The Bridge

We’re fighting again.  

Jane walks ahead of me.  She stomps on flowers that grow between concrete slabs of sidewalk.  I follow.  

Ahead of us, a bridge stretches one side of the street to the other. Ornate lamps line its rails. Jane steps onto the bridge and looks at the cars below. The night sky hangs behind her. I pursue her again.

I know how to fix this.

Jane is several steps ahead with her back to me. In my mind, under a gentle canopy of stars, the director yells action.

“SO YOU’RE JUST GOING TO WALK AWAY?”

Jane lets out a quiet sigh, and then realizes the heavy theatrics. She keels over with laughter. I fall down too.

She tries to play her part: “YOU’VE NEVER LOVED —”.   But she can’t finish.  I bring her close.

That’s what I liked about Jane: she and I found funny in peculiar places.  

We didn’t last, but throughout the years I wondered if I’ll find funny with someone like that again.