Sometimes, when I travel, I entertain irrational thoughts. Like, what if the bridge I am traveling on gives way? Or, what if an earthquake hits, and the bridge decking breaks open and I am hurled out into space and time –– free falling into the East Bay, the Chesapeake Bay or the Hudson River? It’s always been in another city over a large expanse of water or on a mile+ span of bridge that these thoughts overtake my mind.
While I have never conjured similiar scenarios as I’ve crossed over the Mississippi River, here’s what I
have imagined:
It’s always in winter, usually at twilight or early evening. I am crossing the Mississippi on the 35W bridge, going to the east side of the river to visit Mary Clare or my mother. As I change lanes, I skim over invisible black ice, and lose complete control of my car. The car spins around more than once and violently crashes into the guardrail, breaking through the formed concrete barrier.
My car is catapulted, shot up and out over the edge of the bridge, engulfed by broken debris, floating in slow motion towards the water. In the ten-second descent, with time standing still, there is nothing I can do but bid my family goodbye –– my car continues south and tears open the surface of the water, hitting face first. The car pops up and I am buoyed for a brief moment as the car tries to right itself, floating for a few seconds, cradled in the warm tomb –– moments later, I am sucked under the icy water, floating down, down, down through the murky, enveloping waters of the Mississippi, into the echoing silence.
But, it was always
me losing control of the car. Never the integrity of the bridge being compromised.
Until now.
