad came home from work acting really weird. He brought my mom into the dining room, and I watched through the doorway as they spoke quietly for a few minutes. Then my mom started to cry.

When they came back into the family room, we could tell from their expressions that something bad was going on. They sat down with us, and put their arms around our shoulders. My dad pulled Ava onto his lap.

"What's wrong?" my brother asked. He sounded afraid and I could understand why. Our parents were usually so solid, so secure. Now, they looked shaken.

My mom squeezed my brother's shoulder. "Dad has some bad news to tell you guys," she said, her voice shaking.

We looked at our dad, expectantly. Ava craned her neck around so she could stare up into his bearded face. His eyes were watery and I was afraid that he was going to cry. I had never seen him cry before, and I didn't want to now. Seeing my dad cry would be like being lost at sea without a lifejacket.

Dad cleared his throat. "Yesterday," he said, "Greg Jordan was hit by a car."

"Is he okay?" my brother demanded, looking from my dad to my mom and back again.

Greg was eleven years old, right between my brother and me. Our families had been friends for as long as I could remember. He had an older brother, Jack, but we mostly played with Greg. Greg's dad, John, worked with our dad. We thought he was the funniest guy we knew. He was constantly telling jokes and pulling pranks. He used to tell us he made Jack and Greg ride in the trunk of his car. Of course we didn't believe him, but one day he pulled up to our house with his wife, Vicky. We ran outside to see the boys, but they weren't in the car. Then, John popped the trunk and sure enough, there they were. We thought it was the funniest thing we'd ever seen.

"Is he okay?" my brother repeated, urgently.

My dad shook his head. This time, a tear slipped down his face and got lost somewhere in his bristly facial hair. "No," he said, his voice husky. "He died almost immediately. The doctors say he didn't feel any pain..." His voice trailed off and he dropped his head. My mom leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck.

After that, everything was a blur. My brother went upstairs and locked himself in his room. I stayed on the sofa and cried. I don't think Ava really understood what was going on. She cried a little, but I think she was mostly scared because everyone else was crying.

I remember one time, when some famous person had died, the television coverage had shown a jam-packed church where there hadn't been enough standing room to accommodate the mourners. That's what Greg's funeral was like. There were people standing in the aisles, packed into the vestibule and spilling down the front stairs and onto the sidewalk. More than half of the people there were kids and high school students.

It was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. I had been to a funeral before, when my granddad died, and it had been really sad, but this funeral was different. Greg had only been eleven, and there was an overwhelming feeling of unfairness over losing someone so young.

After the funeral, everyone went back to the family house. I sat there and watched as Vicky comforted other people. I wondered how she found the strength to be concerned about anybody else when it was her own son who had died. My mom told me that people deal with grief in different ways and that Vicky's way was probably to keep busy, to keep from falling apart.

John, the funniest man we used to know, no longer existed. I remember looking at his face, at the sadness and the despair in his eyes, and thinking he would probably never smile again. My dad looked so helpless, standing next to his friend, like he hadn't a clue of what to say, or what to do.