(note: a work in progress)

ONE
Everyday Ann walked across the bridge on her way to work. It was a narrow bridge built many years ago for carriages, and was now used for foot traffic, mainly to and from the campus where Ann worked.

Some days she would stand and look down at the water and the flowing, soft fog sweeping over the bridge with a silent, ominous power. It was an especially gray Thursday morning as Ann walked across the bridge noting that the fog was even more rampant than usual.

Ann stopped to sip her coffee and look at the water. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a patch of color, about 20 feet away. She turned to see a girl in her early 20's walking back and forth. She was wearing black sweatpants and an oversized orange sweatshirt. Ann assumed she was a jogger cooling down and began to turn her head back towards the water when she saw the girl crawl up on the ledge, and stand up with her back facing the water. The girl looked at Ann for a moment then closed her eyes. She raised her arms in a regal, almost defiant manner and gracefully fell backwards. There was silence and then a loud splash. Ann ran over to peek over the ledge. There was nothing but a bubbled disruption in the choppy water. Activity swelled around her, people appeared from every direction looking over the ledge, yelling, and pulling out their cell phones. Ann stared at the water waiting to see a patch of orange. It had taken only a few seconds, even less.

A security guard held her arm and shook her from her daze.

'What happened?'� he asked.

'She jumped.'� Ann felt the weight of the reality descending upon her. The security guard raised his eyebrows. He needed more. 'She walked over here,'� she indicated the spot. 'She stood up, and jumped back. It happened so fast, I didn't have time.'�

Someone handed the guard a backpack, he found an identification tag on it.

'Willa Berry. Anyone know her?'� The guard asked the crowd. No one seemed to know the jumper. The police arrived and got Ann's statement, she told them the story with clear details and no embellishments. They asked for her information and she gave them her card. Ann rarely had the occasion to do this and thought that it was just about the last circumstance she'd imagined when ordering the delicate font for her card. An officer asked her if she was okay.

'Yes, I'm fine. I'll be okay. I need to leave. I really want to go,'� she said. The officer gave her a look of sympathetic understanding and gave her elbow a gentle squeeze which she could feel the entire walk across campus towards her office.

Ann entered the building where she worked, hoping not to have to speak with anyone. She walked briskly down the halls. She was relieved by the familiar comfort of her office. It was warm, cozy, cluttered with books and files, and still except for the silently groaning radiator. She sat for a few moments at her desk and realized she was sweating. She removed her coat and scarf. She quickly darted out of her office and to the restroom, where she kneeled on the floor and threw up.


By 10am the office was buzzing with news of the jumper. Even the most distinguished professors were gossiping like teenaged girls. Ann told no one that she had seen it. She couldn't tell anyone that hers was the last face that the jumper had seen.

When she got home she looked at her face in the mirror for a half hour. She thought she should apologize to Willa Berry for not having a warmer countenance that day. 'What did you think when you looked me?'� she said aloud. Ann knew this was ego talking, the jumper probably hadn't thought of anything but her body slicing through the sympathetic, enveloping mist. Ann's fingers touched her face with a new curiosity. This was the last thing Willa Berry had seen. Willa would have seen her pale skin, her cold and pink cheeks, her pointy chin, her small eyes that were usually hidden by her square framed glasses at the office, and her lips that always seemed to be in a frown, despite her mood. She could have seen her uneven bangs, which Ann had tried unsuccessfully to cut herself earlier that week. The wind had blown strands of her chin-length dark hair onto her lips where they were stuck to her nude lip-gloss. She might have seen Ann's dark pea coat, and her maroon scarf. Willa may have looked at a woman that appeared nice enough, smart, orderly, but a bit plain.

That night Ann sat on her futon with Gil, her boyfriend. They had eaten takeout at the coffee table and were watching the news. Gil was working on his doctorate and had met Ann at a retirement party for a female studies professor six months earlier. They had a slow courtship that eased comfortably into a warm if not especially passionate relationship. They were a good match: both were academics, had almost identical CD collections of jazz, classical, and that of the quirky college radio variety, enjoyed board games, drank red wine and dark beer, and were passionate about reading. But where Ann was prone to romanticism and idealism, Gil was practical and a realist. Gil prided himself on being cerebral, and as she got to know him better, found this trait increasingly irritating. Actually, as she got to know him better, she liked him less and less.

'It's amazing the amount of press coverage this story is receiving,'� he said.

'Why? It's a big story. Why wouldn't they cover it?'� Ann asked.

'Don't misunderstand, I do think it is noteworthy, but it's the lead story on every station. People end their lives everyday in this town. I just find it an interesting statement that it trumps world news, local news, the damn war.'� Gil went on, biting into an egg roll.

'Yeah, but she jumped from a bridge, Gil. People can't help but be fascinated by that. She was young.'�

'Human nature,'� he shrugged. The room was quiet but for the murmur of the TV and Gil chewing the egg roll.

'What does that mean?'� Ann asked, more sharply than she had intended.

'It means what are we responding to? We're drawn to the presentation more than what that action, dramatic as it may be, actually is. If this girl'

'Willa Berry,'� she interrupted

'If Willa Berry had overdosed in her apartment it probably wouldn't even make the paper. It's exciting to the public because of the extreme nature, because it's gruesome. And then we can't help but wonder what was so terrible that it made a woman dive to his death. She went out with a bang, to be sure. Made one hell of an impression, if not a statement.'� Gil shook his head.

Ann was quiet. She was thinking. Not about what Gil had said, but about the jumper. She supposed that the orange sweatshirt belonged to a man. Maybe Willa had a boyfriend? She didn't tell Gil that she was the last person to see her alive, and if it stayed out of the news, she didn't intend to.

'I don't think that jumping off a bridge is something you do to garner attention. It's a last resort, it's pure desperation and pain. I bet the last thing on her mind was making the 11 o'clock news.'� Ann said, walking into the kitchen. She knew Gil would likely have a retort, but she was exhausted and wanted him to stop.

Ann's mood was sour, and she was tired. She wanted to sleep alone tonight. She watched Gil sigh with a touch of melograma and then groan as he stood up. He put on his coat and mumbled something about calling when she was in a better mood. As the door closed, she felt like she could breathe again.


The next day at work Ann walked the long way around campus to avoid the bridge. She wasn't ready. Plus, a large crowd had gathered there. A few people had left flowers, candles, and even a few notes. 'Did they even know her,' Ann wondered "or were they just compelled by something that left them with a need to connect, to be a part of it.' She didn't judge them. It was kind, actually.

In her office she sat at her desk for about 20 minutes just looking out the window. There was a gentle knock on her open door.

'Busy?'� It was her boss, Professor Arthur Cane, smiling and holding two coffee cups. Just the sight of him made her feel better.

'Sorry, I was off somewhere,'� she waved her hand and attempted a smile. 'What's up?'�

'Latte.'� Professor Cane came in and sat opposite her, placing the cup in front of her. The smell of coffee and cream wafted up towards her.

'The good off-campus latte? Professor, am I being fired?'� Ann joked.

'Annie, without you I'm just an old fool with tenure who can't figure out where he left his car keys or how to use a cell phone.'�

Professor Arthur Cane was the only person who had ever called her Annie, and she liked how endearing it was. When she met him years ago she liked him right away. He was sweet and incredibly smart, but self-deprecating and even silly. He had the warmest, loveliest speaking voice, and an equally snug presence that just put you at ease. He always called himself 'old'� and a 'coot'�, when really he was just in his early fifties. She had worked as his research assistant for several years and liked it very much. Most research assistants were post doctorate, or had moved on to become assistant professors; Ann was content in her work and had no interest in teaching, although she would never tell this to anyone. Professor Cane taught Political Science, with an emphasis on the comparative politics, and the politics and culture of 1960's and 1970's. He was a co-chair of the department, and was published frequently. Ann helped research and analyze data, especially for his scholarly publications. She also assisted him in organizing his lectures, his class work, and everything he didn't trust his teaching assistants to handle.

Arthur handed her a napkin. 'I know you were on the bridge. I know what happened,'� he said calmly and quietly.

Ann sipped the latte like a guilty child caught in a lie. She couldn't think of what to say.

'I think you might be feeling a little overwhelmed,'� he said looking at her carefully. 'I just wanted to say that if you would like to talk to someone, please know that I am always at your service. I know I'm a boring old bastard, but I do like to listen, and I rarely interrupt.'� He smiled, stood up and walked towards the door. He turned to her and looked at his Styrofoam cup. 'If you don't want to talk, which I know is often your habit, I respect that too. But, Annie, just let it sink it.'�

He got to the door and stopped. He closed the door. Ann looked up at him, his back to her. He was dressed in a nice gray suit, always with no tie, and was still wearing his boots. He spoke in a quiet, intimate voice. 'Annie, I know that if I were to take my last breath and yours was the last face I saw, it would be a great comfort, and a wonderful gift,'� he let out a small laugh. 'I'd probably think, 'Goddamn it man, you're already in heaven.''�

TWO
TBC

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