One I wrote quite a while ago that has been languishing on my hard drive. I tinkered and tinkered and...here it is.
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SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR
She came along at the right time.
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HENRY
It was a long way down. I don't think ever I fully understood or appreciated just how high the bridge was from the surface of the water. Of course, I had only ever been on the bridge while driving across it in my car. I had never looked down from the edge as I was doing now. And it was a long way down.
But that was the point, of course. It needed to be a long way down in order to get the job done. I didn't want to survive this and spend the rest of my life, such as it was, lying in a coma somewhere. That would be even worse. I wasn't looking to suffer; in fact, that was the whole point of my being where I was now. I didn't want to suffer anymore. I didn't want to hurt anymore.
It was late enough in the evening and the road was seldom traveled anyway, so the cars were few and far between. I supposed some of the drivers didn't see me, and any that did could always say they didn't if they had to, though I saw no reason why they would be in a position of having to explain driving past me.
But as the headlights came and went, maybe only a dozen times over the past hour, I just sat there staring down into the darkness.
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KAZEY
The clock on the dash caught my eye as it switched from 7:59 to 8:00pm. I had just come off the junction from Highway 65 and was now moving East on US 278. I had an eventual destination of a warehouse in St Louis but wasn't due there until tomorrow afternoon. I much preferred the rural roads. Not only was there less traffic but they were much more fun to drive than those boring, straight interstate freeways.
I noticed a car off to the side of the road but that wasn't entirely unusual. Gas stations were few and far between out here and it wasn't unheard of for someone low on fuel to get on one of these roads and run out before they could find their way to a gas station, so I paid it little mind.
What was unusual was someone sitting on the concrete barrier overlooking the mighty Mississippi, as there was now. I assumed the car belonged to him and it appeared that he intended for it to stay there for the foreseeable future, since he didn't plan to come back for it. I hit the brakes.
I pulled to the side as best I could and put my flashers on. The bridge was only one lane in each direction but I was sure traffic was slow enough so that my truck wouldn't be a problem. In case it wasn't clear, my truck is an 18-wheeler, Kenworth by brand, and I'm hauling a load of office furniture to an Office Max warehouse in St. Louis.
I climbed out of the cab and walked the short distance back to where the man was sitting on the ledge, his intentions clear. Even as I walked toward him I had no idea what I was going to say. All the clichés popped into my head: 'it can't be that bad'; 'you have so much to live for'; 'this is a permanent end to a temporary problem'; etc. I wouldn't pay much attention to stuff like that so I doubted he would either.
I was soon within about 20 feet of his position, obviously close enough for him to hear me approach.
"Leave me alone, please."
There was no life in his voice. He was hurting and hurting bad, but then he wouldn't be where he is if he wasn't, would he? Of course, I couldn't do as he asked, not and live with myself. I had to try.
"What's your name?"
He ignored the question. I tried again.
"My name is Kazey. What's yours?"
"Please leave me alone."
"I can't do that, I'm sorry. We're here until you jump in front of me or you climb down."
He turned his eyes back toward me. They were filled with sadness and despair.
"You said your name was Casey?"
"No, Kazey. K-A-Z-E-Y."
"Okay Kazey, why do you care? Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Look, I'm not gonna pretend I know exactly how you feel or what you're going through. I'm sure you wouldn't be here if you didn't think it was your only option. But I've been through the shit before myself, and I wasn't too far from being in the same place you are. But some people helped me. They told me that once I hit rock bottom there was nowhere to go but up. I know it sounds trite, but there's some truth to it, you know?"
"You're right. That is trite, and you do have no idea how I feel or what I'm going through. But you tried, so you can get back in your truck and go on down the road guilt free. I proclaim you good with the universe."
"Can you at least tell me your name, and give me a number I can call to let someone know what happened."
"My name is Henry, and there's no one that cares what happens to me so I can't give you a number."
"No parents, friends, brothers or sisters?"
"None that care."
"How can you be so sure?"
He didn't answer.
"What do you do for a living, Henry?"
"I'm a supervisor at the Department of Motor Vehicles."
"I'll bet that's interesting."
"It's boring and tedious, and most days I walk out of there wanting to kill myself."
He turned to me and flashed a rueful smile.
"And no, that's not why I'm sitting here. Sadly, that's the bright spot of my life right now."
This wasn't getting me anywhere. He hadn't even given one second of thought to climbing off of that barrier, and frankly I had no idea what else to say. The one thing that I tried was as cliché as anything I had thought of and he recognized it for what it was. I needed to try a different tack.
"So, Henry, I've got a load of furniture I'm hauling up to St. Louis. I've got about 7 hours of driving ahead of me and I could use some company. Wanna come along?"
He didn't tell me no immediately and I thought that might be a good sign. In fact, it looked like he was seriously thinking about it. I took a chance but thought it might seal the deal.
"If you still want to do this after we get there they have bridges in St. Louis, too."
To my surprise he actually chuckled at that. I was glad he could appreciate some of my dark humor. But he still hadn't climbed off the ledge.
"Come on, Henry. Let's get in the truck and hit the road. Maybe you'll find a reason to live between here and there. Besides, if you really wanted to jump, you'd have jumped by now, I think."
He turned to look at me again; his face suddenly more serious after the lighthearted exchange had broken his dark mood momentarily.
"I do want to, but it's scary, you know."
"I know Henry. I'm scared and I'm not even up where you are. But maybe you only think you want to. Give it a chance. Ride with me for a few hours. We can talk about your problem or not; it doesn't matter. Then maybe you'll have a clearer idea of what you want to do. Either way, at worst you stay alive for a few more hours."
He was turning toward me slowly and I could see him thinking it over in his mind. I was cautiously hopeful, and his one word answer filled me with relief.
"Okay."
I helped him down off the barrier and we walked quietly over to my truck.
"Do you want to do anything about your car, or do you need anything out of it?"
"No and no."
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HENRY
I think the only reason I ended up not jumping was because there was someone trying to talk me out of it, and I didn't want my actions to lead to pain for anyone else. We walked mostly in silence over to her truck and I climbed into the passenger seat. It was a good-sized truck with a sleeper behind the cab.
As we walked I got my first good look at Kazey. She was tall -- I'd guess about 5'9" or 5'10" -- and solid. She wasn't fat, maybe a little chubby but not much. She looked strong, like she may have grown up on a farm. She carried a little extra on her hips but considering she sits in a truck seat for who knows how many hours a day I figured that was normal. She had long, straight black hair and nice sized breasts that still seemed a little small against the size of her frame.
We sat in silence as the big engine roared to life and she drove along the highway. We had probably been driving two hours before one of us spoke, and it was me.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. For what?"
"I guess for caring enough to stop and talk to me."
She just nodded at my explanation.
"So, what kind of name is Kazey? Is that German?"
"It's not actually my name. It's a nickname. I've been called Kazey since high school. It's actually my initials: K-Z, and it just sort of became pronounced like a single word. I like it because I've never heard it before and I don't like my first name."
"What's your first name?" I asked, even knowing she probably wouldn't answer, and she just smiled in the mostly darkness.
"Not gonna tell me, are you?"
"Don't take it personally. I don't tell anyone."
"Not a lot of female truck drivers. How'd you get into it?"
"Actually, there are quite a few; just not very many drive solo. I got into it when I met my husband."
"You're married?"
"Not anymore, no."
I thought about asking more questions but I left it at that. She hadn't been nosy about my situation so I decided to return the courtesy. She continued.
"He was a driver when we met and I started riding along with him. Then he suggested I get my CDL so we could take turns driving, and that way we could get more and longer runs and make even more money. He taught me to drive and that's what we did, for a while anyway."