The Bridge

by Bill Konigsberg

  Aaron almost stops to ask how she knows, how people know, but it’s so beside the point right now he skips right over it.

  “I’m fine and that’s what I’m saying. I was depressed and then my eyes opened and I realized that a lot of depression is closed-off-ness. Like I was closed off to niceness because I was … I don’t know, but now I just feel like we should all be nicer to each other, you know?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “But could you just imagine? What if we all wore name tags and people called you by your name?”

  “Like at school?”

  “No! Like on Seventy-Fourth Street. Which was the vision I had. Of this one street where everyone was nice. Like people on the street decided to do it as an experiment.”

  Sarah gives Aaron side eye. “Wait, what?”

  “Maybe it would be a city ordinance or a proclamation …”

  “Are you okay? You’re actually scaring me a little.” She picks up her book bag and hugs it to her chest.

  Aaron cackles. “I’m scaring you? Is talking about being nice actually scary now?”

  She opens her bag. “I’m gonna … I think I’m gonna study for my Spanish test.”

  “Sarah, come on. I’m just. I’m kind of joking, okay?”

  Sarah glances sideways at Aaron but won’t look him in the eye. “Okay. But yeah. Gonna study.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Tillie approaches the principal’s office feeling totally conflicted. Everything is new, and everything is tentative. Which makes her wonder. No major decisions—that was her mom’s advice this morning. She’s changing in a big way, and her life is new and different and tentative. Maybe she should pass on the assembly and just focus on being the Tillie who’s not willing to take anybody’s shit anymore. Maybe she should focus on how weird it was that Molly passed her in the hallway this morning and said, “Hey.”

  That was as surprising as anything.

  She sits and waits for Pembree to be free, and she goes through all the pros and cons.

  Pros: She’d be expressing herself. She’d be real.

  Cons: Real hasn’t always gone over well at school, and does she really owe these people anything?

  Yeah, no. This isn’t her job. Surely they could find an expert to come in and talk about online bullying, and everyone can ignore it like every other time some outside speaker has come in to talk about the issue of the day. And everything will remain the same, forever.

  “Tillie! So does this mean you’ve thought about what I talked to you about yesterday?” the principal asks.

  Tillie swallows hard. “Yes,” she says. “Sign me up. Let’s do this thing.”

  The principal smiles, and damned if Tillie doesn’t feel this new sensation of pride ride up her spine.

  At lunch, Aaron heads to his usual table companions, mostly band geeks and theater people. Wylie and Marissa Jones, who are boyfriend and girlfriend and NOT brother and sister, wave him over.

  “Aaron!” Marissa says. “I’m so glad you’re back!”

  “Yeah,” Aaron says. “I’m back, baby.”

  Marissa screws up her face at him like, What? And then she awkwardly laughs.

  “So how are you doing?” Wylie asks.

  “I’m actually really good. I think the time off cleared my mind a lot, and they put me on these pills? And they say they take months to work sometimes, but mine worked really, really, really fast, because this is day six, and I feel really clear, like essentially clear, like to my essence, clear. Which makes me wonder if I wasn’t really depressed in the first place? That it’s just in the head? Ha-ha, in the head. But you know what I mean, right? Like I made it up. I was being dramatic about my feelings, maybe, because honestly, I can’t even remember what took me up there. Oh! The bridge! I don’t even know if people know about that. Did you know? A week ago Wednesday. Yeah. I went to the GWB. But honestly I don’t think I was really going to jump because … ta-da! Here I am, a week later, and I’m fine, I’m totally fine.”

  Marissa, who has rarely heard Aaron say more than a simple sentence outside of a play or musical, says, “Oh my god, Aaron. Wow. Okay.”

  Wylie says, as calmly as possible, “We’re glad you’re back.”

  “Me too. Me too!”

  Tillie has been ignoring Amir’s texts, but on Friday afternoon, she decides to respond. Amir’s written, Can I please buy you coffee after school? Just to apologize. Promise.

  She replies, Fine. Midnight Express Diner, half hour. And I get food if I want.

  Amir is waiting at a booth when she arrives, and it bugs the shit out of her but she gets this little flutter when she sees him.

  Conversation is scarce, and Tillie is relieved when the waiter finally arrives. Amir orders the Cubano chicken panini and Tillie gets her favorite, the French fry burger, because who wouldn’t want a burger topped with French fries?

  “So what’s been going on in your life?” Amir asks.

  Tillie swallows and grabs her burger to bide time. She chews methodically and, once she can, she says, “Not much. Gonna do an assembly on online bullying.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Cool. Were you online bullied?”

  It takes just about everything for Tillie not to smack him, but then she realizes of course he has no idea. So she is merciful and says, “Yep.”

  Amir pushes his sandwich around his plate. “I’m really sorry. And the funny thing is, there were lots of times I really wanted to write you just because you’re Tillie and I like you. I didn’t know how to deal with the thing, though.”

  Tillie cringes. Is going out with her now better known as “the thing”? “Yeah,” she says. “That all kinda sucks.”

  “But you get it, right? That it wasn’t about you? That you’re great? Because, um …” Amir looks around and lowers his voice. “If I were even bi? I would so be your boyfriend. And I’m not just saying that like some jackass dude. I’m saying it because it’s incontrovertibly true.”

  “Oh, gee, thanks,” Tillie says, flat. But in reality, part of her feels lighter for him saying it so clearly. “It’s good to know that my gay ex-boyfriend thinks I’m a righteous babe.”

  He looks around like he’s afraid someone heard. “Yeah, can you maybe not say that so loud?”

  “Jeez. Your mom has spies everywhere?”

  “That’s my assumption.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tillie mashes down her bun on the once-crispy, now-soggy French fries. She says, “So assuming I ever forgive you, are we, like, friends again, in your twisted mind?”

  Amir gives her a funny look. “I would like to be, yeah.”

  Tillie swigs her Coke. “Well, we’ll see. A few more meals on you, for starters …”

  He smirks. Her phone goes off.

  Tillie mutters, “Shit.” Is he suicidal again? He went back to school today. Was it a really bad day?

  “What’s up?” Amir asks.

  “It’s a long story. A friend in need.”

  She gives him the address and he shoots her a thumbs-up sign.

  When she looks up at Amir to explain, a weird wave of something like jealousy runs through her midsection. No. She is not ready for Amir and Aaron to see each other again. She isn’t ready to share Aaron. Or Amir.

  “So maybe we should call it a day?” she asks.

  Amir laughs and raises an eyebrow. “Would it be okay if I finish my panini first, or are half-eaten meals part of this extensive apology tour?”

  “Just … finish, okay?”

  He takes a comically slow bite, and she groans.

  “It feels like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he says while chewing.

  “No. Yes. Kind of. It’s complicated. Aaron and me. We’re complicated.”

  “Oh! Wait. He’s gay, too, right?”

  “Yes, asshole. Not everything complicated is about dating.”

  “You’ve changed a little,” he observes. “You kind of say everythin
g that’s on your mind now.”

  She matches his eye. “When I didn’t, I wound up on a bridge, so.”

  “Right,” he says, and they go back to eating.

  About five minutes later, there’s a flash of motion and the energy in the restaurant shifts. It’s just a door opening, and the door has opened numerous times since they’ve been sitting in the booth across the way. But something about this particular entrance sucks the energy away from the booth. Both Amir and Tillie look its way.

  “Hi, hi, hi,” Aaron says, bursting in and sitting right next to Tillie. Then he kisses her forehead with such abruptness that it makes Tillie cringe and wipe her brow with the back of her hand.

  “Ugh,” she says.

  Aaron laughs. “Sorry. Out of breath and need water. Ran like a million miles to get here fast. Actually outran the bus, thank you very much, all the way from Seventy-Ninth. Water, please!”

  He yells that part to no one in particular, and Tillie’s eyes get big.

  “Um, hi,” she says slowly.

  “Oh my God. I didn’t realize HE would be here. Did he apologize like a zillion times? Did you punch him like you did that girl?”

  “Aaron!” Tillie says, shocked.

  Aaron turns to Amir. “And I didn’t say this before, but, wow. You’re stunning.”

  Amir ducks his head, and Tillie says, “Um.”

  Aaron giggles. “I mean, look at me. I actually can’t take my eyes off of you. For realsies. No joke. Yes homo.”

  “Aaron!” Tillie says, slapping his shoulder. “Stop. Really.”

  “Just … wow.” Finally he does what he has to in order to look away from Amir, and he says, “It’s been a day. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Just start. Are you okay? You seem … something.”

  “I feel reborn!” he just about shouts. “The meds are working this magic and I feel better than I ever have in my life!”

  “That’s great!” Tillie says, lowering her voice in the hopes that Aaron will take the hint.

  He does not. Aaron turns to Amir and says, loudly enough so that the closest tables can’t help but hear, “So I went on antidepressants like six days ago. They say they take a few months but BAM! Not so much. I feel so alive and that’s why I’m here. To tell you about the idea!”

  “You said it was an emergency,” Tillie points out.

  “Well, it is! I don’t know how to get started, and I did some research and you can actually trademark an idea, but I don’t know what to call it, so I thought maybe just copyright the song, or call the organization ‘Seventy-Fourth Street,’ because that’s the name of the song, though really it’s just one verse so far. I—”

  For a moment, Tillie considers grabbing both his shoulders and getting him to look her in the eye so she can see if he’s high or something. Instead, she puts up both hands. “Aaron. Slow down. What are you talking about?”

  “The idea! One street. There’s one street, and we get them to institute a law or a rule or something where everyone has to wear name tags and greet each other by name, and also the law is everyone is kind to each other. This is the thing. This is what will put me on the map!”

  He looks at Tillie, then Amir. Then back to Tillie.

  “Do you get it? This will change the world!”

  “Seriously?” she says. “What are you even talking about, Aaron?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t see it. We were just talking the other day about doing the opposite of everything because obviously with the bridge—”

  “Okay,” Tillie says, pushing Aaron to stand up, which he does. Even though Amir knows about the bridge, Tillie feels he doesn’t need to hear this. “Can we talk, just us, for a second?”

  “Sure!” Aaron says.

  “Give us a second, please,” Tillie says to Amir, and she pushes Aaron across the restaurant and outside in about two seconds.

  Out on the sidewalk, Aaron says, “He’s gorgeous! I am utterly in love.”

  “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It,” Tillie says. “Seriously. I’m not that over him, and you’re my—”

  “What?” he says, his eyes wide open.

  “Friend. So don’t even think about hitting on my ex. I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that before, got it?”

  “Got it,” he says. “But cheekbones. Oh my god. What’s Amir’s last name?”

  She punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Stop.”

  “What is it?”

  “Rahimi. Now just stop. You’re freaking me out.”

  Aaron composes himself and says, “All right. Fine. I’m just so excited.” He starts jumping up and down.

  Tillie presses down on his shoulders until he stops. “What’s wrong with you? Are you high? You’re being all kinds of weird.”

  Aaron smirks and his face animates; his eyes jump left and right. “I’m just happy, you know? Relieved. I never thought I’d feel this way again and—”

  He stops talking and rubs his eyes.

  “Please don’t cry on Eighty-Ninth Street,” Tillie says, but Aaron is crying.

  “I feel new! I am just so goddamn happy and, yeah, I’m doing this thing. I don’t know how to do it, but someone climbed Mount Everest, right? Lots of people.”

  “Some people get hypothermia and die trying.”

  “Well, that’s the spirit!”

  They talk some more, and by the time Tillie hugs Aaron goodbye, his tears are dried, his smile is wide, and she feels a little more okay with the fact that Aaron is just on some kind of after-depression trip that she doesn’t understand.

  “What the hell was that?” Amir asks when Tillie returns to the table.

  “I have no fucking idea,” she says.

  In bed that night, Aaron stares at the wall, transfixed. But unlike a week ago when he couldn’t stop staring at the wall, this time, it’s a happy stare, a juicy, excited, life-has-an-actual-taste-and-it’s-brilliant-like-the-best-ribeye-ever stare.

  He’s thinking about Amir’s eyes. So deeply black, like onyx, almost. In those eyes he saw glorious sunshine and his future, like it all played out in those two beautiful orbs, nestled above those sculpted cheekbones.

  This is his forever guy. He’s been waiting. He’s been patient—well, who is he kidding? There haven’t been a lot of applicants as yet—but still he’s held out and now he can see his life’s horizon and he can’t believe it’s so good, and so perfect, and he could writhe out of his skin right now, and he twists from side to side and does just about everything he can not to scream out in joy.

  His dad knocks on his door. Knock-pause-knock-knock-pause-knock-knock-knock. Aaron jumps up from the bed, sashays across the room, and opens the door with a flourish.

  “Hola!”

  His dad smirks and raises his eyebrows. “Well, isn’t someone chipper for ten p.m.? Sorry I’m working so late these days.”

  “It’s fine,” Aaron says. “In fact, it’s good. I got a lot going on. Gives me time to live this new way.”

  “Oh,” his dad says. “What new way?”

  I’m in love! he wants to shout, but he also doesn’t want to jinx it. Not yet. Once it’s solidified, then yeah, for sure. From various Manhattan rooftops at midnight.

  He puts his palms wide on both sides of his face and he says, “I’m not depressed anymore, Dad! It’s amazing. This thing? The way I feel? Is this, like, how people who are normal feel?”

  His dad laughs. “You’re plenty normal. And yes. Happiness is a normal emotion, and frankly I should have seen that. I saw it but I didn’t. Your depression. I’m sorry, kiddo. So deeply sorry.”

  “Water under the bridge,” Aaron says, and his dad seems affected by the word, and Aaron laughs a bit. “Sorry. Word choice. So I need to tell you about Project Seventy-Fourth Street at some point, and there’s this other thing I can’t tell you yet but hopefully soon and it’s gonna be different. From now on I’m gonna be way different.”

  “Whoa,” his dad says. “Who is this energetic perso
n, and what have you done to my son?”

  Aaron laughs. “This is it. The new me! Multitasking and changing the world because the world definitely needs changing, and I’m pretty sure I was born to do this. Born for this.”

  His dad studies him. It takes a little bit, but a smile blooms on his face. “Well, this is quite a change,” he says.

  “More to come!” Aaron says. “More to come!”

  When his dad goes off to bed, Aaron goes back to writhing between the sheets and finding all the various ways to say that name. A-MEER Ra-HE-ME. Am-ur RA-he-ME. Such a melodic name. Someday Aaron will write a song about him.

  All his life, Aaron’s wanted—needed, actually—a boyfriend. Someone who really knows him and likes him anyway, and more than that, someone like a kindred spirit, who shares this need, this yearning. His dad gave him the talk and he knows—it’s natural, blah blah—but how do you find that person? Negotiate such a thing? Because all his life, or all since he was fourteen, has been yearning, yearning, needing, and that seems like a hard thing to communicate, and a hard thing to ask for. What if they say no? What if they say yes? He’s not been sure which is scarier.

  But this. This will change all that. Amir. This is the first time in his life—his whole life!—that he can even imagine broaching that topic with another boy. Telling him whatever. That he likes him. That he wants to be with him.

  You can’t choose who you love. And Tillie won’t get that at first, but over time? She’ll get it. He’s gay, not straight. What, should she wait for him to fall for someone they don’t even know? That’s a waste of a perfect guy.

  CHAPTER 11D: APRIL 27

  Aaron wakes up at 5:26 a.m. on Saturday with a passion for life and the song “History Has Its Eyes on You” blaring in his brain.

  Some people are meant for special things. How did he not know? That he’s special? That his ideas would change the world?

  And Amir! Yes, there was definitely a vibe. Forget boyfriend. This was lover material. Husband. Those eyes, those cheekbones.

  What to do at 5:28 a.m.? What can be accomplished on his life’s new mission, on his need to tell Amir he’s the one in a special, special way? Oh! Breakfast in bed! His dad!