We went out for the night. It was clear out, the expanse of a starry sky reaching for miles above. These were the makings of an extraordinary endeavour. Three of us: young, free and infinite in the hands of the time we had. We decided that the first of our travails would be food. Each of us had not eaten properly for a number of days in a bid to save for this dinner we'd planned for so long. We walked ourselves to the outrageously overpriced restaurant on the other side of town. The reservations had been made, and though our ragged appearance was in sharp contrast to that of even the staff of the restaurant, we bustled in, unfazed by the immediate silence of all chatter and clutter of cutlery on clothed tables following our entrance. None of us looked nearly affluent enough to order as the regulars did. So the wine we drank, the most expensive at the restaurant, had to be paid for beforehand, as did every everything else we consumed. It was, perhaps, the one time the moon above us shone in such bright blue hue that we forgot the worries of the day and the ones before it. We ignored the future too, convinced that the memories of this night would carry us through the rest of our doomed lives.
As we ate, our raucous laughter filled the quiet room that was otherwise occupied by 'decent' strangers. We spun the best stories of our lives. A series of tales neither false nor true that kept us ignorant of normalcy through the meal. Our stories would often start "A year ago..." or "Yesterday...", and they would often end happy. Fictional versions of true, though miss-timed occurrences. I learnt of Mr Freeman's lost dog. I heard of Aunt Victoria's daughter's slight illness. Of Dame Cotesworthy, I related a son's wedding. All true events. In the stories we told ourselves, however, Mr Freeman's dog was found and returned by a kind stranger; Aunt Victoria's daughter got well and is now back at school, and Dame Cotesworthy's son's wedding was a positively posh affair, happening with neither hitch nor wrinkle. All false endings. We made the night as we wished the world was and didn't once reminisce the fact of our situations.
Through gorging ourselves, we went off in search of the best views of the city we lived in. A dimly lit park atop a hill was our first stop. There, we gave every last dime we owned to the homeless man known only as Tom. His bright smile contributed to the joy of the night, and this being the night that it was, the air of accomplishment we walked upon only served to elevate our souls. The view was breath-taking. We stood beneath the old mahogany tree that always swayed slowly to the music of the wind and observed one half of our sprawling city. A warm breeze fanned us, lifting the hair on our necks and letting it fall gently as only a loved one would. I didn't feel a tear roll down my cheek, but it did. I didn't feel the time go by, but it did. I saw only what was in front of me: an empty home.
An hour later, we would have been found on the highest structure in the second half of our fair city. The air was light and thin, or maybe the view was just that brilliant. The lights spread out beneath us, the energy contained within evident in the slow, intermittent pulsing that could only be noticed if searched for. Far too soon, the lightness of the air began to permeate our brains, signifying the end of our stay.
Finally, we were on the Pence Bridge. The unwavering adhesive between the two halves of the city. The wind here was cold and fast and strong. The constantly zooming cars behind us betrayed what would have otherwise been a flawless illusion of flight. The seemingly infinite canyon below was the perfect place to end this wonderful night we planned for so long.
Jamie stepped in front of us. He smiled richly and his blue eyes glittered like the stars above.
"Right then, let's get this over with,” he said calmly. "I remember meeting both of you. Reflections of myself in slightly fractured mirrors. Our journey is nearly over, and I cannot - I will not - imagine better friends than the pair of you. Through it all, you have been constants. Of me, remember only smiles. Remember only joy."
All said, he climbed over the barrier and dove into flight below.
Some 6 weeks before, Jamie Freeman lost his job. With it, his house, his wife and his daughter. Until the day before yesterday, he'd had only his dog. Only to be awoken in the dark hours of the morning by the pained howl of a wounded animal and the sound of screeching tires in the distance. He barely made it in time to hold Boxer, as his heart beat it's last.
That night, Jamie cried and called Frannie: It was time to go.
Frannie stepped in front of me, her emaciated face given colour by her thin red hair. Now just a shadow of the rose she once was, her delicate features having faded in the past year.
"I apologize, I'm not as accomplished with the pen as you or Jamie," She said as she pulled a wrinkled scrap of paper from her jeans. "But I do have some thoughts written down." With that, she unfolded the scrap and began to read:
"I have lived a full life in the past year. Ninety-nine bucket list items ago, we sat together on my bed, all three of us, adjusting to the realities of a new truth. Today, I stand with you, my best hallucination and most endearing companion on the eve of the hundredth item: A Goodbye. So here it is: Take care, old friend, and know that you have been to me as the moon: always here, always patient. I love you."
With that, Frannie went as Jamie had, taking off into the fall below.
Frannie Parker had been my cousin and closest friend. Once upon a time, I'd fought off an unending influx of gentleman callers in her name. She had been an incomparable beauty, courted by most everyone she'd met. A year ago, she was diagnosed with late-stage Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and given a year to live. The two closest members of her family, Aunt Victoria and I, were the first ones she told. Admittedly, we'd had to coax the information from her over the few days before. Jamie, Frannie and I had then drawn up a list of things she'd always wanted to do but felt she would have time for eventually. Thanks to Frannie's list, we'd all gotten to do things we'd never thought possible. Originally, the list had only ninety-nine items on it. Deliberately left so while we pondered a fitting hundredth. The day before yesterday, we'd found it.
Me? I was the wealthy son of one Dame Cotesworthy. Exactly three years ago, I had been on the cusp of a happily ever after, due to be married to Alice: the finest woman I'd ever met. Alice, as I remember her, had been witty, remarkably hilarious, and gorgeous in a way that even Frannie struggled to match. Within a few months of meeting her, I'd proposed. Sometimes, I guess, you just know. She'd said yes. I guess she'd felt the same way.
February 14, 2006, on this very bridge I sit as I write this, there was a 7-car pileup. Alice Gail Pence's Toyota Camry had was thrown off the Fairfall Bridge by the Shockwave of a fuel tanker explosion. The tanker driver had lost control of its brakes and was struggling to regain manoeuvrability when he'd slammed into a sedan that had abruptly stopped ahead of him.
Search & Rescue had been deployed of course, but therein lay the irony of the day. Remember that strong wind I mentioned? Well, apparently, it flows upwards from the base of the canyon. As such, when my love was thrown over the bridge, her car's fall was slightly mitigated by the pressurized air below. However, that same highly pressurized air prevented helicopters, or any other aircraft for that matter, from reaching her.
My dear Alice had been alive for hours after the crash. Even when I finally arrived at the site later, Alice's screams for help were still audible from above. I cried as I listened to her die. Unable to communicate, unable to help.
The Fairfall has since been renamed the Pence Bridge and the story of my fiancée forgotten. But I remember.
I have now lost two more friends to this bridge and my turn awaits.
To whoever finds this journal,
Remember James Lance Walker and Francesca Annie Parker;
Remember me, Timothy Allan Cotesworthy;
And most of all, remember Alice Gail Pence.
