Bridges

B R I D G E S

I'd never really wanted to be able to hear. Sure, I was definitely curious, but since I was born deaf, silence was all I'd ever known. Wishing for something I could never have would just be a waste of time. But now, standing on the edge of a highway overpass, my terrified grip the only thing keeping a stranger from falling down onto the road below, I want more than anything to be able to hear and speak.

I can't tell if it's my hands that are shaking or his, or both. Not that it really matters. As I stare at his face, trying to figure out what words he's mouthing with very limited success, all I truly understand is that his eyes are filled with fear. Never mind how he got here—he doesn't want to die. So, I tighten my grip around his wrist, ignoring the wince that he makes, and pull him up, watching carefully to make sure he isn't about to slip out of my grasp.

As soon as he's safely back over the railing, he collapses to the ground, hugging himself and shaking. I sit down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. He looks up and leans into my touch, his mouth moving rapidly as he tells me hundreds of words that I'll never be able to hear. I shake my head slowly, pointing to my ears and then my mouth and using my arms to make a cross in front of my chest.

He deflates, tears still running down his face. No doubt he's confused and disappointed. But he nods bravely, bringing his hand up to his trembling chin and making a sloppy sweeping motion. Thank you.

I nod gently and hold my arms out, offering him a hug that he probably won't want because we're strangers and this is awkward. But he crawls over nonetheless, burying his head in my shoulder and wrapping his arms around my torso. He's still shaking, and I can feel his shuddering breaths through his chest that rests against my legs.

I absentmindedly run my hand through his hair, staring out traffic. There are so many thoughts running through my mind, mostly about the boy trembling in my arms, but the one thought that I keep coming back to is that none of the cars before me stopped. And it's not like he was hidden out of sight, either; I could easily see his terrified face as he clung to the railing and waved for help. He was visible enough to be obvious from the road. Yet for some reason, none of them stopped.

And then I did. So here I am, sitting by the side of a road that I drive on every day, comforting a stranger that was probably just about to take his own life. And for pretty much the first time in my life, I was seriously wishing that I could hear. Not just as a fleeting curiosity, like it had always been, but as a burning desire so strong that it made me want to cry, too, because life just isn't fair.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and when I look down, the boy is staring up at me, his green eyes red and puffy but free of the sheer terror that filled them minutes ago. He points to himself, traces out Eddie on the rough pavement, and points at me expectantly.

Smiling, I trace out Jonathan, but my smile morphs into a frown when I feel a drop of rain on my head, and then another, and soon it's sprinkling—not enough to soak us, but enough to be annoying. Enough that it would've made it impossible for me to get a good grip on his hand had it started ten minutes earlier.

I stand up and hold my hand out, helping him get to his feet. Then, not letting go, I tug him gently over to my car, opening the passenger door for him before walking around to my side. Eddie smiles gratefully but winces, looking down at the scratches on his hands. I make a note to myself to make sure I get out the first-aid kit when I get home and make sure he's not hurt anywhere else.

After starting the car but before I start driving, I catch his attention and direct him to the radio buttons, pointing to myself and my ears to remind him that I can't hear before pointing to him and shrugging, hoping he'll understand that he's welcome to turn on some music if he wants.