Jump

I don’t care. No one cares about me. I’ve hitched from California to Maine, bumming rides, stealing cars an’ leavin’ ’em. Worked a bit waitressing, slept outside mostly. What’s left?

God that river is beautiful down there, so smooth and peaceful. It’s so dark tonight, I wonder how deep it is? I can just fly down to it, be embraced in its waters. The danger, the floating in air . . . Yeah. Yes, there’s my freedom, my acceptance. I’ll show them who’s in charge. Look at me. Yes look at me, just a brief jump from this bridge, yes. I’ll come river I’ll come, but first.

Yes, yes there is my freedom, brief soaring free down to the river’s embrace. Yes, yes. Oh, the river so far below the bridge, so smooth, so calm, so slow but moving. I haven’t moved since he drowned two years ago.

Purpose? I laugh. Yeah, sure if you call my dumb room and dull routine purpose. Get up, buses, phone calls, dial-tone answers, buses, go to bed. Over ’n over. Same drudge, every day, I tried Mom I did but I can’t live like that. Up at 7, breakfast at 7:30, work 8:30 and oh two buses to get there; work on phones listening to dial-tone responses in a room of dozens of other zombies; 5:30 to 6:30 two buses home to a one-room apartment that should have been painted twenty years ago; 7:00 some sort of dinner; tv till 10. Then bed, no friends to call, no family to write, no spouse to hug, no reason to live. And this dump, with red neon signs out the one window, next to the tracks, by the wide river, by the bridge over the wide river, yes, this room with the bath down the hall, with peeling paint, with faded stained curtains. Every day, every week, every month the same.

What Mom, a shrink? Talk to a weird stranger at the vet center? I’ve no words left in me, gone bye-bye two years ago with the ambulance Mom. It’s her fault, she did it she forced me mom. Maybe I could’ve handled it differently if I wasn’t so strung out, I wouldn’t have killed her. Yeah Mom, could’ve been, but I wasn’t so mad at her. I wouldn’t have hit her so hard. Maybe then she would’ve lived. But she should not’ve done it Mom. No, she shouldn’t have done it.

Oh it flows so slow tonight. Smooth with purpose like to a goal. If I stand just so on this railing maybe just maybe . . . That’s it, left foot on the low rail, right foot on the top rail, knee bent ‘n ready. Let’s do this before sun comes up.

What? What’s that Mom? You want to chat about something? Sure Mom, just not now; wait till I’m in that black river way down there.

Can’t wait? Ok, here I’ll step down a bit, but I’m still going to bend over the rail.

Look Mom. Look. Down there, those sparkling green, red, white, lights floating by, so beautiful. I’m comin’. I’m comin’.

Yes Mom, what ja want? Okay, so I looked at my phone lots at your funeral. And you’re mad again at me. Just lighten up. Jeez. Yes, I’m goin’ to do this. Stop bothering me. No Mom, leave it, I’m not callin’ 988 – just talk, talk, talk, like at work. Stupid. Yeah, hanging seemed too painful and guns – ugh. But look Mom, down there.

Way down there, oh so peaceful that smooth river. Yes, I’ll wait till the boat leaves. But Mom, I’ve got to go before sunup.

Honey just get some serotonin. Stop it Mom. Stop it ‘n all your f..in’ medical stuff. Stop it. The doc can give you that. Your neurobiological condition will get better. Your serotonergic mechanism imbalanced. But dear, you know there are other biological reasons linked to what you are thinking, such as your delicate hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis. Simply dear – no wait,  wait don’t interrupt me – known as HPA . . .

Shut up. Just shut the fuck up Mom. Let me be. I can take care of myself.

Just imagine the thrill of floating free – freee. Just imagine, Mom. And I’ll be with you then. Remember my first belly flop ‘n the city pool Mom? Oh that hurt. Saved by the cute lifeguard; he brought me to the side, pushed me up . . .

My legs are gettin’ sore. I’ll step down for a sec.

. . . And he showed me how to jump in ­ feet together, hold my breath, jump feet first. That was easy. Fun. Smooth bubbles all around me. Yeah smooth, that’s how I’ll do it. Feet first, deep breath, nothing to it and then water’s embrace. Will it be cold?

Uh-oh, sun’s comin’ up. I don’t like cold pools. It looks cold, the river does. Is it hard? Will I hit bottom Mom?

Here, I’ll straighten up. Is that better Mom? Oh the wind’s cold. Those lights in the city though, they’re bright. Will anybody see me fall?

Look Mom people are finally paying attention to me. Stopping their cars, on their cell phones, lights shining on me. I’m coming Mom. Feet first, hold your breath, now just when I’m jumping they’re seeing me, paying attention to me. Too late folks tooooo late.

Barry says: An architect, sculptor, father, yoga instructor and a Viet Nam war vet, Barry performed architecture for forty years in Southern California, and published three books. Barry continues to write stories of memoirs, fiction, the paranormal realms, and on thoughts/musings on barrywritings.com.