TOGETHER AGAIN

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Submitted Date 12/07/2018
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For as long as I shall live, I will never forget our last day together.  It had been a spur of the moment idea on a slow Saturday afternoon. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” He said, standing up. He must have been thinking about this for most of the afternoon.  At some point, he had put his shoes on, before sitting down in his favorite chair to mindless channel surf.  I had not noticed, until he said something to me.

“Sure.”  I said, looking up from the book I was reading. “This book is boring me, anyways.”  I said closing the book.  Maybe the walk will clear my head enough that I could finish.  I hated casting a book aside, unfinished.  I got up to put on my shoes and get a light jacket.  I didn’t have to ask where we were going.  I already knew.  There was only one place he liked to walk.  I knew the trail by heart.  We had walked that path that much.

It was a short drive.  We walked side by side, enjoying the silence around us, in our own way.  For some reason, this day, he chose not to tell me the usual stories he liked to tell me while we walked.  That was fine with me.  I wanted to be alone inside my own wandering thoughts today.  Back home, I did not realize how much I needed this break.

"I love these walks, we take."  He said, taking my hand. "You know I love the river, and I appreciate the fact you wanted to come here on such short notice."

I simply smiled as we walked.  I wanted this moment to be his, seeing how he had wanted to do this, and I had not protested at all.  I think he somehow knew I needed this break.  It had been a hectic week both at work and at home.  He knew I hated these walks, but silently endured them for him.  “I love how you know when I need these breaks.  I feel much better, already.”

“I’m glad you are enjoying this walk, today.”  He said, squeezing my hand.  “I know how you don’t like walking to that old bridge, but it holds a special meaning to me.  I don’t know why.  It just does.” 

He has never told me why the river was his favorite place to walk.  Like all the other times, he had bothered to mention that to me, today, he didn’t say why.  It doesn't matter, I guess. Maybe one day I will figure it out, or I will press him to give me an answer.  Not today, though.  I wanted today to be peaceful between us.  Besides, we took so many walks to the river, that at some point, I had learned to silently endure his indulgence, figuring I would understand it all one day. 

He especially loved the old bridge.  It was a wood thing, built in the 1940's for the military.  Or so, he claimed in one of his stories.  In that story, his grandfather was stationed at some old army post that lay in the forest on the other side. I don’t know if that is true or not.  Nobody in town ever talked about an army post that was ever nearby.  And we never walked to the other side of the bridge, too look around.  I don't know why.  I think maybe he secretly feared the ghosts that still lingered around a place that had long ago been swallowed up by the forest.  I know one time, I thought I saw one of those ghosts. 

But we would always linger at that old bridge, sometimes walking halfway.  I was always afraid that one of the old boards would give way, and we would tumble into the river below.  There was no way anybody could ever survive such a fall.  

"Scary, isn't it."  He said, looking down with me.  "I don't know how my grandfather ever made it across each time.  He always drove one of those big trucks.  Filled to the brim with supplies to send overseas."

"I’m sure the bridge was in better condition then."  I said looking around.  I didn't believe his story,  I couldn't see how a big truck could ever drive across without taking the bridge down.  But I would never tell him that.  He loved his grandfather very much, and held onto each remembered story as if it were gospel truth.

"Let's go across and have a look see."  I suggested, as I tentatively took a step or two ahead.  We had never gone any further than halfway.  What I was suggesting was both bold and maybe foolish.  "I want to see what it looks like on the other side."  Like a siren, I motioned for him to follow me.  Holding onto the rail, I started to slowly walk to the other side.  What compelled me that day, I will never know or understand. 

"Let me go first."  He said, walking around me to take the lead.  "I will make sure it is safe for us."  He didn't hold onto the rail, he was that excited to finally see the army post that had been a huge part of his grandfather's stories.

It happened so fast, I didn't have time to react.  He took a step, the board gave way below him, and he tumbled into the river.  I stood staring down watching, to shocked to do anything. 

Later, the story would be he committed suicide at that bridge.  I didn't say anything to correct the story.  It was a suave for the guilt I felt at suggesting we walk across that day. 

So, it didn't really make sense that, the next year, I would go to that bridge on his anniversary.

Standing at the bridge looking across, the memories came to me.  Then I saw him.  Looking as good as he did that day.  He was standing on the bridge, right where he had fallen through.  Motioning for me to come.  I walked to him. I missed him so much, and I could tell he knew that.  "I promise."  He said.  "The fall isn't too bad.  You won't feel a thing. I will hold your hand, and we will go together."  Taking his hand, I stepped off the bridge

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