The Bridge

I returned to the city of my birth for the first time in many years. The city had a new bridge, a mile long at least, beautiful, with a partition for bicyclists and pedestrians, which surprised and pleased me. I had to walk it. Somehow I persuaded my brother that it would be fun. He was tired from work and wanted to go the next day, but I felt the time was now; this morning, we must go. The weather was right: a sunny, windy winter day. So we went.

There were many out today, walkers and bicyclists, as well as plenty of traffic. We walked together for a time, talking about this and that, catching up on each others lives. As we ascended, more often than not, the wind swept our words into the sea, which put a damper on conversation. I got ahead of him a bit, when I saw two bicyclists approaching. They were different from the rest, though not in any discernible fashion. It was just a feeling I had that had no real basis or so it would seem.

I studied them as they approached. One was a young woman I had never met before. The other wore mirrored sunglasses and a helmet that concealed her short hair. She smiled at me. Maybe she assumed that I would not recognize her. Thirteen years had passed since we had last spoken. She kept smiling until just before she passed me, but then her smile dissolved with much twitching. She did not stop and did not say anything. I don't know what I expected. I didn't know what to say, either. I let my brother catch up with me and kept on walking in the other direction.

Before we left the bridge, they passed us again. They had been headed in the direction of the beach, but were now returning to the city. I don't know why. Her partner appeared distressed and was arguing with her. Again nothing was said between us. I watched as they disappeared in the distance. That was the last time I saw her.