Black Bridge

In first and second grade, my best friend in the world was named Adrienne.  She had beautiful curly red hair.  I lived on Fourth Avenue and she lived on Tenth.

One day, Adrienne invited me home to play after school.  Nirvana, my friends, nirvana.  Except.  To get to her house, we had to scale the Black Bridge, which spanned the train tracks that run through town.

The Black Bridge was spindly and rusty and foreboding in the extreme.  I couldn’t do it.  I told Adrienne that I had to go home after school and I fled.  Her mother called later and I got ratted out, but I avoided the certain death that awaited me on the bridge.

Haddon Heights, NJ, 2010When you look at the damn thing now, I look much less like a scaredy cat, right?

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