This story won runner-up in the WOW! Women on Writing Spring 2020 Flash Fiction Contest.

I Decided to Jump Off a Bridge

I pop two peppermints into my mouth for Dad’s benefit. It will give him something to crow about with his dentist buddies after they drag my body out of the river. “Yes, my Maddie battled depression, failed her Junior year at university, and may have resembled a bloated fish in the end, but at least she didn’t suffer from halitosis.” I can hear the disingenuous chuckles already.

As soon as these mints dissolve, I tell myself, gripping the warm metal handrail and eyeing the churning water below. It’s tumultuous roaring never ceases. 

I only feel one mint on my tongue, now, and I resist chewing the last tiny bit. I close my eyes, focusing on the finality as it melts away, feeling the vibration as a truck rumbles past, whipping hair and exhaust into my face. The driver doesn’t stop—not that I’m surprised. I am invisible.

Slowly, I open my eyes and look both ways across the bridge. Satisfied that I am standing at the highest point and there’s not another vehicle or soul in sight, I lift one chubby leg over the rail, then the other, grunting as my full body weight twists over the metal bar. Will my ribcage be black and blue when they find me, or are bruises only for the living? I brush the question away as one more thing I failed to learn in my twenty-four inconsequential years of life.

Awkwardly, I turn around and lean forward, my heart pounding. It’s a 200-foot drop to the muddy rapids that crash over jagged boulders. I had done my research. For a fatso like me, it will only be a one-second drop. But how many perceived seconds will it take? They say time slows down when you’re about to die. But how would they know? Dead folks don’t write follow-up analyses.

I release one hand, dangling, now by three fingertips. The adrenaline rush is delicious, and I welcome the release from relentless numbness, Dad’s unmet expectations, first date jerks, and the ultimate rejection from my mother. Soon, they will have justification to act like I’m invisible.

I release a breath. 

Three. 

Will anyone miss me? 

Two.

My fingers begin to slip.

One.

“Whatcha doin’?”

I gasp at the small voice and cautiously turn around to face a young boy, maybe five years old. His red t-shirt says, “Here I am,” and he casually leans against the rail in front of me. He’s missing an arm, which reaffirms life’s injustice. His chestnut hair ruffles in the breeze, and his blue eyes sparkle up at me.

My gaze darts left, then right. “Where did you come from?” I say. “Where are your parents?”

“Oh, my mom is real close,” he says. Then, he giggles like he told a great joke, and the sound does something strange to the hollowness in my chest. I can’t help but smile back at him, even though he’s screwing up my plan.

“You should go find her. She’s probably worried.”

“She is,” he says. “She always worries, and I tell her, ‘Mama, don’t be so sad.’” He reaches up and pats my face with his one hand.

I blink, stunned by the fluttering sensation his touch gives me–like warm sugar trickling from my head down to my toes. “What are you doing?” I ask, gently pulling his hand from my face. 

He grips my hand, leans in close, and whispers, “Delivering a message.”

“For who?”

He laughs again. “For you, silly. Close your eyes.”

I hesitate.

He mimics my furrowed brow. “Come on, close ‘em,” he says. 

I close my eyes. For a moment, all I hear are birds singing and a squirrel chittering above the purr of the river below. I smell the pine trees and feel the sun warming my back. His hand squeezes mine.

“The message is, I see you.”

My breath hitches and wind-cooled tears roll down my cheek.

“Oh, and when I’m born, tell Grandpa that even one-armed kids can floss their teeth good.”

I open my eyes and look up and down the bridge, but the boy is gone. The hand he’d held flies to my mouth as one strangled sob escapes, and then another. I grab on tight and kick one chubby leg back over the rail.