The Bridge – Four Perspectives

/ peckapalooza

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains depictions of suicidal ideation and suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide, please reach out for help:

Remember, you are not alone. Help is available 24/7.

1. Martin – 7:42 PM

Martin Cleary pulled his car to the shoulder of the Riverside Bridge and killed the engine. Rain drummed against the roof in a steady pulse that matched the throbbing in his temples. The digital clock on his dashboard changed to 7:43, its green glow the only light besides the distant streetlamps that dotted the bridge’s expanse.

He reached for the phone sitting on the passenger seat, the screen illuminating his face as he unlocked it. There were seventeen missed calls from Diane. He couldn’t bear to listen to the voicemails—not now, not after what he’d discovered. The photos she’d accidentally synced to their shared cloud account told him everything he needed to know about the past six months of late nights at the office.

Twenty-two years of marriage. That’s what it had amounted to: a handful of digital images that shattered everything he thought he knew.

Martin opened the door and stepped out into the rain. The cold water immediately soaked through his thin dress shirt, but he barely noticed. The bridge railing was slick under his palms as he approached it, the Blackwater River churning forty feet below, swollen from the week of spring storms.

A car passed behind him, slowing slightly before continuing on. Martin hardly registered it.

He thought about their daughter, away at college, who would have to deal with the fallout. He thought about the mortgage, the joint accounts, the upcoming anniversary trip they’d planned to Bermuda. He thought about how easily a life could be constructed, brick by brick, only to collapse when the foundation proved to be nothing but sand.

Martin pulled himself up onto the railing, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. The river below was a dark void, raindrops disappearing into its depths without a trace. Just like the man he thought he was—vanishing into something unrecognizable.

He didn’t hear the car pull up behind him or notice the approaching footsteps until a voice called out, barely audible over the rain.

“Hey! Sir?”

Martin turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of a young man in a delivery uniform, holding something over his head to shield himself from the downpour.

“Whatever it is, it’s not worth it,” the stranger said, taking another step forward.

Martin turned back toward the river. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” the young man replied, his voice steady despite the tremor Martin could hear beneath it. “But I know there’s nothing down there but cold water and rocks.”

Martin laughed, a hollow sound even to his own ears. “Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Can we just talk for a minute?” The young man’s voice was closer now.

Martin tightened his grip on the railing, rain streaming down his face, indistinguishable from the tears he refused to acknowledge. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I’m Sam,” the voice said. “At least tell me your name.”

Martin closed his eyes. Why was this happening? He just wanted silence, an end to the roaring in his head, the images he couldn’t unsee.

“Please,” Sam said. “Just your name.”

Martin swallowed hard. “Martin,” he replied finally, the word feeling strange on his tongue, as if it belonged to someone else.

“Martin,” Sam repeated. “I’ve got a pizza in my car getting cold. Why don’t you come have a slice with me, and we can talk? Whatever’s going on, we can figure it out.”

Martin opened his eyes, staring down at the churning water. It would be so easy to let go, to fall forward into the darkness. One moment of courage—or cowardice—and it would all be over.

The sound of a car door slamming somewhere behind them made them both turn. A woman was hurrying toward them, phone in hand.

“I’ve called 911,” she announced, her voice carrying over the rain. “They’re sending someone.”

Martin felt a surge of panic. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be quiet, private, just him and the river and an end to the pain clawing at his chest.

He shifted his weight forward, ready to push off from the railing.

“Martin, wait!” Sam lunged forward, his hand connecting with Martin’s soaked shirt sleeve.

There was a moment of suspended time—Sam’s fingers clutching fabric, Martin’s body tipping forward, the woman’s gasp cutting through the night air.

Then gravity took over.

2. Sam – 7:40 PM

Sam Freeman was running late with his last delivery of the night. The GPS on his phone kept recalculating as he turned onto Riverside Bridge, a flashing notification warning of congestion ahead. Great. Just what he needed—to be stuck in traffic with Mrs. Abernathy’s pepperoni and mushroom getting cold in the back seat.

He’d already had three late deliveries tonight, and his rating couldn’t take another hit. This job was barely covering his rent as it was, but it was the only one that worked with his community college schedule. One more semester of night classes, and he’d finally have his associate’s degree. Maybe then he could get a job that didn’t involve driving around in the rain on a Friday night.

The traffic on the bridge was moving at a crawl, and Sam drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Through the rain-streaked windshield, he could see hazard lights flashing up ahead. An accident, probably. Perfect.

His phone pinged with a message from Mrs. Abernathy: “Where’s my pizza? Been waiting 45 mins.”

Sam sighed and typed a quick apology, promising he’d be there soon. As he looked up from his phone, he noticed a car pulled over on the shoulder about fifty yards ahead. A man got out and walked toward the railing.

Sam didn’t think much of it at first—maybe the guy needed to stretch his legs while waiting for traffic to clear, or maybe he was checking something on his car. But there was something about the way he moved, a deliberate slowness that didn’t match someone just taking a break.

The traffic inched forward, bringing Sam closer. The man was now standing at the railing, hands gripping the metal bar, staring down at the river below. A chill that had nothing to do with the rain ran down Sam’s spine.

His older brother had worked for the suicide prevention hotline while in college, and Sam had heard enough stories to recognize the signs. The isolation, the focused attention on the edge, the disregard for the pouring rain—it all set off alarm bells.

Sam pulled his car over, his heart suddenly racing. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t trained for this. He should call 911, but what if approaching the man startled him? What if Sam made it worse?

But he couldn’t just drive by. His brother’s voice echoed in his head: “Most people who attempt suicide don’t actually want to die. They want the pain to stop, and they can’t see another way out.”

Sam grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat and got out of the car. The rain immediately soaked through his delivery uniform, but he barely noticed as he approached the man, who had now climbed up to sit on the railing.

“Hey! Sir?” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm despite the fear tightening his chest.

The man turned slightly, and Sam could see his face—middle-aged, with deep lines around his eyes that spoke of more than just years.

“Whatever it is, it’s not worth it,” Sam said, taking another cautious step forward, remembering his brother’s advice: establish contact, show concern, don’t make demands.

The man turned back to the river. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Sam swallowed hard. “You’re right, I don’t,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice steady. “But I know there’s nothing down there but cold water and rocks.”

The man laughed, a sound that made Sam’s skin crawl. “Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

Sam was only about ten feet away now. Close enough to lunge if necessary, but still far enough not to seem threatening. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

The man’s grip on the railing tightened. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sam took a deep breath. “I’m Sam,” he said, offering his name as a small piece of connection. “At least tell me your name.”

The man closed his eyes, rain streaming down his face. For a moment, Sam thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Please,” Sam said. “Just your name.”

“Martin,” the man finally replied, his voice barely audible over the rain.

“Martin,” Sam repeated, relieved to have established some kind of connection. “I’ve got a pizza in my car getting cold. Why don’t you come have a slice with me, and we can talk? Whatever’s going on, we can figure it out.”

From the corner of his eye, Sam noticed another car pulling over. A woman got out, phone in hand, and the sight filled him with both relief and new anxiety. Help was good, but too many people might overwhelm Martin.

“I’ve called 911,” the woman announced as she approached. “They’re sending someone.”

Sam saw Martin tense, a flicker of panic crossing his face. Then Martin shifted his weight forward, and Sam knew what was about to happen.

“Martin, wait!” Sam lunged forward, his hand grabbing for anything he could reach, connecting with the soaked fabric of Martin’s shirt sleeve.

For a moment, Sam thought he had him. But the wet fabric slipped through his fingers as Martin’s body tipped forward into the empty air.

Sam’s momentum carried him hard into the railing, the metal bar slamming into his ribs. He watched in horror as Martin fell, a dark shape against the even darker water below, before the river swallowed him without a sound.

3. Elena – 7:41 PM

Elena Vasquez was exhausted. Twelve hours into what was supposed to be an eight-hour shift at Memorial Hospital, she was finally heading home to her six-year-old daughter, Lily, who was probably already asleep at the neighbor’s house. Again.

This was the third time this week she’d had to stay late. The nursing shortage was worse than ever, and guilt crept in every time she thought about Lily asking why Mommy was never home to tuck her in. But the overtime pay was the only thing keeping them afloat since Miguel had left last year.

Traffic on Riverside Bridge was backed up, and Elena groaned, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. All she wanted was a hot shower and to slip into bed beside Lily, even if just to watch her sleep for a few precious minutes.

The cars ahead began to inch forward, and Elena straightened up, rolling her shoulders to release some of the tension. That’s when she noticed a man getting out of his car up ahead and walking toward the railing of the bridge.

Something about his movements caught her attention—the heaviness in his steps, the slump of his shoulders. After fifteen years as an ER nurse, she had developed an instinct for people in crisis. She’d seen too many failed suicide attempts wheeled through the emergency room doors not to recognize the signs.

Elena watched as the man leaned on the railing, then pulled himself up to sit on it, feet dangling over the edge. Her heart began to race. She knew the statistics—men were more likely to choose violent, lethal methods. A fall from this height into the rain-swollen river below would almost certainly be fatal.

She reached for her phone, her nurse’s training kicking in automatically. As she dialed 911, she noticed another car pull over, a young man in what looked like a delivery uniform getting out and approaching the man on the railing.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher’s voice came through.

“There’s a man sitting on the railing of Riverside Bridge,” Elena reported, her voice calm and professional despite her racing heart. “It looks like he’s going to jump. Someone else is trying to talk to him now.”

“I’m dispatching police and emergency services,” the dispatcher replied. “Can you safely remain at the scene?”

“Yes,” Elena said, already opening her car door. “I’m a nurse. I’m going to try to help.”

The rain was coming down hard as Elena hurried toward the two men. She could hear the younger one talking, his voice gentle but urgent. The man on the railing—middle-aged, wearing what had once been a crisp dress shirt but was now soaked through—was responding, which Elena took as a good sign.

“I’ve called 911,” she announced as she approached, wanting them to know help was on the way. “They’re sending someone.”

The effect of her words was immediate and not what she’d expected. The man on the railing tensed, and in the next moment, he was shifting his weight forward.

The delivery driver lunged for him, shouting, “Martin, wait!”

Elena watched in horror as his hand caught the man’s sleeve for just a moment before the fabric slipped through his fingers. The man—Martin—fell forward into the darkness, disappearing from view.

The delivery driver slammed into the railing with a grunt of pain, and Elena rushed forward, her medical training taking over. “Are you hurt?” she asked, reaching his side.

He was leaning over the railing, staring down at the churning water below. “I almost had him,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I almost had him.”

Elena put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him trembling beneath her touch. “You tried,” she said. “That’s all anyone could do.”

In the distance, she could hear sirens approaching. She looked down at the dark water, knowing from her years in the ER exactly what a fall like that could do to a human body. The multiple trauma, the impact injuries, the drowning—if he survived the fall itself, the hypothermia would set in within minutes in the cold spring water.

She guided the young man away from the railing just as the first police car pulled up, its lights painting the rainy night in flashes of blue and red.

“I need to give a statement,” the young man said, looking dazed. “I need to tell them what happened.”

“We both will,” Elena assured him, noting the way he was holding his ribs where he’d hit the railing. Possibly bruised or even fractured. She’d make sure he got checked out once the police were done with them.

As more emergency vehicles arrived and officers began stringing police tape across the section of bridge, Elena found herself staring back at the railing. In her years as a nurse, she’d seen so many lives cut short, so many preventable tragedies. But this one felt different—more immediate, more raw.

She thought of Lily, waiting at home, and felt a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her daughter close. Life was so fragile, so precious. Whatever had driven that man to climb onto the railing tonight, whatever pain had seemed so unbearable, Elena wished with all her heart that he had given himself one more day, one more chance to find another way through.

4. Lily – 7:38 PM

Lily Vasquez pressed her face against the window of Mrs. Gonzalez’s car, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass. She liked to pretend they were having a competition, and she silently cheered when her favorite drop absorbed another and zoomed ahead.

“We’ll have you home soon, cariño,” Mrs. Gonzalez said from the driver’s seat. “Your mama texted that she’s on her way too. She had to work late again.”

Lily nodded, trying not to show her disappointment. Mama always had to work late. Sometimes Lily worried that if she closed her eyes for too long, she might forget what her mama looked like.

The car slowed as they approached Riverside Bridge. There were lots of red lights ahead, which meant traffic. Lily sighed and went back to watching her raindrop race.

“Looks like we might be here a while,” Mrs. Gonzalez said, tapping the steering wheel. “Want to play I Spy?”

“No, thank you,” Lily replied, the way Mama had taught her to be polite. She didn’t feel like playing games. She was tired, and her stomach hurt a little from the three cookies Mrs. Gonzalez had let her have after dinner.

As they inched across the bridge, Lily noticed a man getting out of his car up ahead. He was wearing a white shirt that was getting all wet in the rain. Didn’t he know he needed an umbrella? Mama always made sure Lily had her frog umbrella when it rained.

The man walked over to the edge of the bridge and put his hands on the railing. Then, to Lily’s surprise, he climbed up and sat on it, his legs hanging over the edge. That looked dangerous. Mama always said to stay away from edges because you could fall and get hurt.

“Mrs. Gonzalez,” Lily said, pointing. “Why is that man sitting there? Isn’t he going to fall?”

Mrs. Gonzalez looked where Lily was pointing, and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Dios mío,” she whispered.

Another car pulled over, and a boy got out. He looked like the pizza delivery people who sometimes brought dinner when Mama was too tired to cook. He walked toward the man on the railing.

“Are they friends?” Lily asked, curious now.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Mrs. Gonzalez replied, her voice sounding strange. She was reaching for her phone when yet another car pulled over. A woman got out and hurried toward the man and the pizza boy.

“That looks like Mama’s scrubs,” Lily said, squinting through the rain-streaked window. The woman was wearing blue clothes like the ones Mama wore to the hospital. “Is that Mama?”

Mrs. Gonzalez leaned forward, peering through the windshield. “I think it might be,” she said, sounding worried.

Lily felt a flutter of excitement. If that was Mama, maybe they could all go home together instead of having to meet at the house.

But then something happened very fast. The man on the railing moved, the pizza boy reached for him, and suddenly the man wasn’t there anymore.

“Where did he go?” Lily asked, pressing her face closer to the window.

Mrs. Gonzalez didn’t answer. She was already putting on her hazard lights and pulling the car over to the side of the road. “Stay here, Lily,” she said firmly. “I mean it. Lock the doors after I leave and don’t open them for anyone but me or your mama.”

Lily nodded, suddenly scared by the serious look on Mrs. Gonzalez’s face. As soon as the car door closed, she pressed the lock button like she’d been shown. Through the window, she watched Mrs. Gonzalez hurry toward the place where the man had been.

The woman in scrubs—Lily was almost sure it was Mama now—was standing next to the pizza boy, her hand on his shoulder. They were both looking over the railing.

Lily felt a cold feeling in her tummy that had nothing to do with the cookies. Had the man fallen? Was that why everyone looked so scared?

Blue and red lights began flashing as police cars arrived. Lily had seen police cars before, but never so many at once. They reminded her of the Christmas lights Mama had put up around their apartment windows last December.

More cars with flashing lights came, and men in uniforms started putting yellow tape across the bridge. Lily watched as Mama and the pizza boy talked to a police officer. Mama kept glancing over at Mrs. Gonzalez’s car, and Lily waved when their eyes met.

Mama said something to the officer, then hurried over to the car. When she opened the door, Lily threw herself into her mother’s arms.

“Mama! Did that man fall? Is he hurt?” Lily asked, the questions tumbling out.

Her mother held her tight, tighter than usual. “Yes, mi vida, he fell,” she said, her voice wobbling in a way that scared Lily. “The police and the ambulance people are trying to help him.”

“Will they find him? Will he be okay?” Lily persisted.

Her mother pulled back to look at her, rain dripping from her hair onto Lily’s cheeks. “I don’t know, baby,” she said honestly. “Sometimes… sometimes people get hurt too badly for doctors to fix them.”

Lily thought about this as her mother spoke quietly with Mrs. Gonzalez. She remembered when her goldfish, Bubbles, had stopped swimming one day. Mama had explained that Bubbles had died, which meant he wasn’t coming back. They’d had a funeral in the bathroom and flushed him away to fish heaven.

“Mama,” Lily said as they walked back to where the police officers were waiting, her small hand clutched tightly in her mother’s. “Did that man die like Bubbles?”

Her mother stopped walking and knelt down in the rain to look Lily in the eyes. “I don’t know yet,” she said. “But I think he might have, yes.”

“Why was he sitting on the edge? Didn’t he know it was dangerous?”

Her mother was quiet for a moment, rain falling between them. “Sometimes, mi vida, people hurt so much inside that they can’t think clearly. They only want the hurt to stop.”

Lily frowned, trying to understand. “Like when I had that really bad earache and cried all night?”

“Something like that,” her mother said. “But a different kind of hurt. A hurt in their heart and their mind.”

Lily looked over at the railing where the man had been sitting. The pizza boy was still there, talking to a police officer, a silver blanket wrapped around his shoulders even though it wasn’t cold.

“The pizza boy tried to help him,” Lily said.

Her mother nodded. “Yes, he did. He was very brave.”

“But he couldn’t stop the man from falling.”

“No, he couldn’t. Sometimes…” her mother’s voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “Sometimes we can’t save people, even when we try our very best.”

As they walked back toward the police officers, Lily held her mother’s hand extra tight. She didn’t understand everything that had happened on the bridge tonight, but she understood that the man who fell was like Bubbles now, and that made her sad.

She also understood, in the way that children sometimes grasp truths adults struggle to articulate, that her mother needed her close tonight. So as the rain fell and the lights flashed and the grown-ups talked in serious voices, Lily leaned against her mother’s legs and decided she wouldn’t let go until morning.

Feature Photo by Pixabay

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