It’s a day for tourists to line up along the bridge and gaze in awe at the scenery around them. I line up but as I lean over the railing I hardly see the beauty they do. I worry I might fall. I always worry. What if a bus hits me when I cross the road? What if lightning strikes me on a rainy day? The ceiling fan could fall on me when I am asleep. A bug could bury itself under my skin when I am gardening. My heart could give in at any moment and the rest of my body would follow. What if I am having my bath when that happens, totally undressed? How embarrassing would that be.
As I lean over I worry I might fall. I stare into the black waters below which I know is freezing cold, but the cold would be the least of my worries if I fall. The impact would be enough to finish me off. I worry about all the trouble people would go to to fish me out of the water. Which is why if I take my life it won’t be anything messy like slashing my wrists or blowing my brains out or jumping off a tall building. Someone will have to clean up that mess. It won’t be gassing myself. Someone else might breathe the fumes. It won’t be hanging myself. That is just slow and painful. It won’t be pills either even if it is painless. I’d rather jump off the bridge in the still of the night, when no one’s watching, and let the waters swallow me. So much cleaner to simply vanish that way.
As I stare into the blackness of the water I visualize jumping off the bridge and I worry. What if the note, that I obviously will leave behind, has typos? What if my dive has poor form? Then I think about how the fish feeding on me would be disappointed with my low body fat and I smile morbidly. Isn’t it beautiful, asks one of the other tourists. I nod yes although macabre is the first thought that crosses my mind. The next stop is a park, hopefully my wandering mind won’t dream such absurd thoughts there. But first I have to cross the street without getting hit by a bus.