They found your body today. It was floating along Our river, lodged between a rock and a hard place. The hard place was the rusty metal bridge I refused to walk on because I was sure a single step would bring it all down.
Ironic, huh? Painfully ironic, morbidly ironic, mockingly ironic, but ironic. Who would have ever thought it was your body they would find dead in that river, by that bridge?
Remember the day we met? Well, night, really. It’s funny that we met at all, funny because I wasn’t supposed to be there but I was, funny because you weren’t supposed to be there but you were, and funny because it all started a long time before I met you - a year, to be exactly exact.
Mom and Dad were fighting again - fighting over the money we didn’t have and the bills we did. After a while my iPod couldn’t drown them out anymore - not completely - so I left. I snuck out the back door and walked aimlessly through the woods, not really caring where I might end up. After I while I found myself at a river and a decrepit old bridge.
It was early May and the snow and ice had just melted and the water gushed under the bridge high and fast. At first I was afraid - afraid of the water, afraid of the bridge, afraid of staying there, and afraid of going home.
So I just sat at the edge of the river where water sloshed on my boots and sand stuck between my fingers and grass itched my ankles where my too-small pants didn’t cover and all I wanted to do was die because what was the point of living if your clothes were always old and patched and never fit right and you were always hungry and your parents were always fighting and your iPod couldn’t play loud enough and if the only reason you had an iPod was because you stole it out of some kid’s backpack when they left it on the bus?
But all I did was sit there and stare at the moon and the stars and listen to the crickets and the frogs and suck on a cherry sucker I found in my pocket. I thought about everything and nothing and the world’s problems and how to fix them and anything but my problems because I couldn’t fix them and thinking about them just made me want to die again and with the river so high and the bridge so falling apart and no one there to stop me that trail of thought was too tempting so I thought instead about how fireflies looked like glitter on steroids and how if shoe laces were made of licorice the whole world would wear sandals.
Eventually I could see light on the horizon and knew the sun was setting so I went home because if I wasn’t back by the time Mom and Dad woke up they would start yelling again, not just at me but at each other, blaming each other, coming that much closer to the divorce they had been threatening at.
I didn’t get how they could get a divorce; if we barely scraped by with both of them here, how would they each support a household of themselves and me coming to visit back and forth on weekends and holidays and having to both get me presents and having to both keep enough clothes and things of mine there when they could barely afford for me to have one house worth of those things?
But they were parents and didn’t have to make sense so I had to get home. They were still sleeping when I snuck inside so I dodged a bullet there. After that my iPod didn’t work any louder, so over and over again I went for walks, never really knowing where I was going but always ending up at that river and bridge and always finding my way back.
I did this for a year, except sometimes I wouldn’t in the winter if there was a lot of snow and the ground was iced over and I would’ve gotten lost and frozen to death or at least lost a toe or two before they found me. But other than that I came almost every day.
The sky was cloudy and threatened rain the eve of my river-going anniversary, but I had to go because I was looking forward to the anniversary and if you didn’t do the things you were looking forward to eventually you’d stop looking forward to things and then days would drag and time would lose meaning and life would lose meaning and thoughts of dieing would become more and more tempting and something I did not need was tempting thoughts of dieing.
Plus, Mom and Dad were screaming at each other worse than usual and I couldn’t stay home and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
When I got there the water was high like it was last year, because everything had melted again, and I sat down a little ways from the shore because I didn’t want to get wet, and ceremoniously pulled a cherry sucker from my pocket and stuck it in my mouth, just like I did last year.
When it got dark, the clouds blocked the moon and the stars so I couldn’t stare at them so the lighting bugs were my only light and they blinked off as much as on, sometimes leaving me in darkness for what seemed like half an hour even if it was only a few seconds. It was a few seconds too many.
Without the moon and stars to look at, I looked at the river instead and the way that it gushed and the sparks of cold as little water droplets flew at my uncovered ankles. I imagined what it would feel like to fall into the water and to feel the coldness everywhere and to need to breathe but not want to and to have my mind slowly slip into oblivion, unfeeling, emotionless, unhurting oblivion. Blackness. Nothingness. No worries, no yelling, a place where money meant nothing and everything meant nothing and nothing was good because if you didn’t feel you didn’t hurt and suddenly I wanted to feel nothing so badly and the thoughts of dieing came back and they were so tempting and so tempting and suddenly if I didn’t feel nothing I was going to explode with something and something was bad because something hurt. I hurt.
So I got up and walked to the bridge that I was always so afraid would fall out from under me but now I wanted it to fall out from under me because then I would be that much closer to nothingness and even if it didn’t fall out I knew I would jump. So I swung my leg over the rail and closed my eyes and jumped.
And it felt just like I knew it would. It felt cold, but it felt good cold, numbing cold. I needed to breathe but I didn’t want to breathe and nothing could make me breathe so I didn’t breathe. And I could slowly feel my mind slip away into nothingness and I was subconsciously cheering myself on, thinking Yes! Yes! and then No! No! because something had grabbed my arm and was pulling me away and then I wasn’t in water anymore, I was on land and it was hard on my back and someone was pumping my stomach and breathing into my mouth and the whole time I was thinking No! No! because I wanted nothingness but I wasn’t getting it because some imbecile saved me.
That imbecile was you.
Soon I was sputtering and coughing and gasping because there was water in my throat and now I needed to breathe and I did even though all I wanted was to jump back in the river and to feel nothing.
When I opened my eyes, I saw you for the first time, holding a flashlight at my face and I couldn’t see you, not really, but I could because how could I not, you being you? You always were impossible to ignore.
You were drenched, obviously, but you still looked good. I doubted there was ever a time you didn’t look good. Maybe for a millisecond after you were born when you were covered in blood and the nurses still had to clean you, but that was probably the only time.
You had longish black hair that dripped over your dark eyes that in regular lighting were green, not bright green but forest green, and you had a goofy grin on your face like you were so proud to have rescued someone who didn’t want to be rescued, but apparently you didn’t take that into account when you did it.
Then you started asking questions like Why was I out so late? and Why did I jump off a bridge? and Was I trying to kill myself? which I thought was pretty obvious and Do you want to talk? which I didn’t but did anyway because I was mad at you and wanted you to know it. You were only fourteen and I said Who were you to go around saving lives and playing shrink? but you said I was only thirteen and trying to drown myself so who was I to talk? I guess we were both a little more grown up than most people our age, even if a bit psychotically so.
After that, whenever I came to the river and bridge, you were always there and I thought that you must have gone there even in winter when there was snow everywhere and the ground was iced over and you might’ve gotten lost and frozen to death or at least lost a limb before I came back to the river and bridge and found you. But every time I found you alive and with all of your limbs, so apparently that never happened.
Every time I saw you there you made me talk, whether I wanted to or not, and finally I said Will you just stop, I don’t want to talk! and you said If you don’t want to talk then why do you keep coming back? and I would say Because it’s better than at my house, and then I’d be talking again and you’d sit there with a smug little smile on your face that would annoy me so much but was loads better than sitting at home with my not-quite-loud enough stolen iPod and screaming, divorce-threatening parents.
After a while I couldn’t take it any longer and in the middle of one of my long speeches that you kept urging me on during I burst out Why are you listening? Why do you keep coming back? Why did you even fish me out of the river in the first place? You took your time answered, and when you finally did you looked oddly sentimental and you said Because I care.
I didn’t say anything. I just got up and left. You didn’t care, you liar, you didn’t. I didn’t know why you did what you did, but you didn’t care. Nobody cared. Everybody said they cared, but they didn’t really care. My parents said they cared, but they didn’t care. My teachers said they cared, but they didn’t care. The only one anyone ever cared about was themselves. I was the only one that cared about me. So you lied.
The next night I came back again, though. You were there. You looked at me and said I didn’t think you would come. And without saying anything else I continued on with yesterday’s rant which was so much like the other rants I had grown accustomed to giving you that you always demanded without really demanding them. And while ranting I realized that maybe you did care, because why else would you listen to me night after night while I just repeated everything I had said the night before without making any real headway?
It wasn’t for months that I realized that I maybe cared too, just a little. And it was months still that I waited before actually doing anything about.
On the second anniversary of my river going and the first anniversary of my life-saving, I went to the river with not one, but two cherry suckers because without you I never would have eaten another cherry sucker ever again. By now I had lost all interest in dieing, at least for now, and instead just went though life looking forward to seeing you every night because looking forward to stuff was what life was about.
That night instead of just talking about myself, I started asking questions about you, and not just to divert your attention - believe me, by then I had gotten plenty used to talking about myself - but because I cared, just a little.
That night our visits changed from “therapy” visits to “we’re friends, let’s hang out” visits, though neither of us really acknowledged the change.
It was months again before I realized something; I hadn’t touched you once since you saved me against my will, and I wasn’t entirely conscious for that. I wondered what it would be like the touch the face and arms and hands and chest and hair of the person I had memorized long ago. So I decided, in the most nonchalant way I could, I was going to touch you, somehow, someway.
It was late August; I was fourteen and you had just turned sixteen. Like with most special occasions, we didn’t acknowledge the change, but when I arrived I tossed you a cherry sucker and that was the end of that.
At the river and bridge, there was the tree that you sat at and the tree that I sat at. But this time I sat at your tree, just to see what you would do, hoping that it would involve touch so I wouldn’t have to do anything obvious because I didn’t want you to know that I wanted to touch you.
Instead of in any way physically making me move, you simply raised an eyebrow and sat down at my tree which from that day forth was Your tree and your tree was My tree. I was frustrated, but in a way I liked the thought of sitting where you always sat and feeling what you always felt. All in all, I had gone completely mental.
After that I decided that I had acted suspicious enough for one night, so I tried nothing else but the whole while we talked in the back of my mind I thought about different ways I could get you to touch me.
I didn’t try anything the next day, or the next week even, partly because none of my plans were actually any good but mostly because you might decide I had gone mad or even worse found out the truth so I waited a week and decided that if you didn’t touch me next time I would always wait a week, or even longer if I had to.
My next plan wasn’t as fool proof as the first because, let’s face it, you weren’t no fool. This time I “forgot” my jacket at home so that you’d come sit by me to warm me up, but instead you just took off your sweatshirt and tossed it at me like the cherry suckers we have on special occasions. And while, yes, your sweatshirt was warm and soft and big and smelled really good, it only made me want to feel how warm and secure I imagined you would feel and to find out how good you smelled, which I imagined was really good enough though since the day I met you we’d never come closer than two feet.
As the weeks went on, my plans became more and more desperate though, I hoped, none the more conspicuous. I thought that you might have gotten suspicious but in the end decided that the thought that I was up to anything was ludicrous, which it should have been.
In late October, it was one of the days of the weeks that I would try to get you to touch me. But, unlike any day, when I arrived at the river and the bridge, you weren’t there. Crestfallen, I sat down on a big rock in the river and hugged my knees and stared longingly down at the water. I could see fresh water seaweed, whatever it was called, and sand and pebbles and rocks of all sizes and sometimes I saw fish, though usually the river moved too fast for that. The sun beat down on my head and the rushing water was like a lullaby and I must’ve fallen asleep and tipped over because next thing I knew I was waking up on the shore with you pumping my chest and breathing into my mouth and we were both sopping wet and I knew I should have been worried that I had almost drowned, this time not on purpose, but the only thing I could think was We’re finally touching. We’re finally touching. And you know what? I liked it.
Like before, I sputtered and I coughed and I gasped for breathe that this time I wanted because if I didn’t breathe I would forget this moment and feeling of touch forever and when I finally controlled myself enough to stop, you looked at me angrily and said I’m late one time and you try and kill yourself again?! and part of me wanted to cry because I’d upset you but part of me was doing everything to just not look happy, which would make you forever exasperated. I settle for saying sheepishly I didn’t try to, I fell asleep and fell in. And you said Sure you did, but the way you say it I can tell you meant Well, at least you’re okay and you’re not suicidal. And then I smiled.
You started drying me off with your good smelling sweatshirt and I had to force myself not to smile so that you didn’t think that lack of oxygen had driven me mad, like everything else in this wretched but temporarily absolutely wonderful world. When you’d apparently done what you could with your sweatshirt, you sat at Was Your But Is Now My tree and pulled me up in front of you and I leaned back into you and you rubbed my arms, still trying to warm me and I laid my head back onto your shoulder because, let’s face it, you smelled just as good if not better than what I imagined and your arms and strong and secure and I didn’t even attempt to hold up a conversation. We just sat there for hours and hours until the sun started rising and I grudgingly rose with it because even though I’d been happily preoccupied with you, my parents’ relationship still wasn’t any better and divorce was still threatened but for once in my life I didn’t really give a crap.
The next night we didn’t speak of what happened but you tossed me a cherry sucker and at first I thought that it’s because you finally realized what I was trying to do and you approved and marked that as a special occasion but then I remembered that it was my birthday and that I was now fifteen and you were sixteen and what could be better than that?
We no longer talked about my family problems and my parents and their yelling and the fact that I no longer went out there to get away but to see you. Honestly, I can’t really tell you all that we talked about, just that we talked and talked and never got bored.
From then on there was no Your tree or My tree, but rather Our tree because we always sat at the tree together, side by side, arms just brushing, faces no more than two feet away. No longer was I obsessed with touching you, but rather with touching a certain part of you, namely your mouth. I liked the way it moved when you talked, smooth and effortless, always with something meaningful to say. I liked how it widened when you smiled, showing off kind of crooked but otherwise perfect teeth. I liked how I liked it because that was just the kind of thing I would like.
In November we talked about things, as usual, but not as usual in the middle of the conversation you just stopped. Talking, that is. Then I stopped. And for a while we just stared at each other and my heart was pounding even though I told it to shut up but part of me liked it because it was just the kind of thing I’d like and then slowly, so slowly, you moved closer, just a little, and tilted your head and then your mouth, your perfect mouth, was on mine and you kissed me sweetly, gently, and a little too shortly. Too soon your pulled away and that goofy little smile you had when you rescued me the day we met was on your face now and you said I told you I cared.
And just then I was either going to hit you or kiss you so I kissed you and put my arms around your neck and you pulled me close and this time you didn’t pull away too soon, but rather when you did both our breathe was ragged because we had forgotten how to breathe and almost suffocated but it was worth it and we both knew it. And, let’s face it, you just smelled so good.
After that, when we met we talked because it was just what we did, but we also kissed and as much as I had liked coming here before, I liked it even more now. And while we kissed a lot, you never tried to go any further, probably because you knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it, that with my family situation the way it was I needed emotional stability not an emotional rollercoaster. And I loved you even more for that. And while we didn’t talk about this, we each tossed each other a cherry sucker on Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then Easter, then our anniversaries, then soon I was sixteen and you were seventeen and life was good and I couldn’t have asked for more and then everything changed.
You didn’t show up at Our river and bridge. You didn’t show up for a week and I was freaking out but I had no idea what to do. You were reported missing and the police questioned me but I knew nothing and that scared me and they knew nothing and I could tell that scared them even though they didn’t say it and soon you were gone for two weeks and no one knew anything and then someone did know something.
A local hunter had passed by Our river and bridge and found your body lodged between the rock and the hard place which ended up being Our bridge. The police say that you were kidnapped and murdered and that the forensics team is going to do everything to figure out how you died and who killed you and all that but somehow I just don’t care. All I know is that you’re lost in nothingness and suddenly I want nothingness and that’s part of the reason I go to Our river and bridge.
I was always so scared of that bridge, and the only time I went on it was because I wanted to die. Well, now I want to die again so again I’m going on it. But I don’t want to drown and I don’t want nothingness because I mine as well have drowned the day you saved me instead of you saving me and then you would have saved me in vain and nothing you did could have been in vain because I said so and you wouldn’t have wanted me to kill myself anyways so instead of jumping off the bridge again I sit on it and talk to you, not at Our tree because that would be almost too painful but at Our bridge because it started all this whether it knows it or not.
And when I’m done talking to you - which I never though would have happened but after a while there’s only so much words can convey - I stand up and take a cherry sucker from my pocket and toss it at you except you don’t catch it. Because you’re dead.
I imagine the cherry sucker is me.
And so the Almost But Not Quite Suicidal Cherry Sucker floats down the river the way you did and I should have but didn’t.
Your Mc's voice is very clear, and so unique! Your style of writing - stream of consiousness, was used well, almost without a glitch. Are you familiar with it? Because you did a 
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