The girl, the Friend, and the Bridge

This memory has been haunting me for almost a year now.

A little while back, I decided that before I graduated high school. I was to go bridge jumping. I knew so many people who had done it and lived to tell the tale, and I was determined to do it. After a while, I got a few friends to realize that they wanted to do it too.

Now, it was all talk (or so I thought).

Before the demise of my senior year, we discovered the bridge. We had a one other person who has been a lifeguard at the local beach for years. At first, I felt nothing, I was ready to do it and get it over with, but my amigo was pretty scared but still wanted to do it.

When we finally jumped, I felt the fear in my stomach. I expected it to be a few seconds of falling and a splash of cold success.

One… Two… Three… Four… Fiv-splash.

That was longer than expected, but I did it. And I was happy. But, I thought that since I did it once, I could do it again without hesitation.

I climbed back up, looked down, went to jump, and slipped.

One… Two… Three… Four… Fiv- 

but instead of a splash..

Smack.

The sound of my face and stomach impaling the water still echoes when I think about it.


I surface with the lack of feeling of my nose and stomach. I believed I was dead for a second, and almost started to drown. I couldn’t see straight.

I climbed out of the water and threw up. Not shocked.


To this day, the thought haunts me. I feel like I could’ve died. I feel a little dead because of it, a little numb.

I’ve had many sleepless nights because of it, and as someone who never feared heights almost vomits at the idea of a any kind of drop.

Sometimes I think some things shouldn’t be put on bucket lists.

 

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