For Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver: Journey . . . Bus Travel:
. . . on the bridge . . .
The call came at 3 am; she could barely hear him above the wind.
“. . . can’t handle . . . without . . .” the brokenness rasped.
“. . .on a bridge.” No, she couldn’t listen to this again.
“. . . railing and . . .” a fresh gust ripped his voice away.
“Dave, listen, Dave, where are you?”
“. . . on the bridge . . .”
“Damn you, you said ‘clean and sober,’ promised,” a sob coming into her voice.
“. . . please . . .” then silence. A quick redial, holding her breath, like so many times.
She placed her bus ticket on the side beside her. Last window seat, barely made the bus.
On the sunny side, well, okay because she had some reading to do.
A brochure and literature she took off the web. She began to read: “On the bridge is a unique rehab program . . .”
“Michael’s prompt reminded me so much of this song, I had to include it,” a darkened house said.