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Nigel
I followed Nigel's car, flying close behind its beat up rear bumper with a Florida license plate. From time to time, I saw him checking his rear view mirror. I could feel that he was afraid.
He didn't drive home, though. Halfway across the Baltimore Bridge, he suddenly pulled off to the shoulder and stopped. He killed the engine and stepped out of the car. For a few minutes, he just stood there with both hands on the railing, looking down at the water below. Below the bridge was a black river, nasty and cold and fast. I hung around while he lit up another one of his endless cigarettes. He was shivering in the night wind, the cars kept going by, and it was starting to rain. I spaced out for a second and when I turned, I saw my beloved civil engineer standing on the metal railing, ready to jump, so I thought, quick.
He didn't drive home, though. Halfway across the Baltimore Bridge, he suddenly pulled off to the shoulder and stopped. He killed the engine and stepped out of the car. For a few minutes, he just stood there with both hands on the railing, looking down at the water below. Below the bridge was a black river, nasty and cold and fast. I hung around while he lit up another one of his endless cigarettes. He was shivering in the night wind, the cars kept going by, and it was starting to rain. I spaced out for a second and when I turned, I saw my beloved civil engineer standing on the metal railing, ready to jump, so I thought, quick.
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First published June 27, 2014
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