Bridge Woman

by Dom Leone

In the excitement of having a child they named it Bridge Woman, and it suited her. Her purple face turned calm and happy as her parents' car crossed the many bridges between the hospital and their home. Her parents were young and life seemed very natural to them. They were never sure of their daughter grew fond of bridges as a reaction to her name, or if her fondness for bridges was so obvious in the hospital air that they had no choice but to give her a name that reflected it. It didn't matter. They loved each other and their baby loved bridges.

Things happened one after the other until Bridge Woman was no longer an infant but a small child. Throughout this time her attraction to bridges grew. Doting relatives considered bridges the thread of her life. They were her thing. Although her interest in the other fascinations of childhood -- dolls, trucks, cheese and paper -- was strong, she always managed to spend a large chunk of her time either walking across, looking at or thinking about bridges. She even designed them. Her deisgns were small and uncomplicated by most standards, but they held up well under the combined weight of her toys and her food. Miniature trucks filled with paper dolls and grapes crossed her homemade bridges easily under the guidance of her little hand. She was careful never to press tooo hard.

The house where she lived was located near water, and as a result there was a full-scale bridge only a few blocks away. It was nothing for her, as a tiny child, to ride her tricycle to teh bridge early in the morning and spend hours pedaling back and forth across the walkway. At first her parents were concerned, even panicky, but they soon realized that their daughter's behavior was not only all right, it was fine. It was what she did. She was the Bridge Woman. Occasionally a worried neighbor would carry her home to her front porch, but her parents always allowed her to go back. Sometimes they even gave her a ride.

Suddenly the Christmas season was at hand, and Bridge Woman's parents asked her what she would like.

"A bridge," she said.

They were delighted. They had already discussed the idea of giving their daughter a bridge for Christmas.

On Christmas morning, Bridge Woman was up at 6:30, dressed and under the tree, shaking presents. One present sounded soft, like a pair of pants or a sweater, so she put it back down. Another one rattled like some jewelry or an educational game, so she put that one down, too. Finally she picked up a large present. She shook it. It clanked and scraped and bashed around like like so much heavy0gauge steel held together by hundreds of No. 6 galvanized machine rivets. she opened it and her eyes got wide.

"Oh, boy!" she said.

"It's a bridge," said her father.

Wrapping paper was everywhere.

Age set in and soon Bridge Woman was a young adult. She had her share of boyfriends, but most of them got tired of coming in second to bridges when it came to her affections. One man was different, though. He admired her respect for bridges. He was a civil engineer. He and Bridge Woman dated for a month or so -- movies, telephone calls, stereo music, popcorn -- until one early evening on his couch he took her hand and said "Shall we?"

"Sure," said Bridge Woman. And she started unbuttoning his shirt.

Afterward she was lying on top of him.

"What are you thinking about?" he said.

"Bridges," she said.

The room got a little darker.

"What were you thinking about before?" he said.

"You," she said.

"Just me?" he said.

"Just you," she said. "And me. On a bridge."

"Oh," he said. Then he laughed a little.

"What's so funny?" she said.

"I was wondering", he said, "if sometimes you were thinking of just a bridge."

"Sometimes," she said. Then she kissed him and put on her T-shirt.

Time came and went, and Bridge Woman grew older. She married, had children, taught an evening course at the local community college, was widowed and came to live by herself in the small white house her parents had left her. She lived in the house, but she spent most of her time a few streets over, on the bridge. The bridge was blue, and curved up away to the sky. Bridge Woman's hair was white now, and she loved to stand in the middle of the bridge with her hands on the railing and look out over the water. She loved it so much that some days she forgot to eat. Some days she forgot to sleep. Cars would go by, and people would call to her. The people said things like "Hey!" and "Bridge Lady!" Sometimes they asked her if she had a house. But mostly the said "Jump!"

And she always had to laugh when she heard that.

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