Standing on the ledge
legs tightly squeezed together
hair wiping across my face
My body shutters in the wind.
There's pressure in my head pounding against my brain.
It's so cold my knees ache, surprisingly, I'm sweating.
My shirt is stuck to my back.
I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, I can't move too much.
I'm dangerously close.
I look down at the water It's dark, a long way down.
Will this hurt?
The bridge light flutters on and off.
Like me, it's trying to live
escape, I can't tell.
I reach down into my empty pockets
I left my phone in the car: my mom is probably worried.
I don't know.
She was cooking spaghetti when I left, the twins crying in the background.
I told her I would be back.
A daggering wind cuts into my jacket.
My chest winces.
I start to think:
I can't do this.
I want to get off and go home
I turn ahead to take a glimpse of my mom's beat up Volkswagen.
My mom is probably really worried.
I shiver. It's too cold.
The light shuts off.
I wait till it turns on, but it doesn't turn on.
My eyes have adjusted.
I turn slowly on the ledge facing the car.
How long have I been out here? A hour? 2?
All I have to do is step up.
I take a step planting my right foot on the top
My right quad shakes violently.
I reach up to grab the wood above me
My left leg follows me, but then
falling into the water screaming.