October Morning

October Morning

On this October morning she forced herself out of bed and put on the same lingerie she wore the first night she gave herself to him, along with a tacky yellow and purple sundress he’d bought her on a whim. It was her favorite dress only because he’d bought it for her. He never bought her much. After slipping into her favorite shoes and stuffing a twenty dollar bill into her bra, she took one last look around her bedroom at all the stuff she used to care about, and left for the bridge.

It was a three mile walk she’d never have done in the past, but today it was to be a one-way trip and she wanted to try to enjoy some of the simple things she had enjoyed in the past. She rustled through a small pile of the winter’s earliest casualties, the smell of fallen leaves rising up and filling her lungs. Nothing. Past the church her mother used to make her attend as a small child before refusal ever occurred to her, past the single movie theater where she’d had her first kiss, past the ice cream shop she used to visit in the summer, past a housing development that used to be a forest where she’d play with her friends as a child, and where she’d get into trouble in high school.

The cashier at the liquor store asked her if everything was ok when she bought a pint of vodka and didn’t want her change. She said no, everything wasn’t ok, then walked out onto the street, drinking deeply. People looked but no one said anything. Soon into her walk she felt the alcohol quickly seeping into her bloodstream.

Once outside the edge of town and into the woods, her nerves were acting up. Although she was still determined to go through with it, seeing the little clearing in the woods marking the path up to the bridge made it all real. She was really going to end her life. She wouldn’t wake up tomorrow.

The unseasonably warm autumn breeze sighed its way down the river, across her face, and through her hair. Everything glowed a bright orange, the leaves just beginning the color change that would end in brown, on the ground. Even the late morning sun was orange. Squirrels hid their acorns, robins unhurriedly flew south, branch by branch, trout fattened up below the rapids preparing for a long winter.

She reflected on her life as she sat on the edge of the abandoned railroad bridge, gazing at the water 200 feet below, watching it flow under her. Would it hurt, or would it be quick? How long would it take for anyone to find her body? It didn’t matter, just a passing thought.

She thought about the last time she remembered being happy, in his arms, weeks ago. Months? He held her in bed from behind, fell back asleep, and snored. She lay awake smiling, just listening to his snoring, then snuck out of his grasp to make him his usual breakfast: scrambled eggs with salt, pepper and hot sauce with two slices of dry wheat toast, black coffee and cranberry juice. The things that made her happiest were the things she did for him, even if he didn’t thank her or acknowledge them.

Whenever she wasn’t with him and thought of him, the strongest imaginable love poured from her heart and she wanted nothing more than to hug and kiss him. It was the type of love so strong it was painful. Now the love was gone but the pain remained and expanded in volume and intensity to fill the void, but she didn’t have to think of him to feel it. It was always there.

Her fifth birthday party was one of her fondest memories, just she and her older brother with an entire pinata to themselves. Pinatas had always made her anxious because all the kids would rush to get their share of the loot, but that one pinata had been pure enjoyment. There was more than enough candy and toys for the two of them, and her brother even let her get most of it after he did most of the damage.

Her brother. That was the only regret in her mind when she thought about what she was about to do. He’d be devastated, even though they only spoke twice a year now, on Christmas and his birthday, his being busy with a new wife and kids and everything. He’d be okay though.

It was unimaginably difficult to get herself to make the plunge. Ever since she knew this is how it would end, she always imagined just stepping off the bridge backwards, simply, quickly, without a thought. But now, her legs wouldn’t move. How pathetic she felt. Twenty-three years old, her whole life ahead of her, lacking the courage to live on with the pain and lacking the courage to end it. She became angry with herself, with the world. It wasn’t making good on the deal it made, everything it owed her. She sat back down on the ledge, lost her balance, and tumbled, head over heels. Pure panic, terror and regret. It always seemed to her it would be peaceful and beautiful, her with a sad smile on her face, falling backward like an olympic diver.

Her deathly shriek echoed through the forest and every busy creature stopped what he was doing to assess the sound. Once it was drowned out by the splash and they determined it was not a threat to them, the squirrels continued hiding their acorns, the robins continued their lazy trek south, and the trout, having scattered, once again assumed their customary positions under the rapids, on the lookout for unsuspecting insects.

Her favorite sundress was torn beyond repair, and her mangled corpse rose to the surface and began its journey downstream.

At least it was quick, she thought.


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