Short Story Family – That Man on the Bridge
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The clock ticked on till half past twelve in the morning, and Alicia had just finished her work in office. She was busy enough to not notice her phone being buzzed several times by her fiance, Robert, and now while dodging past the few people present in the office, and running down the stairs for missing the lift by a whisker, she remembered about the candle-light dinner she was supposed to have with Robert. Her tired body, made even tireder by her mental fatigue, felt sick on the occurrence of the thought of the unavoidable fight that she was going to have with her fiance on the topic of being so late to home. Well, she was not always this late from work, but the workload that particular day was nothing but extreme. In a vain attempt to evade the argument with Robert, she sent him a text reading, Too much work. Will be late for dinner. Love.
Coming out of the box of the office, she wasn’t really greeted quite well by the fresh air outside. It was raining, and raining quite hard. In the absence of an umbrella, she had to use her purse to protect her, as much as that small thing can, from the heavily pouring down rain. After yelling at the yellow taxis plying by, she finally managed to get one, and by the time she rested her arse on the seat, she was totally wet, and with almost no ounce of energy left in her.
By the time the taxi reached Pearl St. the rain had ceased to pour, and by the time they crossed St. Allen St. dinner was a long forgotten attraction to her, she just wanted to reach home as fast as possible and hug her bed, she was ready to give away everything for just that one warm and cozy bed in her bedroom, comforting herself in her night gown, pulling up the warm blanket over her cold and tired body, and cozy-ing herself on her soft pillow, she would fall asleep in just one join of the eyelids, and she would sleep her heart out, she always loved sleeping from her very childhood, but studies and struggles to have a good carrier did very little in keeping her favorite practice in vogue.
As the taxi drove over Williamsburg Bridge, she smiled a smile of happiness, home was not far away, bed was not far away. The radio was playing some song, Hero, she doesn’t remember hearing it anytime before, but she knows the lyrics more or less.
Halfway down the bridge, the taxi got caught up in the regular traffic snarl, and waited there, for how much time she was in no mood of counting. She pulled down the window of her taxi, as the cold moist wind blew her hair. She never had spent a very long time looking at the river and admiring it, at least that’s what she remembers not doing. But this time, it all looked so familiar, as if she has spent an entire lifetime at that place. She strained her memory, trying to remember when had she come to this place. The wrinkles kept on coming on the river, it must be very old, she thought. All she could remember was just a sound, sound of laughter, and a screech, and then some abstract shouts. Nevertheless, this wind was kinda soothing, yes, it was cold, it was wet, but surely enough, it had some old connection with her which she can’t really locate in her head.
Thinking about many a things, but nothing exactly in particular, suddenly a hand, a pretty old one, touched her, on the head, and before she could realize it, the owner of the hand even kissed her on the cheeks. Now this was really disturbing and not-expected. She threw herself out of the car, and looking straight into that old man’s eyes slapped him hard right across his face. This obviously did a lot to pull the crowds’ attention to that particular point on the bridge. As the many people gathered around, she blasted off, accusing the man of molesting and annoying her in public. She called him a jerk, and a pervert, and before he could say anything, the crowd had started beating him up.
The traffic had started to move by then and she just got into her taxi which slowly pulled out of the place. Like a flash, a face ran through her mind, a very similar one to that of the old man, but not really so old, a bit younger, no, wait, a lot younger, a smiling and happy face of a young man who might look like this old man when he got to this age. She turned around for one last time, two police officers had taken care of the situation, the crowd was slowly dispersing, but that old man was nowhere to be seen. It was strange but she did feel a bit bad for that man, why, she did not know.
Back home, she shared everything with Robert. The candle-light dinner was obviously cancelled.
A few days passed by without anything significant occurring in her life. Immersed in her job and cuddled by her fiance’s love her life was all well and good, until two days later, on a particular Friday, she received a letter, a handwritten one, addressed from the Queensboro Correctional.
Dear Emily,
You probably don’t remember me, but I am that person, whom you loved the most at one point of time, and I am that person only who still loves you more than anything else. You perhaps have forgotten how you played with me, how we used to stand on the Williamsburg Bridge, and you used to ask me about why so many wrinkles on the face of the East River, and I’d say, because it’s too old. You must have forgotten our scintillating conversations, our hiking and trekking together on the mountains, how I used to sing songs to you, how you loved to hear the same song again and again, (of all the songs on earth!) “Hero”, do you still listen to it? does that song still reminds you of me? or is it just another song for you now?
I used to be a singer in my younger days, and you were my both my best student and teacher. Remember how you used to tell me to sing any particular song you’d listen to on the radio, and like this, in order to make you happy, how I started singing it to you, while playing my guitar? Remember how you used to clap and cheer for me whenever I used to perform on stage? I once remember you asking me why am I not in the center stage, why am I always at a corner. That day I took an oath to be a professional singer one day. And it did come true. Oh, how happy you were to see me performing alone in the stage. Well, you were the only audience! It was a rehearsal, and the next day, would have been the best day of our lives, the day that would have permanently changed our lives, we would not be poor anymore.
But alas! That day never really came. We were standing on the Williamsburg Bridge, after rehearsals and you were asking about what songs I’d be singing the next day, and how can I improvise on my future performances, and you were so very happy, that you started singing and dancing on the pavement, on the same song, Hero.
And you know sometimes karma comes in a really bad way. That day, a man had stolen a woman’s purse from a restaurant, and he was fleeing from the police. He found a bike, and rode it all the way to Williamsburg Bridge where the usual traffic confronted him, and so with the police zeroing in on him, he started biking on the pavements, and before I could know about him he had come a bit too close to you. Yes of course I tried my best to help you, but I was a bit late and the bike was a bit fast, and in the course of time, you, me and the biker all collided. The biker broke a leg, thus karma playing it’s role, I badly hurt my throat and lost the power of speech forever, thus abruptly bringing an end to my flourishing singing career, and you, my darling, of all, hurt your head, and lost your memory.
With nothing in hand, no money, no career, absolutely nothing, I decided that it’d be best to leave you. You had no memory of me, and you were taken to a home, where I knew they would take good care of you, cloth you and feed you well, you will be going to school and you will have a job, you will have a life. And I was right. They gave you a new identity, they named you Alicia, it was like your resurrection, you were born again, with a more lucky birth this time.
In all these years, I went back to be standing mutely at a corner of the stage, stringing my guitar, and crying at my horrible luck. But I never forgot you, I never stopped thinking about you. I heard that you’re settled now, that you found a boy and you love him, your dreams came true and he’s giving you everything that I couldn’t give you anyway. I wish nothing but the best for you. It seems only yesterday that we were together.
Well recently, I grew the habit of writing down music for various artists, and now my work is getting appreciated by many. So life’s giving me a second chance as well. Last Friday, I got a letter stating a price for my works from one of the drama studios of New York, the price is really good, and they are really happy with my work. I thought it might enthuse you, so I just thought of paying you a visit, on that same place, Williamsburg Bridge. Sometimes we are on a collision course and we do not know about it. I was afraid to meet you, after so many days. I hate to turn up out of the blue, but I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight my impulse to go to you, on seeing my darling dear after so many days. I thought you’d recognize me on seeing me, but you didn’t. I didn’t mean to harm you, honey. But I just love you so very much. My muted voice did little to make those fools on the street understand who I actually am.
Nevertheless, I hope this letter might help you to remember a lot of things. I beg you to please not forget me. I again missed on my recording on the next day of the incident, and they cancelled my contract.
My hearing is on the coming Saturday. I hope to see you there and tell everyone who I actually am, and that I was up to nothing bad.
With Love,
Your dearest Dad.
–END–
