It's a miracle! Another story, so quickly after the previous one! This one is based on a song by a band that I recently discovered. They are called Hunger, currently supporting Against the Current on tour, and although I couldn't go to the show, I absolutely love their music. That's why the coming story is based on their single "Gravity", but I was also inspired by the music video and the blurb on their website: "Gravity describes the force of attraction in ourselves to both the dark and the beauty. We all tend to break out sometimes and fall back in schemes and habits that we actually abhor. We are just blinded by the beauty of self-destruction."
The story is a bit dark, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Gravity Her The bridge had always been one of my favourite places, even when I was a child. I’d lived in this town for my entire life, watched all my friends leave to the city, but somehow, I remained behind. Perhaps it was the bridge. Perhaps it was something else. The bridge connected the southern part of the town to the northern part, since both were separated by a high way and a river running through. The bridge went over both of them, which is why it was one of my favourite places. There were always people walking on the bridge, but you could also watch down and count the red cars, or look down on the people walking their dogs on the river banks. You had the beauty of nature on one side, and modern life on the other; it was perfect. As a child, I loved to take walks with my family, because we’d often use the bridge to cross to the other part of the town. I’d always lived in the north, but most of the shops and restaurants were in the south, which meant that I used the bridge very often. My mom would never leave me alone on the bridge when I was young, afraid that I’d fall off. But every now and then, I’d sneak out and spend hours on the bridge, thinking, sketching, listening. That never changed as I grew older, and in those days of puberty when you hated everyone and just wanted to get out, I went to the bridge. It calmed me down, made me think. The only thing about the bridge was that as I grew older, I only came here when I felt bad. When life simply became too much, when life wasn’t enough, when my boyfriend broke up with me, when I fell in love with someone else but he wasn’t who I thought he was, when my brother left town and changed his number, when my mother was admitted to the hospital, when I lost my job, etcetera. Slowly, the bridge became a place of sadness. The only upside to it had always been that whenever I went to the bridge, my friends would eventually figure it out. They might not know what was wrong, but they knew something was wrong, and that was enough. Often, one of them, never more than two, would show up, bringing a coffee and would sit down next to me, in silence. That was enough. But eventually my friends all left, and their pleas “you should come too, the city will be good for you” left with them. I didn’t blame them for leaving, although I sat longer on the bridge than ever on the day my best friend left. I understood why they left, and although something in me wanted to follow them, I never did. Somehow, the pain and misery that came with this small town pulled on me stronger than the excitement of starting a new life in the city, where nobody would know my name, or my family. So I stayed behind, alone. Nobody around who’d sit with me at the bridge. On days like this, I wished I’d followed them. I didn’t know the hour, but I didn’t really care. Deep down, I knew that I should leave; the rain would do nothing for me if not give me a cold. But I kept sitting on that bridge, alienated from the world. Nobody was crossing the bridge, the high way was practically empty, and the only movement on the river banks were some birds. Not even the dogs wanted to go out in this weather; let alone people. But I’d always been the odd one out. Slowly, I had stopped talking to people. It wasn’t intentional, but people left. I hadn’t seen my mother in days, and she’d taken her syringes, so she probably wasn’t coming back any time soon. My friends had been gone since forever, and none of them answered my messages. I’d even tried to call James, although neither of us ever really called anyone. He didn’t answer. I left him a message, but I knew he wouldn’t listen to it. He’d found his life it the city, and maybe it was better this way. He wouldn’t miss me if I left. It was weird to look at people. There was nobody here now, but I could easily imagine. Families sitting in a car driving over the highway, on their way to see grandparents, or perhaps going away for the weekend. One of the children would see me sitting on the edge, and they would wave at me, the way children wave at everyone. Maybe their mother would see me, and she’d look away, because people sitting on the edges of bridges were usually not happy people. And they were a happy family. On the other side, near the river, two elderly people were walking, hand in hand, happily married for over 50 years. Perhaps their health was slowly failing them, age having its influence, but they were happy to be still walking there, without a cane. They’d sit down, eat their sandwiches and drink some coffee that they brought from home, look at the children playing, and they’d talk about their youth, about how they had played at the river side, how the high way hadn’t been there yet. A young couple would take their dog for a walk, as they talked about their jobs, about how moving to a small town was the best decision yet, about how maybe they were ready to start a family, about how Joey and Charlotte were already expecting a baby, maybe they should too? But the bitter reality was that everything was deserted, and there was nobody to notice the girl sitting on the edge of the bridge. Him If my best friend had taught me anything, it was that life was often disappointing. I’d never looked at it the way she always did, but my new life had shown me that she had been right all along. She was so much more mature than I would ever be. I’d moved out of our home town optimistically, thinking that I’d find a better life in the city. I left my friend and my family behind, but I knew that I’d find new friends, and stay in contact with the people back home. Neither of that had become true. It was hard finding a job, fitting in, making friends. These people didn’t go out for drinks after work, but they went home. They all had a life for themselves, and they didn’t include other people. Life in the city was mostly lonely. I’d tried calling my old friends, who’d all left way before me, but they were busy. Had their own lives. They had tennis clubs, work meetings, yoga and book clubs. I wasn’t included in anything, and it felt like they didn’t want to include me. But I was stubborn. If they had made it here, then I could, too. I was going to make friends. I became more socially active than ever. I joined a running group in my neighbourhood, helped the children of my neighbour out with their homework, brought coffee for my co-workers until they invited me along, joined a gym and then another one. I was busy, and eventually, it worked out. But I didn’t pick up my phone. Not when my parents called to see if I’d come home for Dad’s birthday, not when she called to see if I wanted to hang out. I regretted many things when I did finally drive back home. I regretted not having checked in with my parents more often, not coming home for dinner every now and then. I regretted that maybe, I would never be able to talk to my Dad anymore. I regretted that it took my mom four calls and three messages to tell me Dad was in the hospital, and that it was urgent. That he wanted to see me. I hadn’t replied to the calls, because I was supposed to go jogging with my neighbours and I didn’t want to miss it. It seemed so unimportant now. But in hindsight, I regretted one thing more. My dad recovered, I made my apologies, and we became a close family again. In that aspect, I got a second chance. I didn’t get that chance when it came to her. She’d called me, the day that I finally drove back home. I hadn’t answered. She never called, so it was probably urgent. Important. But I didn’t answer. I listened to her voicemail, days after she left it. She talked, but I could barely hear her voice. It shouldn’t have surprised me when my eyes were pulled towards the bridge, driving back, and I saw here there, on the edge of the bridge. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me that when my Dad was out of the woods, and I went to the bridge, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t home, and her neighbours told me that neither her mom nor her had been home in the past weeks. It shouldn’t have surprised me that I never heard from her again. I was supposed to keep her safe, should have made her stay, but she faded away.
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February 2017
About meWelcome to my blog! This is where I post my stories, occasionally accompanied by personal thoughts. I always post short stories, as I keep the longer ones for myself. My stories are often based on songs. I listen to music a lot (mostly pop punk / punk rock), and often get inspired by melodies, lyrics, or music videos. |