The Bluebird and the Shadow

Once upon a time not very long ago, in a place not very far from where you are now, there was a forest wherein there lived a bluebird. This bluebird had lived in the forest all her life, and was content to remain there forever, liking nothing more than to sing her beautiful song as she flew between the familiar trees, and above the familiar treetops. Her shadow, on the other hand, was not content.

The shadow had been content with the bluebird that cast it for a long time, but now it was growing more and more annoyed with its companion. 

“Must you sing all of the time?” the shadow said exasperatedly one day, staring up at his friend from the branch she perched on. 

“But I love it so, my friend,” the bluebird replied, pausing in her rhapsody to look down at her swart compatriot. “Wouldn’t you do something you loved more than anything...more than anything?”

The shadow crossed its dark wings huffily. “Not if it irritated my friends so much with its constant repetition. You’re making my ears ache.”

“But my dear shadow,” the bluebird said with perplexity, looking to make sure. “You don’t have ears.” This did nothing to improve the shadow’s mood.

“But why don’t you want to leave the forest?” the shadow asked the next day, as the two of them hopped in between grassy patches on the forest floor, searching for worms. “If we left only for a few hours we could have such adventures.”

“But I don’t want to have adventures outside the forest,” the bluebird replied honestly, pecking absentmindedly at a blade of grass. “There’s plenty of room for adventure within these boundaries, and we are safe from hawks and cats in our forest, while there is food aplenty.” To illustrate this, she sucked a mealworm from a patch of wet earth and swallowed it.

“Perhaps enough room for you,” the shadow said darkly, though he could hardly help that.

“Why do you fly so high, though?” the shadow cried distantly the third day. The bluebird was swooping far above the forest floor, her shadow so distant below that it was barely cast by the daylight trickling through the treetops. 

“Why, I fly because I am a bird, friend shadow,” the bluebird said, winging down to perch on a fallen twig above where her companion stood. “And I fly high so as to enjoy the gift my wings have given me even more.”

“That’s all very well,” said the shadow, crossing his wings. “But when you fly so high I can barely reach the ground, much less enjoy the flying.”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” said the bluebird humbly, reaching out a placatory wingtip. “I didn’t realize--” But the shadow shook his head emphatically.

“I have decided to go and seek another companion, friend bluebird. I have grown tired of staying in this wood, and wish to see what else the world has to offer.”

And whatever the bluebird said, the shadow’s mind would not be changed, and, after a short farewell, it took itself off and flew away to find another, better companion outside the forest.

Quickly reaching the edge of the wood, the shadow soared across the border for the first time, reveling in the new sights before it, of fields and brooks, of distant mountains and unfamiliar trees near-at-hand. 

“I am sure to find a great new companion soon enough in this wide new place,” said the shadow to himself, flying easily across a field and up a grassy hill.

Soon enough he reached the top of the hill and found a large boulder sitting there quietly. 

“Good day, sir,” said the shadow politely, alighting close beside the boulder.

“As good as all the days before, and assuredly as good as all the days to come,” replied the boulder contentedly. “But you are unfamiliar to my vision, little stranger. You are too tall to be a blade of grass, and too polite to be a field mouse.”

“You are correct, sir,” said the shadow. “I am neither. I am a shadow come from yonder wood to seek a new companion who better suits my inclinations.”

“Indeed,” rumbled the boulder. “A most adventurous shadow. I wish you good fortune in your search. But if you will excuse me, I must resume watching the grass of my hill grow. ‘Tis a wonderfully slow process, and a delight to spectate.” 

“Perhaps I might join you,” the shadow said excitedly. “You may be the perfect companion I have been looking for, for I have wished for silence for a long time now, and you surely value quiet as much as I do.”

“If I were a betting boulder, I would bet my moss that I value it even more than you, my talkative little friend. But if you wish to enjoy the solitude of my hill, you may stay with me and be my shadow, a companionable silence is almost as good as a lonely one, I suppose.”

Thanking the boulder, the shadow drew close and placed himself beside the steadfast stone, lying back upon the sunny grass of the hill and enjoying the complete silence that lay across it.

However, as an hour passed, the shadow began to become uncomfortable. Though the boulder’s silence was as much as he had wished for, it did not move at all, and the shadow was reasonably sure it would never move at all. 

He began to miss flying through the dimness of his forest home, and soon enough, the stillness became too much for him to bear. 

“Forgive me, friend boulder, but I was mistaken,” he said in tones of confession. “I was not meant to be the shadow of something unmoving, however edifying your quiet nature is. I will seek out another companion, and so I bid you farewell.”

The boulder, not appearing to notice what the shadow had said or its detachment from it, murmured sleepily as the shadow moved away down the hill, “that rogue of a field mouse ate one of the blades of grass I was watching, and I had such high hopes for its future. I would tell it off, but I just haven’t the time.”

Continuing on, the shadow left the field and the boulder’s hill behind, coming next into an unfamiliar wood, with many tall, thin trees sharing space with many short, thick trees. Hanging from one of the branches of one of the latter kind by its tail was a monkey.

“Good day, sir,” said the shadow, stopping beneath the monkey and raising a wing in greeting. 

The monkey stared at him, then shrieked with laughter. “Haha! A little bat hanging from the grass! Haha! What a good joke!”

“Ah,” said the shadow, “I think you might have forgotten you’re upside down.”

Seeming to notice this for the first time, the monkey released its tail from the tree branch and promptly fell on its head. Leaping to its feet, it shrieked again in raucous enjoyment. 

“Aha! I wondered why the trees were hanging from the grass and didn’t pop out and fall into the sky! Haha! What a good joke that would be, all the trees to go flying away, give the squirrels flying lessons, ahaha!”

Suddenly losing interest, the monkey ran at the nearest tree and head-butted it, causing it to fall over backwards, half-stunned.

Taking his chance, the shadow hopped up to the monkey’s eye-level and poked its nose with a wingtip to gain its attention. The monkey’s eyes focused and crossed to look at the shadow.

“I am not a bat, actually, but a bird’s shadow on a journey. You seem to have an adventurous spirit, and I am seeking adventure myself. Together I think we could enjoy many great escapades. What do you say, monkey?”

Said monkey jumped to its feet, before promptly falling about laughing again. “Ahahaha! Monkey doesn’t want to have escapes with no one but monkey! I’ll go and have one now, and little bat bird can stay and watch trees fly, haha!”

But before the monkey could take two bounds toward a tree, the shadow said, “I suppose you’ll miss the joke, then.”

Bounding back, the monkey bounced around the shadow, chattering. “What joke? I didn’t miss a joke, I never miss a joke! Haha! You’re lying! Or are you joking? What joke?”

The shadow shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking how funny it would be for a monkey to have the shadow of a bird.”

The monkey froze, then shrieked with mirth. “Haha! Little bat bird as monkey shadow! Monkey casting bird shadow! Hahaha! Yesyesyes! Be my shadow, tiny dirt bird! Haha!”

Deciding to let the last comment go, the shadow drew close and deftly tied its dark tail to that of the monkey.

Leaping onto the nearest tree branch, the monkey launched itself through the trees, shrieking and whooping with the shadow swooping behind. 

Hours passed in the unfamiliar wood, but the shadow’s new companion’s energy never abated. With the shadow close behind, it sought out any adventure there was to be had. 

Sneaking up on a crocodile snoozing by a shaded creek, the monkey pulled its tail and ran off laughing, the shadow barely avoiding being bitten in half as the beast chased them through the trees. Next it scared a flock of birds into flight by dint of leaping out at them from behind a bush, flapping its arms and bugging out its eyes. 

Taking a short foray into a wide grassland beyond the wood, the monkey succeeded in tying two panthers tails together before narrowly avoiding being eaten by a squad of hyenas, only surviving after the shadow hurriedly told them the joke about the cheetah, the warthog and the pygmy hippo who’d lost its way, the monkey making its escape back into the wood while the hyenas were paralyzed with laughter.

Discovering a band of monkeys like itself, it armed itself in the branches of a chestnut tree and barraged them with a rain of nuts, the war escalating as the simians replied with whatever they could bring to hand. At the shadow’s suggestion, the monkey salvaged victory over the enemy’s superior numbers by asking them whose tail was the longest, whereupon they got into an argument amongst themselves that quickly turned into a fight, causing them to quite forget about the other monkey.

But though the shadow enjoyed the thrill of constant movement behind the monkey, its lewd shrieks and raucous laughter soon began to grate on its nerves. 

“Something tells me I made a mistake, friend monkey,” the shadow panted, flattening itself very successfully against the tree behind which they were hiding from a wolf the monkey had just shaken a dew-soaked tree’s worth of water onto. 

“Hmm?” the monkey said distractedly, one ear cocked as the swearing of the wolf grew more distant. 

“You have an adventurous spirit,” the shadow said, untying its tail tip from the monkey’s. “But forgive me, your idea of adventure is underdeveloped. There’s more to having an adventure than yanking something’s nose and seeing how fast they can chase you.”

“There is?” 

Sighing, the shadow bid the monkey farewell, who thought it was so funny that it fell out of the tree laughing right onto the head of the passing wolf. 

Watching as the monkey sprinted off into the trees, shrieking and cackling with the wolf snapping at its heels, the shadow felt a sudden pang for the sweet sound of the bluebird’s song, so much easier to listen to than the incessant chatter and laughter of the monkey.

Taking to wing, the shadow flew out of the wood in search of something a little quieter and less energetic than the monkey. 

Flying over the grassland beyond the trees, the shadow caught sight of the panthers he and the monkey had met unknotting their tails from each other. After that he flew over the pack of hyenas, now cackling at a new joke, and then a pride of lions lying in the afternoon sun. None of these were good candidates for new companions, the shadow told itself.

Perching on the uppermost branch of a lonely tree, the shadow was surprised to see somebody else already there. A large elephant was walking slowly around the tree, talking to itself and looking down as if it had lost something.

“Good afternoon, sir,” called the shadow, flying down to the grass and raising a wing in greeting.

“Good heavens, who said that?” trumpeted the elephant, staring around. 

“I did, sir,” admitted the shadow, waving its raised wing. “Perhaps you are too far off of the ground to see me, but I am certainly here if you look closer.”

Lowering its enormous head, the elephant stared down at the shadow. “Well, twist my trunk,” it said in amazement. “A little black speck that speaks, I’ve never seen anything like it. Or maybe I have and I just forgot it. I suppose I should make sure. Have we met before, little black speck that speaks?”

“Indeed not,” replied the shadow, flying up to perch on one of the elephant’s ivory tusks. “And I am not a black speck actually, but a shadow on an adventure seeking a new companion.”

“Ah, yes, I see you clearer now,” the elephant said, the closer of its eyes focusing on the shadow. “A shadow on an adventure! What an unusual thing for a shadow to be on, I’ve never heard or seen the like before. Or maybe I have and I just forgot it.”

“It is unusual, I think,” said the shadow, nodding. “But it seems you were also looking for something before I introduced myself, perhaps I can assist in the search.”

“Looking for something? I don’t think I was, but perhaps it was something I forgot, that would not be unusual. Or maybe it would be...”

“Mayhap you are looking for something to help you remember,” suggested the shadow. “And I am in search of a new companion myself, perhaps we could help each other. You could be my new companion, and I could be your shadow and assist you in remembering.”

The elephant found this very agreeable, and so the shadow attached its tail tip to one of its enormous feet and the two of them set off together.

The shadow found that he was indeed very useful to the elephant, as it seemed to forget something every few minutes, and would stop walking abruptly to wrinkle up its trunk in concentration as it attempted to remember. 

When it forgot which was its left foot and which its right, the shadow was able to point them out. When next it forgot whether it had at some point had three tusks and lost one somewhere, the shadow reassured it that it only ever had two. And when the elephant forgot whether it was hungry, or whether it was actually thirsty, the shadow was able to call attention to its rumbling stomach and point it towards the nearest fruit tree. Thus the day wore on.

Though the shadow felt it was very useful to the elephant, he was also quickly becoming exhausted. The elephant’s company was enjoyable, as it was a kind and methodical creature, but its size was becoming an obstacle. It was so enormous that the shadow had to yell to be heard from its back foot, and its voice was quickly becoming hoarse from overuse. It could also barely see anything of the elephant but its back foot, it was so immense. The shadow began to miss the quiet conversation of the bluebird, and even the ear splitting laughter of the monkey. 

What he really needed was something with good conversation, and very much nearer to the shadow’s own size. Detaching his tail from its foot, the shadow flew up to perch on one of the elephant’s tusks.

“Forgive me, friend elephant, but I must continue on with my journey, I wish you good fortune and thank you for your company.”

“Good heavens, who said that?” trumpeted the elephant, looking around. Sighing, the shadow took to its wings and flew off.

“What an odd circumstance,” mused the elephant to itself, walking on contentedly. “A voice from nowhere, I’ve never heard the like before. Or maybe I have and I just forgot it.”

Soaring over the grassland, the shadow soon reached its outskirts and flew down into a low valley where a fast-running river wound through its grassy floor. 

Alighting on the river bank, the shadow drank from the swiftly flowing water, thirsty after its flight. The valley around the shadow seemed quite empty of activity, a quiet place of windblown grass. 

He was preparing to fly off again when a silver fish poked its head out of the water close by him. 

“Good afternoon,” said the fish politely. “What brings you to the bank of my river? My, my, I feel as though this will be a memorable day. I have never seen a shadow travel alone, thus you must be on a journey of some importance.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed the shadow, bowing to the fish. “I am on an adventure to find a companion who better suits me. I have searched long, and grow weary, I think I may never discover such a comrade.”

The fish nodded, a difficult endeavor while floating. “That is an unusual predicament, with which I wish you good fortune. Farewell.”

It was about to swim away when the shadow called it back. “Forgive me, sir, but I have just thought of something. It may seem unusual, but why not take me on as your companion? You are far quieter than my previous companion, and even slightly more active than the one before him. What do you say?”

“It is indeed unusual,” said the fish. “But no more unusual than a conversation with a shadow on my riverbank. This really is turning out to be a memorable day. Very well, friend shadow, I accept your offer.”

So the shadow drew close and dove into the water beside the silver fish, attaching his tail tip to the fish’s tailfin as it submerged and swam away down river.

As their journey continued, the shadow felt as though he had finally found his right companion, and in the strangest of places. Unlike the boulder, the fish was talkative and constantly aware, its wide eyes always looking around as the two of them sailed beneath the surface.

Unlike the monkey it was sober and polite, speaking through the water with the shadow about many things. Unlike the elephant, it was nearly perfectly proportionate to the shadow, so not to strain the shadow’s voice. And unlike the bluebird, it did not sing all of the time, nor fly so high that he almost lost himself. 

But as the day wore on, the shadow still became more and more uneasy. The fish was an enjoyable companion, but its watery home was strange and began to wear on the shadow’s mind. 

The more he swam through the clear water with his black wings, the more he missed flying along the ground beneath his far distant companion, and with every passing minute he regretted leaving his forest home more and more.

The shadow missed the feeling of the ground rushing beneath him, the quiet solitude and beauty of his home, which he never appreciated until it was far behind. And above all, he missed the sound of his bluebird’s song, calling through the trees.

“Why, shadow, what’s the matter?” asked the fish, for the shadow had stopped moving forward. 

“I have made a terrible mistake, I now realize,” answered the shadow. “Forgive me, friend fish, but I must go. Thank you for your hospitality, I wish you well.” And without another word, he untied his tail from the fish’s and swam away as fast as he could fly.

“What a strange creature,” said the fish to himself, swimming off. “This really has turned out to be a very memorable day.”

Rising to the surface, the shadow pulled himself out of the water, seeing that the sun was on the horizon, about to set. 

“I won’t be able to find my home in the dark,” he told himself. “I must hurry.”

But when he attempted to fly, he found his wings were too sodden with water to carry him. No matter how hard he tried to, he could not. 

Despairing, the shadow sat by the river bank, beginning to cry to itself. 

“What a fool I have been,” he wept. He would now surely never hear his bluebird’s song again.

From the boulder to the monkey, and from the elephant to the fish, the shadow knew he should have known from the very start that none of them were as well-suited to him as the bluebird. And now, the knowledge that he would never see his dear friend again filled the shadow with grief as the sun began to slide beneath the horizon.

But then, a nearby cry rang through the empty valley, so wonderfully familiar that the shadow leapt to his feet, looking around.

And the bluebird appeared, soaring over the rushing river, singing its song as loud as it could. Catching sight of the shadow in the dimming light, it stopped singing and sped to the ground, falling upon him and embracing him.

“My friend, oh my friend!” the bluebird wept. The shadow held his friend close, but then stepped back in wonder.

“How can this be?” he asked. “I was sure I would never see you again.”

“I have been searching for you ever since you left, my friend,” the bluebird told him. “I know you do not wish to see me, but I could not help but follow you out of our forest. You were right, I see that now, I was far too confining to be a good companion, forgive me my friend.”

“No, my dear bluebird,” said the shadow, embracing his friend. “It is I who must ask your forgiveness. You are the best companion a shadow such as I could ever wish for, and I only wish it had not taken this time away from you for me to understand that. Come, let us hear no more of your apologies, you have nothing to be sorry for. You have rescued me from a terrible fate I made for myself, and I will forever be grateful. Come, let us go home.”

Tying his shadow tail to his companion’s blue tail, the two flew off together, back to their forest home.

And there they remained, perhaps until this very day, exploring the mysteries and beauties of their home, the bluebird loving nothing more than to sing its rapturous song, and the shadow enjoying nothing more than to listen. And, every now and again, the two would unlink their tail tips and fly side by side, high above the sunlit forest floor.

THE END

Wings

This story definitely requires a preface.

Several times I've worried friends and family alike by the somewhat depressing narrative of many of my stories. This one certainly requires explanation of exactly why I wrote it. But firstly, the best course of action would be to tell you why I'm not writing this story.

I'm not writing this story because I am in any way suicidal. This story deals in great deal with the idea of suicide, but this comes only from my imagination, not from any real urge I am feeling or have ever felt. 

The reason I am writing this story is this: I write to put what I experience, hear, see or feel into perspective. To deal with what goes on around me in my own way. I love writing, and whenever I finish a work of fiction, my reality is brighter, even if what I write is on the 'Death, doom and destruction' side of the tracks.

I recently heard of a suicide at my place of work, and that got me to thinking about the concept. What causes it, what generates such despair that would make someone take their own life. But above all, I thought about what could prevent it. This story is what I decided could just maybe happen.

______________________________________________________

Only the sound of pigeons cooing broke the silence of the early morning. Strutting about the bridge's girders, fluttering down from around its pylons and pecking for scraps on the cement sidewalk that led along its edge.

I watched them flutter out of my way as I walked slowly down the bridge; tiny flurries of grey feathers flapping away like tufts of lint borne on the breeze. Some of them fluttered right over the side of the bridge, plummeting down out of sight and then rising easily back up again.

That would not happen for me.

My body would not fly back up over the railing, or spin around the high girders swaying above me. I would fall, and keep on falling until I stopped falling. I had no wings. I could not fly.

Yet another thing I couldn’t do.

Thoughts flashed through my mind like images seen inside a speeding train, there for one tiny second, and then whipped away into oblivion. My mother, shrunken and feeble on a hospital bed, telling me goodbye. Gone. My father, yelling into my face that it was my fault, all my fault. Gone. The doctor showing me the results of the test on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. Gone. My wife, closing the front door and locking it. Gone.

All gone, all ended.

No tears ran down my face. My cheeks were dry. All I felt was a numbness all over myself, inside and out, as if I had been emptied of everything except my eyes, condemned to watch as I took this final, inevitable step.

 Looking up, I realized, lost in my endless, speeding thoughts,  I had already reached the middle of the bridge. But there would be an end to them soon.

Very soon.

Passing one final girder, I stopped and looked from right to left, all along the cement path that led back to either end of the bridge. No one in sight. No cars sped past. The street was quiet. Not a sound except the soft cooing of pigeons.

Walking to the railing, I leaned over it and stared down.  Far, far below, the river flowed sluggishly between the bridge pylons, an ocean of black water swirling, tiny waves leaping above the water, as if beckoning to me to come down to them. It was so far down, I thought, such a very long way.

But then my memories once again began flashing through my head, battering the inside of my skull like jackhammers, one after the other. I could no longer take it. I give in. Anything down there is better than what’s up here.

Taking a huge breath, I took one step back, and then—

“Excuse me?”

An electric shock buzzed through me at the sound of a voice, and I spun to see who it belonged to.

Standing just beyond the bridge girder was a tall man in sweat pants and an overlarge hoodie whose hood hid his entire face in the dim early morning light. Staring at him, I was silent for a long time.

“What?” I asked finally, wondering if he had been hiding behind the girder.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” He said, his voice sounding sheepish from beneath his hood, “But d’you have a light, by any chance?” He held up a hand, a cigarette held snugly between the middle and index fingers.

Automatically my hand slipped into my jeans pocket where I always kept my lighter.

“Yeah…” I said slowly, holding it out.

“Oh, thanks a lot,” the man said, taking a few steps and accepting the lighter from me.

Turning slightly, he slipped the cigarette inside his hoodie and held up the lighter, flicking it once to create a flame.

“I came down here for a quiet smoke,” he explained to me, handing me back the lighter and turning towards the railing. “And just when I got here I realized I’d left my dang lighter in the apartment. Pretty stupid, huh?” I nodded, but didn’t reply.

“Wow, that’s just beautiful,” breathed the man, leaning both arms on the bridge railing and staring out across the river.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he blew a long funnel of silver smoke into the air.

“This time of morning is very underrated, in my opinion,” he continued, indicating the horizon with the lit tip of his cigarette. “The sun’s already up, but once you’ve seen one sun rise, you’ve seen them all. But when that there ball just starts to turn gold, and the sky turns from gray to a million different blues…” He trailed off, taking another drag and blowing out smoke slowly.

“But I don’t have to tell you, right?” He said, cocking his hood back towards me, the red tip of his cigarette protruding out of the shadows. “You’re out here too, enjoying it just like me.”

I nodded, then, tentatively, “Yeah, this was always my favorite time of day.”

“There you go,” the man said, “We’re two of a kind.” He chuckled, lifting his cigarette holding hand. “‘Cept it looks like you got fewer bad habits than I do.”

I smiled bitterly, “You shouldn’t say that until you get to know me.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, shrugging and turning back to the water. “Would you look at that,” he said after a minute, pointing out across the river.

Reluctantly I followed the direction of his pointing finger. Far away, almost out of sight, a lone gull was gliding a few feet above the black water, its body bright white in the morning sun, its wings flashing like bits of gossamer as they moved up and down. The contrast between the bird and the river was stark, but somehow they complimented each other, some indefinable beauty in the serenity of its flight, the purity of its color.

“Would you look at that,” the man repeated, taking an inhale of his cigarette and shaking his head as he blew out smoke. “Makes you glad you’re alive to see it, doesn’t it?”

Still almost mesmerized by the bird’s flight, I nodded, words forming before I could think about them. “It makes you want to have wings too. To be able to fly like that.”

He grunted in agreement, turning his hood in my direction, though I still couldn’t make out his face. “Nicely put. I never thought about it but it does, doesn’t it…”

Taking another drag on the cigarette, he choked and coughed out an amorphous cloud of gray smoke. “Damn things,” he muttered. “They’ll kill me one of these days, I know it.”

Without knowing precisely why, I laughed.

“What’s up?” He said, turning his hood toward me curiously.

“Nothing… Sorry… just… what you said,” I answered hastily, “Your choice of words. I’ve just got a weird sense of humor, that’s all.”

“Never a bad time to laugh, I say,” He said easily, leaning his back against the railing and blowing out smoke upwards.

“What about a funeral?”

He barked out a laugh. “Ha! Got me there. Or a wedding, while we’re on the subject of permanent ceremonies no one likes to go to.”

This time I laughed, remembering a few of the weddings I’d attended none-too-eagerly.

“Yeah, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said, sidling over and leaning my back against the girder.

“Got that right,” he agreed, blowing a smoke ring out of his hood. “You divorced?”

“Oh, probably…”

“Not so certain, huh? My ex made sure I knew it was definite. She even signed the shoe she threw at me, made it hurt even more.” He laughed, tapping the side of his head, as if indicating where he’d been hit.

I winced sympathetically. “Yeah, mine’s a little more passive aggressive, if you know what I mean.”

“Not a clue,” he said, drooping his hood dramatically. “Wish I had yours. ‘Passive’ isn’t a word I’ve heard since the ring went on.” He raised his hand expressively, and I saw the glint of gold on one finger.

“So you kept the ring?” I asked involuntarily. Then, hurriedly, “Oh, uh, sorry, didn’t mean to—”

“Pry? Not to worry,” he said, waving his cigarette wielding hand easily. “Not really sure why I kept it on myself. It’s not for the good memories, I can tell you.” He chuckled, but less enthusiastically then before, as if he wasn’t sure what he was laughing at.

“I know what you mean,” I said, nodding and shifting over to lean on the railing. “There’s nothing worse than finding out you decided to spend the rest of your life with the wrong person.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother,” he replied morosely, arching his back over the railing and blowing smoke into the steadily brightening sky. “But I wouldn’t take it back even if I could,” he said, groaning as he stretched his back.

“Oh really? Why?” I asked, curious at this change in attitude.

“Oh I don’t know,” he said slowly, pausing to take a long inhale of his cigarette, now close to burning out. “It’s like, when something that bad happens, you gotta look on the bright side or you’ll go nuts, know what I mean?”

“Actually, I don’t,” I said, looking down at the dark water far, far below us.

“Like, if you really try and find the good that came out of it, even though it went really bad, you find out just how much you got out of it, like me. I lost my wife, sure, but what I learned with her I couldn’t have learned any other way. It’s like, it would almost be selfish to think of only the bad stuff. I don’t know.”

“So something bad had to happen for something good to happen?” I snapped, sounding angrier than I felt, but I couldn’t truly tell any more exactly how I felt.

I couldn’t see it, but the man seemed to be staring at me from inside his hood. “Sometimes that’s the way the world goes, man. Nothing you or I or anyone can do about it. If you only expect the good then you’ll drive yourself insane.”

Now real anger started to course through me. Who was this early-rising smoker to tell me how the world was? He didn’t know any more than I did, and at that moment, I didn’t feel like I knew anything.

“What if only bad things happen to you, and nothing good can be found, nothing whatsoever?” My voice cracked involuntarily as I finished, and I realized my eyes were beginning to burn. Furiously, I fought back any urge to cry.

He shrugged, turning to gaze at the river.

“Maybe,” he began, and then shrugged again, cutting himself off with a grunt. Sliding along the railing, I stopped right beside him.

“What? Maybe what?” I asked, something about his tone driving me on.

He was silent for a long time, long enough for him to flick his cigarette butt out over the water, and watch it drift down until it disappeared into the black wetness of the river.

“Maybe,” he finally continued. “Maybe you’re just not looking hard enough.”

“What—what does that mean?” I stammered, staring at him. He shook his head, slipping a second cigarette out of his hoodie pocket and searching for a lighter. Hastily, I retrieved mine and lit the end of his cigarette.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a second to inhale a mouthful of smoke.

“So?” I prompted him, trying to be casual though my heart felt like it was beating out of my chest.

Exhaling slowly, he watched the ribbon of smoke twirl away and dissipate before finally answering haltingly.

“When something really terrible goes on, and the world looks like it’s going to break all its supports and come crashing down around you, it feels like moving on’s the only good thing that can come of it. Not dwelling on things you can’t fix that’ll only break you more if you stay with them. Starting new, even if you don’t think there’s anything to start on.”

Turning to the river, the sunlight, now almost full morning, cut through the gloom of his hoodie to reveal an angular face, a strong jaw and a prominent, aquiline nose. He smiled sadly at me, removing his cigarette and stubbing it out underneath his foot.

“I know that’s what I did,” he said, “and damned if it didn’t work.”

I stared at him, my head clouded with too many thoughts to hold. But this time, the thoughts just hung there, seeming to wait for my move, my next step. Lifting myself off the railing, I took a couple steps away from it and took a deep breath, taking in as much of the fresh morning air as I could in one breath, and then turned back towards the river.

“You know, you might be on to something there,” I said slowly and then smiled at the man in the hoodie. He grinned back. Then, looking down at his wrist, he swore softly. “Aw hell, it’s later than I thought. I’d better get back or I’ll be late.”

Heaving himself off the railing, he paused for a second to look at me. I nodded.

“Yeah, I’d better be going too, I can’t spend all day watching the sun rise, can I?”

He laughed. “I’d take that job any day. Let me know if anything opens up, willya?”

I nodded, chuckling as I held out a hand.

“I will. Thanks for the talk. You don’t know how grateful I am.”

With a shrug, he shook my hand firmly.

“I like talking in the morning. I’m sure grateful to you for being my fence post this time around. But sorry, man, I gotta get going.” He turned and began sidling slowly down the sidewalk.

“I’ll walk with you,” I said suddenly, starting up beside him toward the opposite end of the bridge from where I started. He nodded happily.

“Always appreciate the company. Oh and hey! I never caught your name in all that conversation, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” I said slowly. “It’s Jude, like in the song.”

He nodded, smiling, and began to hum the first bars of the song. Grinning, I watched the pigeons pecking their way across the sidewalk, oblivious to the two of us walking past them.

“So what’s yours, while we’re—” I began, turning back towards him, just as there was a loud sound like a clap of thunder, or the noise made by a pair of enormous wings flapping once.

Looking around in surprise, I searched for what had made the sound, but saw no birds anywhere in sight beside the pigeons. Looking up, I saw no storm clouds gathering in the sky above the bridge.

Stumbling slightly, I realized I’d reached the end of the bridge without noticing, and now stood in the road just beyond it. Then for the first time I saw that the man had disappeared from beside me. Looking back, I saw no sign of him on the bridge. Turning again, I saw him nowhere in front of me.

It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but the sound of pigeons cooing on the bridge behind me.