text: I'm not sure how active this sub is anymore, but I wanted to put this out there. I'm not a very frequent writer, but I felt I had to get this down, and get it out there. I do want to know what you think, so please be honest! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *There's a certain amount of irony here,* I thought, in a moment of self-consciously dramatic pause. As familiar as this street was, I kept expecting someone I knew to be in one of the passing cars. Maybe they'd lend a hand. Give me a lift. Maybe they would notice something was off, and they'd ask if anything was wrong. But no; first it had been a taxi, a garish blur of yellow through the stale smoke I blew in front of me. Next, a pizza delivery car. More than unfamiliar, they seemed foreign, and inauthentic, on my well trodden path to the library. *Is that even ironic?* I still couldn't keep up with what irony was and wasn't. I was shaken out of my self-pity for just a moment when I realized I couldn't feel my fingers. I'd taken my gloves off to better double fist a coffee and a cigarette. Not the "I'm so sophisticated" kind of coffee and cigarette my British friends liked to very publicly have in front of the hip coffee shop while sporting designer sunglasses and a single earbud in, but the "I'm so fucked" kind of coffee and cigarette I liked to very privately have on my way to write a 25 page research paper I hadn't started yet for a class I haven't been to in a month. *And we're back,* I snidely remarked to myself, as my thoughts returned to self-pity. A college facilities truck rolled past, kicking up a frigid dust. I took a drag. I took a sip. I wondered why I'd dug myself this stupid, stupid hole. I took a drag. I took a sip. I wondered how close I could get to 25 pages in 15 hours. I took a very long drag, and a very long sip. *It's definitely something, if not ironic.* Am I thinking of symbolism? Does my lonely trip to campus represent something? Do those anonymous drivers hold some kind of deeper meaning? *Is that Ryan? Oh - no. Just a pickup.* I sighed deeply, and tapped my cigarette, knocking the ash off the end. I was being dramatic, and I knew it. *"What's the best way to get out of a field of shit?"* I heard him asking in my head. "Get up and start walking," I mumbled, the frozen air crystallizing my words as they left my lips. He'd always said that to me. *It's that "get up" part that's the problem.* What are you supposed to do when you can't bring yourself to care that you're lying in shit? I mean, I know it's shit, but if I close my eyes and hold my breath, I can pretend it's not. Fuck me, I thought. When did I get so dramatic? I took a drag. *What am I, a girl?* An image flashes in my head: I'm *dressed* as a girl, wearing some ridiculous flowery skirt I picked up from the Goodwill, and she's got on one of my shirts, with one of my baseball caps pulled over her bouncy curls. It was our first theme party: dress up as your date. We look goofy. I could see her so clearly; her cheeks rosy from the gin and tonics we thought we were fancy for drinking, her eyes shut tight and her face scrunched as she strikes a funny pose for a photo. I can feel her soft curves through the flannel of my shirt as I wrap my arm around her, and I can smell the perfume she wore. *Did she wear it for me?* I make eyes at her - for the photo of course - and the flash goes off. We smile, we laugh, and we go for another drink. I looked up from my feet, and I looked back. *Shit.* I'd walked right past the library. I groaned, kicking myself, took a drag, and almost turned around, when I remembered where I was. I faced forward again; I choked on the smoke. *That bridge.* It had been three months since I'd laid eyes on that pond, that bridge. That damned bridge. I remembered the morning after the theme party, walking past that pond, that bridge, wondering if what they said about it was true. That if you took a girl across it, you'd be destined to be together forever. *Of course it's not true,* I'd thought, but I couldn't help but imagine taking her there. Brushing strands of blonde hair out of her face as I kissed her at the crest of that bridge. That damned bridge. I found myself sitting on a bench near the edge of the pond, and my mind was stuck on blonde hair again. Not hers, though. His. *Fuck.* My chest tightened. I got up to leave, but I couldn't turn away. The clouds of my breath were more distinct here, near the water, floating out over the pond like ghosts. *Just look away. Please.* But I knew I wouldn't. I hadn't been able to three months prior. I wasn't able to in that moment either. *I have a fucking paper to write. I need to start this fucking paper.* My eyes were getting bleary, distorting the ghosts I couldn't tear my gaze from. What would he say if he saw me right now? I wondered. I heard him in my head again. *"You're being a bitch, Dean. You're being a total fucking bitch right now."* He said it with a laugh. I knew he was right. He was always fucking right. I was being a bitch. But it was his fault. And I tried to tell him so. "It's your fucking fault, John," I managed to whisper, weakly, with a shaky breath. I knew I was wrong. It was his fault he had killed himself, sure. But it wasn't his fault I was being a bitch. It just felt good to blame him. That selfish fuck. I felt a buzz in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. "How's your paper coming?" she'd texted me. "Great. Working hard. I'll text you in a bit." "<3." *Yeah right.* I pocketed my phone. She wouldn't come to get me, not like she'd done three months ago when I'd knelt for hours in the mud at the edge of the pond, staring at that bridge, crying, empty. If I told her where I was, she'd tell me to stop wallowing. She always said that. *Fucking wallowing. I hate that word.* That's why I'd stopped talking to her about it. That's why we'd been so distant recently. *This is your fault too, John,* I lied. *Goddamn it, my paper.* The paper just felt so worthless. It all felt worthless. Parties felt worthless. Eating felt worthless. Showering felt worthless. Getting up and going to class felt worthless. Hell, getting up at all felt worthless. I didn't see the point. All I could see was John hanging from that bridge, gently swinging, back and forth. That goddamned, fucking bridge. I flicked my cigarette into the pond. I set the cold dregs of my coffee down on the bench next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. I sat there for a while, just breathing that bitingly cold air deep into my lungs. "Beautiful, huh?" A voice from behind the bench startled me. I opened my eyes, and turned around. Some short, brown-haired girl, wearing earmuffs and a black coat, both of which seemed comically large for her frame, stood hugging her arms around her torso. "What?" "That bridge. It's so pretty at night. When they light it up. Isn't it?" She glanced up, toward the bridge at my back. She glanced back at me; her eyes were a pure, icy blue in the light. Her smile turned up in one corner of her mouth, sort of half crooked. "Oh. Uh, yeah." I glanced away. My brow furrowed. "I'm... sorry to have bothered you. Have a good night." I'd been too gruff. She turned on her heels and left. First I cursed her, but then I cursed myself. *You ass. She just wanted to talk. She didn't know.* It was starting to snow gently. A delicate calm settled over the pond. I looked at the bridge again, watching shadows dance across it, and thought about how stupid I'd been to have hoped for a friend to appear on the road earlier. I wasn't even sure anyone would've stopped for me. I'd been so detached from the people I cared about. I felt so lonely, so desolate. I wondered, for a moment, if this was how John felt before he did it. *People don't just show up with free bundles of joy,* I thought. *No one just shows up with a smile -* In an instant, I looked up, away from the pond, away from the bridge. She was still in eyesight. Something took over me; I shouted, "Hey! Hey, wait up!" She stopped and turned around. She still had her arms wrapped around herself. She seemed confused. "What?" she asked, terse. *You know, that crooked smile was kind of charming.* "Just wait a second!" Paper be damned. I got up, and started walking.