by Brian Wright
Everybody is given one chance for real happiness, Colin
thought bleakly, and his chance had come and gone.
He wondered where Sally was at that very moment, while
he sat on the parapet of the fog-shrouded bridge in the
cold English night.
The water looked inky and sluggish beneath his dangling
feet. It seemed a long way down. He looked down at his freshly
shined shoes. He had taken them off, placed his wallet in
the left one, his glasses in his right. He didn't know why
he had done that.
Colin still couldn't believe his misfortune. They had been
made for each other. Everyone said so. Even Sally's foul-mouthed
old bitch of a mother, who had hated him from the beginning,
seemed to have accepted, reluctantly, their relationship.
The "Mother-Bitch" was a true witch in Colin's
mind. She had tried everything to break them up, pouring
hateful, poisonous lies into her daughter's ear at every
opportunity.
He had often wondered how his mild-tempered Sally could
have come from the womb of such a nasty old crone. But,
together, they had beaten her. Together, they were an unbeatable
pair.
Then right at the instant, when he thought things couldn't
get any better, Sally had walked out on him. She'd smashed
his world to pieces.
Never mind, though, she would soon have cause to regret
her actions. When the police turned up at her door - wherever
that was - with their news and their useless questions,
"Did you have any idea why he did it?" Then she
would be sorry; then she would know what her actions caused
him to do. She would understand what he had been through,
the horrible, mental torment. There would always be people
who stared at her afterwards, whispering behind her back,
"…There she is … she drove that poor man
to his death ... "
Yet it could have been so different, if only she'd explained
how she really felt.
"We'll get married one of these days, Sal," he
remembered telling her.
"I believe you," she'd replied, laughing. "It's
not easy, I know, for someone who takes ten minutes to make
up his mind about what tie to wear."
"It's only a piece of paper, after all," he used
to say, teasing her. "Just being with you is enough
for me."
He'd always assumed that Sally thought the same way.
Feeling the temperature drop, he pulled up his jacket collar,
and then laughed aloud at his actions. He knew he would
not have to worry long about the cold where he was going.
He continued to study the darkness of the river.
The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts and the deep
silence of the night.
The shock of hearing the shuffling footsteps, so late at
night, so near the place where he was contemplating his
ultimate revenge, almost sent him tumbling into the void.
He had to grab, frantically, at the stone-cold ironwork
to stay upright.
His heart pounding, he regained his balance. "That
was close," he thought.
Colin glanced a frightened sideways look at the approaching
stranger. He could only make out a shadowy figure, standing
beyond the range of the dim street lamp. Who was this, on
the bridge, at two o'clock in the morning? Someone else,
perhaps, with death on their mind,
He felt himself start to tremble.
"Is there anything wrong?" the stranger asked.
The voice sounded worried, almost concerned. Colin breathed
out a sigh of relief. Then he remembered what he was doing
there. "Please go away," he implored, trying to
summon up some aggression.
Hearing his words echoing in mind, he knew they carried
little force or effect.
Lack of conviction had always been his problem. "He
has difficulty acting with conviction and commitment. Is
indecisive," his office manager had written in his
last staff report, before Colin had been given the sack.
"Wishy-washy," was what the "Mother-Bitch"
had called him. Oh, how he hated her for placing him in
that category.
"Anything I can do to help?" the man asked, as
he stepped into the light. He looked ordinary and he sounded
a little embarrassed. Colin thought of shouting at him,
but instead silently shook his head. He suddenly felt glad
of the company, his bravado gone, imagining the sensation
as the freezing water surged into his throat and lungs.
He shuddered. "No one can help me," Colin said,
as tears starting to flow down his cheeks.
He sniveled quietly. The stranger stared at Colin's bare
feet. When their eyes finally met, Colin could tell there
was concern on the stranger's face. He was deeply touched
that someone, a total stranger, a mere passer-by, was prepared
to help him, to show Colin the compassion and sympathy he
desperately needed, which was more than could be said about
anyone else after Sally had left him.
"I've no idea where she is," Sally's mother had
insisted, a look of triumph on her face, "but I do
know that she doesn't want to see you again." Finding
the strength from somewhere to stand up to her at last,
he'd insisted on seeing Sally. Her malicious cruel almond-shaped
eyes had merely glinted with amusement.
"If you don't go away from here at once, I'm calling
the police," she'd said.
Defeated, he'd turned on his heels and left. "I'm
not giving up, you know," he called over his shoulder,
with a show of defiance that surprised even him.
The bitch had fallen silent for a moment, but then responded,
"Stay away from her. Do you hear me?" Her voice
reached a crescendo of rejoicing as he stumbled away. "Wishy-washy
bastard that you are!"
Collin wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and shivered. Suddenly,
Colin felt compelled to offer an explanation for his actions:
"I've got problems, woman problems." He attempted
a manly laugh, but quickly gave up the pretence.
"Seven years we were together," he lamented,
"… the trouble is -- I can't stop thinking about
her. I told her, I'd do anything for her."
"Anything but marry me," Sally had replied, when
he finally tracked her to a friend's apartment.
"But I thought we were happy as things stood,"
he defended himself weakly.
"Couldn't make up your mind, you mean. Didn't want
to make a decision." She was extremely composed, looking
very determined. He wondered how she had changed so much
in a few short weeks.
Before then, during their time together, she'd been as diffident
as him, not pushy at all. He had always thought it explained
their attraction for each other. "It's not too late,
we can still get married," he remembered saying, trying
to keep the desperation out of his voice. Sally, shaking
her head resolutely, had countered, "No, Colin, I've
moved on. Why don't you do the same?"
Well, she would have her way soon, he mused, staring down
to the black water. I'll be moving on all right. Then she'll
be sorry. He steeled himself to jump, but was held back
by visions of the river rushing to meet his body, his overwhelming
terror in those last few seconds. He began to cry again.
He had almost forgotten the man was there, but the soft
tones were sympathetic. "I can tell you've had a hard
time."
"The worst," Colin replied, thinking about the
previous few weeks.
Supreme irony, he'd been moved to extreme emotion for the
first time in his life, waiting for hours outside the house
where Sally was staying, watching all night sometimes, following
her to the supermarket and the gym.
He tried pleading with her -- in a flood of tears -- but
his ex-girlfriend seemed determined not to budge. Submerged
in his own self-pity, he could not make out any strain on
her face. Oh, how he had wanted to slap that look off her
face.
On one occasion Sally's mother caught them arguing, outside
her daughter's work place. As the old witch screeched her
way towards them, he had had to beat a hasty retreat.
Even his stalking turned out to be ineffectual, a failure,
and a letter from Sally's lawyer had soon threatened to
take him to court. Worse was to follow when Sally resigned
her job and moved away.
"She said she's not coming back," her friend had
told him. "I've no idea where she's gone." The
woman's big and watchful husband had deterred any thought
of Colin pursuing the matter.
His work suffered because of the break-up. He had fallen
asleep at his desk more than once. He knew that the people
at work were laughing about his problems, in the rest rooms,
at their desks, when he wasn't around. Losing his temper,
he'd ended up screaming at one of his tormentors. The company
had said they had no option but to let him go.
The shouting match in the office gobbled up the last scraps
of fight in him, so he had come to the bridge on an ice-cold
morning, determined to end his pain and torment.
No one would miss him.
No one gave a damn.
Yet now a stranger had shown him that the world wasn't
all that bad. Someone cared. It must be the man's act of
kindness -- or maybe his hidden, inner sense would anyway
have stopped him from taking the final leap. Either way,
he was too tired to care about the reason he had decided
not to jump. He just wanted to go home to warmth and comfort.
There was scarcely any feeling left in his limbs. He extended
his arm out towards his Good Samaritan. His rescuer reached
out, stepping forward, obviously realizing Colin needed
assistance to get down from the bridge.
"Thank you - thank you for your help," Colin
said.
"That's what I'm here for," the stranger replied,
"to help you along." Colin felt the stranger's
hand grasp his arm, with an iron-like grip, suddenly pull
him forward towards the watery abyss.
Colin struggled desperately to maintain his balance, trying
to grab on to the ice cold steel beams - his fingers lost
their grip. "She said to give you a message,"
the stranger said, as he pulled and yanked at Colin's arm,
his fist lashing out into Colin's face.
Colin heard the words, the last words he would ever hear:
"Wishy-Washy …"
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