"Together": A Short Story

My heeled feet chime rhythmically across the rotted wooden bridge. Watching my step, I focus on them. They are an elegant pale yellow and somehow still shiny, contrasting with the dirt and mold they trod on. They’re the kind that are pointed, because professional women are to be discernable by the shape of their shoes, and nothing says “take me seriously” like toes that form the letter V. My breath plumes from between my lips, sending wisps into the dark night, and I wonder if that’s what it would look like for a soul to leave the body. Dark gargantuous shapes line either side of the river; black masses move in semi-unison. The trees have formed a midnight coalition and would prefer to conspire without my presence. I wonder if they’re armed, and guide my respectable feet towards the side of the bridge, leaning over slightly.

The water is another living thing, fluctuating between black and blinding white, roaring and whispering in a series of siren’s songs. The rush slams into the rocks and carries on, sending silver crystals of moonlight flying through the air, only to vanish. It smells like 5 degrees Fahrenheit. I pull the sleeves of my fleece coat down over my hands, taking in the numinous night, surprised to feel a sense of childish wonder and fright when I was supposed to feel nothing at all. The decomposing bridge is wet, and as I shift my weight I notice pieces falling through an expanding crack, one that’s quite big enough for me.

“You’re not planning to take that jacket overboard with you, are you?” a voice sounds from behind me.

I spin sharply, being sure to tighten my grip on the metal beam at my side. A young girl stands directly opposite from me, leaning against one of the metal beams herself. I open my mouth to refute her rightful accusation, but she interrupts my excuses.

“Ya know, cause there’s a donation box outside of the grocery store and it seems like a kinda greedy way to go out,” she chides. “I mean, you’re probably here instead of on the top of some high rise because you didn’t want to make anyone clean up the mess, so I know you’re considerate.”

She stares at me with a faint trace of a smirk, arms crossed in front of her in complete leisure. She shrugs off the silence, looking at the water over her shoulder, and then shifting her weight so that she is standing straight.

“Relax, it’ a joke. Unless of course you wanna make sure you’re in good favor with the big man upstairs first,” she points up at the clouds, “in which case I’d be happy to make the donation in your name. Assuming you’re pressed for time.”

The faint smirk widens into a complete smile as she speaks. I stare, completely bewildered by her casual absurdity and completely callous sense of humor. She dares to giggle, glancing up at me expectantly. I open my mouth to tell her how inappropriate and completely insensitive and perverse her comments are and- instead I feel the sticky heat of tears flowing silently down my face. I don’t try to wipe them away, or even hide that I’m crying, I simply turn away from the girl and step onto the first rung of the rail, then the second.

When my stiletto lodges onto the third rung, I feel the girl’s hand gently grasp around my wrist. I glance down expecting to meet with panic, but instead of looking at me like the maniac I must seem, she is smiling softly, her eyes wandering past me and tracing the landscape. Her pale blonde hair catches in the wind and the moon blesses each lock with a faint glow. Streaks of faded pink I hadn’t noticed before rupture her air of serenity and serve as the only reminder that she is only a girl. She has fine features, and a very petite frame that dwindles in comparison with the boldness of her personality. Her eyes could be any color and the night would have still masked them in blackness. She couldn’t be more than sixteen.

“The stars didn’t come out to watch the show,” she says, looking past my stare and into the sky.

I follow her gaze and notice that she’s right, the moon is brilliant and there are no clouds in the sky, and yet there are no stars either.

“If you turn back and walk away now, I’ll have been the only witness,” she says, “and we can both pretend this didn’t happen.”

I pause for the first time and consider, not if it’s worth it, but how to proceed without leaving this young girl with a burden she never asked for.

“So what exactly are you doing out here? Doesn’t look like this was in your plans for the night” I say, gesturing to her penguin pajama pants.

She glances at my face for a moment, then pulls herself up one rung and rests her chin on the top bar beside my thighs.

“Let’s just say talking you down from a ledge has been the best part of my night,” she replies, “I’m supposed to be house-sitting while my mom meets her new boyfriend for pizza. Instead he showed up to ‘pick her up’, then wanted to hang around for a bit too long, if you know what I mean.”

I step down until we are level with one another, forgetting my own troubles as my maternal instincts kick in.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Have you told anybody?” I ask.

“I’ve hinted, but it hasn’t been this bad until tonight and no one wants to tell their mom that Prince Charming is actually a pedophile,” she shrugs again, exhaling and shifting in discomfort.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t let it go any further. It’s good that you removed yourself for now, but when you go back the first thing you need to do is tell your mom the whole truth,” I say firmly.

“And what about you? Let me guess, you didn’t’ get the promotion?” she asks in a teasing tone. I snicker at the understatement, but a hollow feeling creeps back into my heart.

A little over an hour ago I had been sitting at my desk, my pen tapping nervously on the stack of papers in front of me as I watched each of my co-workers shut down their desktops and push in their chairs for the night. I went over what I wanted to say again and again, refilled my small paper cup from the gurgling plastic dispenser four times. Finally, after waiting an hour beyond my shift, the regional manager shut the door to his private office and noticed me standing there.

“Stella, what are you still doing here?” he had asked.

“Oh, well you said that we could meet after work today to discuss potential funding and how to proceed with my project. I have the entire file and proposal right here and it shouldn’t take too long.”

I had worked there for five years, and I didn’t need to remind him of my obvious capabilities. I was wearing pointed heels.

“Right, right. Let’s see that file.”

He took the folder out of my hands and skimmed through it much too quickly. He nodded and looked up at me, pausing for a moment too long.

“This is impressive work as always. You really are an asset to this team, always have been.”

He pointed at me with the file, his eyes on my assets the whole time. I began to ramble about all of the details of the project, the ambitious but completely doable timeline and all of the very positive estimations for profitability. He leaned against my desk casually while I pointed to specifics in the file that he might have missed, and he moved close pretending to listen. I kept a suitable distance, knowing that he wasn’t as interested as he was feigning to be. I persevered anyway telling myself to just get to the part where he would consent to the funding and I would walk away, until one of his hands was placed behind me on the desk, the other pushing the file down while he hovered over me.

“It’s refreshing to see an employee so… passionate,” he murmured, his breath on my face. “We should meet after hours more often, really get the ball rolling on this.”

Not wanting to lose the opportunity to make something of my years of hard work, I meekly smiled and tried to move the conversation along, simulating ignorance of his advancements. He parried, grabbing my ass and pushing his weight against mine. He commented on how distracting it was to see me ‘prancing around’ the office in my high heels, joking about his lack of productivity recently. He began pulling at the buttons of my blouse. I asked to refocus. I tried to draw attention to the file. I told him he was being inappropriate, I shifted my weight to get out of his trap. I pushed back and told him this was harassment when he held my waist and pushed his lips against my neck, and that this time I would report it. I stomped on his foot and slapped him across the face when ‘no’ wasn’t enough. Then I hyperventilated on the faded blue carpet of my cubicle floor while he let out a sickening groan, pulled up his trousers, and tucked his shirt back in. As I sobbed he told me that he’d see me in the morning if I knew what was good for me, and that no one would believe the claims of an attention-seeking bitch anyway.

“By the way, I gave the project budget to Jared’s team yesterday,” he said as he tossed my file into the trash, adjusted his tie, and walked out.

Then I had gotten in my car and driven straight here, with no plans to show up for break-room coffee the next morning. Tugging my skirt down over my knees, I decide to answer the girls’ question vaguely.

“Something like that,” I said.

She gazes at me with more understanding than a teenage girl should, and nods subtly, nibbling on her black fingernails.

“That’s what we always say, isn’t it? ‘Something like that’. But what we mean is that no one could possibly understand what we’ve felt and it’s more terrifying than the idea of not seeing tomorrow, and people have the nerve to call that cowardice,” she remarks. “There’s no ‘good’ reason to do it, just like there’s no ‘bad’ reason. Ain’t life a bitch?”

I bite my lip, finding no words to express how well I understand.

“Are you still going to do it?” she blurts abruptly.

I look out over the rapids, not feeling much at all, but not feeling the same desperation as before. I shake my head.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” I sigh.

Suddenly the girl reaches out and grabs my hand in hers, devoid of any warmth. She looks at me intensely and I still can’t tell what color her black eyes are.

“Think of seven good reasons to keep on fighting, because you’ll think of a hundred in those seven seconds before you hit the water.”

I opened my mouth to ask her how she was so wise, but the sound of police sirens and the flashing colors of red and blue abruptly painted her face. I turned to the entrance of the bridge, where the cars were screeching to a halt and uniformed men began to advance towards us.

“Please step away from the railing!” one shouted.

Feeling heat rush into my cheeks, I wonder how they could have possibly known that I was coming here. Did my manager tell them? Did he somehow accuse me of crime to cover his own? I feel overwhelming humiliation as I place my hands on the top of my head and walk to the center of the bridge. I prepare to stutter out an excuse, that I came for peace and quiet and nothing more, when I notice a woman frantically pushing past the police, an open white trench coat billowing behind her. She has mascara running down her face, where her panicked expression makes me take a step back as she continues to run straight towards me. I hold out my arms to stop her, but instead she rushes past me and grabs the strange girl in an embrace, putting her hands on her face and arms as if to make sure she was actually there.

“Emory, baby, thank god you’re okay,” she wails, “I found your note, I am so sorry Emory. I am so sorry I failed you. Please forgive me sweet girl, this is all my fault.”

The woman sobbed into Emory’s hair, and Emory slowly lifted her arms to hug her back. The police had caught up by now, and one stood beside me.

“What’s going on?” I ask him.

“Her mother found her suicide note and called us to come straight here. We were afraid we wouldn’t make it in time, so it’s good that you were here” he says.

I turn in shock and watch the reunion between Emory and her mother, who have collapsed to the ground and are still embracing each other and talking in hushed whispers. I had been so caught up in my own pain that I hadn’t even considered why she would be here in the middle night. I want to apologize for my selfishness, but a rock rests in my throat. Emory finally stands and wipes the tears from her face, letting out a deep breath and walking over to stop in front of the police officer.

“I have something that I need to report, sir,” she states bravely.

Snapping out of my trance, I walk over and take her hand, smiling softly as she looks at me.

“We both do.”