A Long Way to Fall: Notes on Jumping off a Bridge

           

            Start with shit—human shit. Start with Jay tracking human shit through the emergency room entrance, across the lobby, into the bathroom. Tell them how he stinks the whole place up with the overwhelming stench of fresh feces—the entire hospital, which is supposed to be a safe, sterile environment.

            Flashback to the Allegheny River, to the Kinzua Reservoir, to the bridge you all traveled so far to jump off of. Flashback to Mikey, to how he had a momentary lapse in judgment, to how he believed he could leap like an Olympic long jumper. Tell them how he cracked his shin on the backside of a guardrail—the sharp side of a guardrail. Tell how he fell to the asphalt and shouted, “I can see the bone!”

            Tell them how you could see the bone, how the tight skin over his shin was split, not cut, split, like the dry leather on an old shoe. Tell them how you could momentarily see the white of his bone before the blood, red and dark, began pouring from the wound.

            Tell them how Joey drove a hundred miles an hour to the emergency room, how he weaved in and out of traffic like an ambulance driver, even though Mikey’s condition was far from an emergency. Tell them how Joey said, “I finally have a real reason to drive like this!” Tell them how you arrived at the hospital in record time—the hospital in which Jay would soon track human shit through.

            Bring it back to the present, to Mikey receiving a handful of stitches, to buying booze at a drive-through beer store, to returning to the bridge—the bridge where Mikey split his shin open.

            Describe the bridge, about how it must be a hundred feet above the water, about the ladder leading up to the catwalk underneath, about the human shit covering the lower rungs of the ladder—the human shit Jay stepped in before tracking it up the rungs earlier in the day. Tell them about walking across the catwalk, eighteen wheelers barreling sixty-five miles an hour just above your head, which causes the catwalk to tremble like a ramshackle ride at the carnival. Tell them how you can climb over the rail of the catwalk, down another ladder, and find yourself standing on a concrete pillar sixty feet above the Allegheny River, above the Kinzua Reservoir.

            Tell them how Tex is about to jump blindly off the upstream side of the pillar when some local yokel—some Marine home on leave—says “Whoa, wait a sec, bud. I ain’t ever seen anyone jump off that side before.” Tell them how Tex proceeds to jump off the “usual” side, how his scream seems to last forever, how he hits the water’s surface and swims the forty or so yards back to shore.

            Next, tell them about the Marine, how he jumps after Tex, barefoot and silent. Tell them how when he hits the water he disappears beneath its dark surface, how he doesn’t come up for fifteen seconds, for thirty, for over a minute. Talk about what’s going through your mind, about how you think you just witnessed somebody die, how you don’t know what to do next.

            Hold the suspense, just for a moment, then have the Marine break through the surface of the water. Have his small audience let out a sigh of relief. Have the Marine burst out in laughter before he swims back to shore and disappears up the hill, over the guardrail that Mikey split his shin on and out of your life forever.

            Tell them how Jay and Tex can’t get enough of jumping off the bridge, how they jump, swim to shore, climb the ladder, cross the catwalk, descend the second ladder, stand on the concrete pillar sixty feet above the Allegheny River, above the Kinzua Reservoir, before jumping again, over and over.

            Talk about how you and Josh and Joey stand on the pillar this entire time, watching them jump, trying desperately to build up the nerve to do it yourselves. Tell them how you’ve never jumped off anything nearly that high before, how you look over the edge and vomit from fear. Tell them how Tex calls you all a “bunch of pussies,” how Mikey claims he would jump if it wasn’t for his split shin, about how Jay has only words of encouragement to offer. “It’s easy,” he says. “Just jump. Like this.”

            Tell them about how you realize that traversing back across the catwalk is a more frightening prospect than actually jumping, how you finally find the courage to stand on the edge, how the water appears to be a mile below, how it seems like such a long way to fall. Hold the suspense. Tell them how you finally do it, how you jump off the pillar, how you seem to fall forever, how you scream as loud as you can, how you hit the water with a violent force, how you plunge ten, fifteen, twenty feet underwater, how you hurry back to the surface, how you swim back to the safety of shore.

            Tell them how Josh and Joey chicken out. How they climb back up the ladder, across the catwalk, and down the other ladder—the one covered in human shit. Tell them how Tex rags on them for being “pussies,” how Jay only mentions that they missed out on an incredible experience, how Mikey claims he would have definitely jumped if it wasn’t for his split shin.

            Tell them how Joey tells Mikey that he’s “full of shit,” how Tex says, “No, Jay is full of shit,” how Josh laughs at Tex’s joke, how Jay responds with “At least I jumped off the bridge.”

            End the story with something sentimental. End the story with a quote. Tell them how you’ll never forget that day, how you’ll never forget that bridge, how you’ll always remember a certain five words: “I can see the bone!”