The Water Under the Bridge

Feet pacing the ground, picking up speed as the path slopes downhill. My sneakers rubbing against my ankles letting me know they are getting just a little too tight. I don’t mind though. I keep running, telling myself to push it. I clutch tighter to the wireless bud in my ear so it doesn’t fall as I pace faster up the curve of the hill. The strong smell of saltwater brushes against my nose and cools my burning cheeks. The sun is barely in the sky, a bright cast of orange and red being pushed down by dark blues. I turn off my music, pull my earbud out and shove it into the tiny pocket on the inside of my pullover. I enjoy hearing the quietness of the waves crashing against the shoreline. The rhythm of my feet marching to the sound of nothing- it is music. I moved into a sleepy New England town with old roads paved of chipped cobblestone and all metal fixtures rusted away from years of saltwater. I moved out here late September after my husband died. I grew up in the Suburbs, but I craved country. He left me enough money to do that. He always wanted me to live my dreams. That is why I am forcing my body up this hill, as every vein in my body is begging me to stop, as my legs are shaky, and I taste blood in my mouth. I want to be just like him, better than me. It should’ve been me.

I come up to the red bridge. I cross that and my house is three miles away. I slow my pace and my sneakers glide over the smooth metal. The sound startles something on the bridge. I stop and squint my eyes for a better look. It appears small, moving on four legs. I cautiously approach and a long, sleek tail rises behind it. It’s a cat. The cat recognizes me as not a threat and rubs its body along the metal railing of the bridge. I walk closer and the lighting of the bridge illuminates the long, white-haired cat. I bend down to pet it as it rubs between my legs. The cat backs away from me and sits. It looks at me and to the ocean. I go to continue my walk, not daring to bother someone’s outdoor pet. It dashes between my legs again, almost tripping me as sits in front of me. Once again, it looks towards me and at the water. Understanding, I walk towards the rail. It is dark now, the sun gone, and the only light is the faint moonlight but still, I see a figure floating in the water. All the sweat I had turned ice-cold and every pain in my body vanished. I look to the cat, and it is gone. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket to call the police. I force it out of my pullover pocket and watch it hit the metal railing of the bridge and fade into the blackness under it. I stand still in disbelief, waiting to hear the splash that never comes. I consider running the miles back home, or there is a possibility my phone has fallen on the bank. I trek my way off the bridge towards the water. It’s dark, but I use my watch for light. As I am near the base of the bridge, I hear a moan. I look out to the floating figure. I know that sound. Without another thought, I jump into the freezing water. I wade towards the figure that is face-down. It is him. How is it him? I start crying and loud gulps of air escape from my mouth, spitting to keep the water out. As I get closer to the body, it looks just like him. It is the same black jacket he had on that night. I don’t know what I am thinking, I don’t know what I am doing. With all of the strength I had left, I flipped the body over. There he was. His serene face. Beautiful, undisturbed. Looking just how he looked when I saw him in the casket. He had the sleeping face I woke up to every morning. I brush the wet hairs stuck to his dead face and caress his full cheeks. I hold his big hands like I used to- his wedding ring is still on. I buried him with it, but I slid the thick titanium off his finger. The slickness of my wet hands made me drop it in the water. I let go of his body and dive underwater. I felt around in the dark water, hands out until I felt the metal ring rub against my palm. I snatched it between my hands and pushed myself up. His body was gone. I looked around. He vanished. I slid the ring on my tiny finger and dove underwater. I frantically moved my hands around, feeling for anything solid, anything that could be him. I came back up for air. I cry. A deep-throated, silent cry. My body trembled from the cold and from shock. I wrapped my hands around myself and I noticed the ring was still there. I wade back onto shore. Water poured out of my tennis shoes and squeaked with every step. A silent ring illuminated the metal underneath of the bridge of my alarm to be home- there is my phone. I walk back onto the bridge and the rest of the way home. I don’t think I had a single thought. I took the house key from its hidden spot, unlocked the door, and let my body fall down against it. Everything else was in autopilot. I had no thoughts but heated up my leftovers in the oven as I undressed, right in the kitchen. I threw everything in the washer, not even bothering to start it. As the oven was warming, I put on my pajamas, ate my lasagna until I fell asleep, right there on the couch. His ring still on my finger.

A soft sound startled me awake. The soft rhythm of my alarm waking me up in the morning. I hate the sound. It wakes me from my dreams of him. I dream of him every night. I can smell his skin in my dreams, the scent that lingers on the pillows as I wake. The warmth of his body still on the right side of the bed. I reach for the phone to turn of the alarm. I notice his ring, the gleam of precious heavy titanium in the sunlight escaping from my curtains. All of what happened last night clouded my mind. The cat. His body. The ring. The saltiness of the air. Now when I considered that smell, it didn’t remind me of my runs, but of what I saw last night. It didn’t elicit energetic feelings, but a feeling of confusion. What the fuck just happened? A knock on the door dissolves those thoughts. I lay in bed, considering if I really want to open it. I pull back the covers and drop my heavy, aching feet on the floor. I pass by last night’s shoes and the aftermath of my cheap lasagna still on the counter. The glass pane in the window of the front door shines the morning sun through the living room. I can’t see if there is anybody at the door. I unlock the deadbolt, hearing the sound of its lock sliding into its temporary position. I cautiously open the door. There it is. The white cat from last night. Pure and beautiful in its color. Strong and regal in its long hair and it’s posture. It looks up at me, only sitting and waiting for me. I just stare at the cat. It gets up and walks to the street. The memories of last night are telling me to follow it. I hesitate, but I don’t know what happened last night, but I take a step.

“Gabriella!” My neighbor yells. I look at her, waving at me with her gardening gloves covered in brown mulch. I think she notices the panic in my face as her look drops and she starts to walk over to my property line. I glance back at the cat who is gone. I meet my neighbor at the front fence.

“How are you?” I ask, to recover for my confused look.

“Oh, enjoying this early winter day! I am needing to get my flowers winterized before it gets too cold”. She replies. I notice she is nervous.

“You make my yard look terrible- I really need to get this garden cleaned out.” I say, though I never will.

“Do you own a cat?” She asks, straight to the point. She must have noticed the white cat at my door.

“No, it is just a stray I’m assuming that wondered up to me on my run last night. I think he followed me home.” I say this and notice her face twisting in a look that gets me alarmed. She seems concerned? Worried? Mad?

“I will check in on you later, dear, enjoy your day.” And she retreats inside, leaving her gardening hoe and faucet weathering strips outside.

I notice my mailbox lid is open. It doesn’t stick well, but it is also 8 in the morning. I am not sure how mail came already but I walk towards it, checking to see if I can find the cat. There is only one piece. A small handwritten note:

“Bring it back”

My stomach dropped. The handwriting was beautiful and neat. Are they talking about the ring? I look around to see if anyone is watching me. My neighbor is gone, her supplies still leaning against the wall. Children look to be walking to school , but nothing out of the ordinary. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest. I run back inside, shut the front door, and drop to the floor. Last night shuffled through my head, did anyone see what happened? Was that even him? I held my hand out in front of me, the titanium ring still on my finger. I slide back up the door, change into my running clothes, and slide into my tennis shoes. I crumble the note up and place it in the trash. I pull my wireless earbuds out of the pocket pullover and go back on my run. I have to retrace my steps. I have to know if what really happened, happened.

I am crossing the bridge. The late morning sun shining on the cracked cobblestones, the rusted metal bottom looking like intentional art alongside its metal surface. The rising sun gleaming on the surface waves, no floating body in sight. I don’t dare question what happened- I keep convincing myself I didn’t bury him with the ring. That during the wake, I took it off. I considered doing that when I saw his beautiful, dead face. Now I am only convincing myself it was real.

I head back home. My mailbox lid is open again. My legs feel heavy, I know that it isn’t the mailman. None of this makes sense to me, I know what is happening, but I don’t think I want to accept it. There is a handwritten note, in the same beautiful calligraphy: “BRING IT BACK”.

I drop the note. The paper flows slowly to the ground, I watch it dance back and forth until it meets it’s fate on the gravel road with its bold letters “BRING IT BACK” staring at me. I clutch the ring. Fuck you, I thought, I am not doing shit. I trudge back up my broken cobblestone steps. Once inside, I crumble up the message. Using so much pent-up anger, I force this tiny letter into the smallest possible ball and shove it into the garbage disposal. I flip the switch and listen to the janky machine barely shred apart a piece of paper. I turn the water on and smile as I know that this message is forever destroyed.

Days passed and eventually it turned into weeks. I never noticed the white cat anymore. I look for it, still, like someone in the country looking for abandoned dogs, I searched for the mysterious cat. My neighbor and I kept our conversations to glances and nods as I met her walking out the door, but she never indulged much in any more conversation, and I didn’t care to pry. I still had his ring, and I really believed I took it off at the funeral. I started to believe myself that what I experienced was just a dream; a foggy, vague memory that helped me cope with his accident. As I run back up the bridge on my nightly routine, I can’t help but glance at the water every time. Letting just a flash of a few weeks ago creep into my mind. I make it to my house, and I notice my mailbox is open. It is 8 p.m., mail already came. A cold chill is sent down my spine. I know what this is. I creep my hand into the mailbox, I don’t even bother to see what is inside. I feel the folded edges of a paper note. It feels heavy in my hand as I lift it, like a paper I’ve never felt before, but I know it well:

“BRING IT BACK”

I slowly drift my eyes up, refusing to raise my head. There it is. Sleek and majestic, sitting at my door that was empty a second ago. A white cat.

“FUCK OFF!” I scream. Loud, with spit flying out of my mouth with every syllable. The cat hisses. Its ears lie flat along its head and its eyes grow into a predator’s gaze. I freeze. It takes the steps off my porch and walks off into the night. My neighbor’s door opens slightly, the small light of her living room illuminating her lawn and casting her shadow. “Go inside.” She whispers. Automatically, I pick up my feet and find myself in my house. I walk to the garbage disposal, so the note can meet its fate. Laying on my counter, next to the sink, are the shredded and damp pieces of the second note “BRING IT BACK”. Panic rises up my chest and the ring on my finger feels heavy and loose. I run back to the front door, throw it open, and chunk the ring into the air.

“Is this what you fucking want?!” I yell and slam the door shut. Immediately there is a knock. I pull it back open in a rush and sitting on my porch is the white cat, my husband’s ring, and a folded note “BRING IT BACK”. Still in my running shoes, I pick up the ring and take off out the door. Tears rolling down my cheeks, evaporating as they hit my hot skin. I am furious, angry. I take one look back and see the white cat still sitting on my porch.

I make it to the red bridge. The ring clutched tight to my chest. I am out of breath and thoughts of reality are running through my head. I feel my sanity losing its fight. I feel myself letting go of reality. I look out to the dark water, and I see his floating body again. All my worries diminished; all my fears left. I want to go to him, I need him. I have to touch him.

“It’s not him.” I snap back to reality and glance at my neighbor. Still in her pajamas, looking just as bewildered as me, next to me on the red bridge.

“What is happening?” I ask, as my voice breaks as tears pour out of my eyes.

“It’s not real, it isn’t him. Don’t listen.” She replies. We both look back at the body floating there. Wearing the same outfit he wore the night of the car crash. The thick, black cushioned coat acting as a like jacket to keep his body floating.

“The ocean- it helps find what you’re missing. It calls to you. It knows you lost something, and it wants to help you find it.” My neighbor says, her voice low. “It will make you think it is taking you to him, but it’s not the same place.”

“My husband-“ I stop, I don’t know what to say.

“I know. It knows too. The cat found you, and the ocean told it to take you. You have to let go.” She lifts up my hand with the ring on, she slides it off my finger and places it into my other palm. I clench my fist and throw the ring off the bridge. The titanium band splashes somewhere in the water, his body taunting me. I look back to my neighbor and just as quickly as she appeared, she is gone.

It is quiet. The only thing on the body of water under this bridge is the reflection of the moonlight gleaming on his body. There is no sound but my own heartbeat in my eardrums. I turn the direction of my house, pick up my feet, and run the rest of the way home.

Two years later and I have made my home here. I come dashing up the red bridge, letting the summer night of crickets and frogs be my music. The moon is a crescent, a fingernail from God himself. I cross the bridge, and like I do every night, I see a body floating. I know once I make it to the bridge, I will see the cat. The pure white, majestic, mysterious cat. And I will ignore it. I will go home, heat up my leftover lasagna, and fall asleep on the couch. No ring on my finger.