Bridge Over Troubled Water

by Alfonso Vaughn

  "Sometimes long shots come good."

  The operator shook his head as Jerry and Chou left to make their way to the stands. If only the operator knew that with ownership comes an unbreakable sense of pride.

  Jerry, Chou, and the other regulars watched the screen as the horses entered the starting gate. Chou tapped his top pocket and offered Jerry a thumbs-up and a wink. Jerry replied with the same gestures. Two beaming smiles were cemented on their faces. The crowd roared. Jerry and Chou used the rail to lift themselves another two inches and gain a better vantage point over the course. Jerry's face turned crimson.

  "Come on, come on Genie-girl!"

  Chou's salivary glands were working overtime.

  "Slim Genie, give one wish!"

  Both pairs of eyes followed the horses around the course. Slim Genie made her way to the middle of the pack. Tried her hardest. The jockeys whipped the horses, stuck their heels in. Three horses broke away from the field. Slim Genie's heart was bigger than they thought: she upped her pace; desperate to stay with the leaders. She was now comfortably in fourth place.

  Chou and Jerry radiated more enthusiasm than kids in a toy store. They screamed and exhorted their horse with all their might, all their will. Their faces were blood red, their eyes wide in anxiety. Then they turned to stone as Slim Genie finished fourth. Both men took out their dockets, shook their heads, ripped them up, and discarded the remains onto the concrete floor of the stands.

  Jerry's phone rang.

  "Yeah, what you got?"

  Even more disappointment crushed his face and he muttered a word to the sky.

  "I'm on my way."

  He hung up, grabbed Chou, and ushered him towards the exit.

  The Golden Gate Bridge was swarming with activity.

  Chou's car slowed to a halt among the police vehicles and news trucks.

  Jerry got out, took in the environment with a sense of malaise. He closed the door and walked towards the rail, where Darryl sat on the ground with his head between his knees.

  Jerry lightly kicked Darryl's foot. It took a few seconds and another kick before Darryl glanced up. His grief-stricken face said everything.

  "I had her. I was six inches away."

  Jerry prayed to the sky for the second time that evening.

  "The screams..."

  Jerry crouched and placed his hand on Darryl's shoulder.

  "Hey, you did everything you could."

  "Did I?"

  "You follow the book?"

  Darryl could only nod.

  "Then you did all you could."

  "The splash. The splash keeps echoing in my ears."

  "All I can say is that it'll pass."

  "How would you know?"

  Jerry thought about his answer for a few seconds.

  "Here's the thing, kid: when someone really wants to die, all the negotiating skills in the world aren't going to bring them back from the edge. You might postpone it for a while, but...listen, if you don't put it down to experience, it will eat you up inside. Don't get personal with these people."

  Darryl finally made eye contact.

  "It'll get better now," Jerry assured him. "Trust me."

  Jerry patted Darryl's shoulder, stood up and surveyed the scene. The police were having difficulties holding back the reporters. A car arrived and came to a halt. The jumper's distraught family got out. The mother's screams filled the air.

  Jerry ran over, stretched out his arms to hold the parents back and then turned his stance into a comforting embrace.

  "I'm sorry. So sorry. But you can't be here."

  The mother was raw with emotion.

  "I need to see my baby!"

  Jerry hugged her tighter.

  "Later. Get back in the car. There's nothing good to come from being here."

  The father snapped out of his trance.

  "She was special...but confused."

  Jerry walked them away from the scene as Darryl and several counselors arrived.

  "Jerry?"

  Jerry turned to Darryl, saw the counselors, nodded, and let them take over.

  Darryl went to say something to the parents, but was forced back by Jerry.

  "Listen to me: they'll turn this on you, and that kick in the balls will be harder to take than just leaving it. You did your job; you didn't put her on the edge."

  "But I should have brought her back."

  Jerry couldn't help but think that Darryl was right.

  Helms stormed towards them, obviously pissed off.

  "Craig. Craig!"

  Jerry faced him.

  "There's a reason we asked you."

  "I called the shot, made the play. He's more than capable."

  "Obviously--"

  Jerry interrupted him.

  "Don't say it. We don't know what would have happened. But the odds are she would have found somewhere else away from this bridge."

  Jerry turned his attention to the scene around him. The counselors embraced the parents. Civilians walked towards their cars with a new story to tell. The police questioned those who witnessed the jump for the sake of their paperwork.

  Jerry's eyes fell back to the grieving parents for a moment, then he concentrated on his protege.

  "Go home, Darryl. Work it out. Wake up tomorrow and start again. Go on."

  Darryl gave in and walked towards his car.

  Jerry turned to Helms.

  "Give the Bridge Authority and help-lines my number. But believe me: if anything, we're only prolonging the inevitable. I'm not superman."

  One of the eyewitnesses, a brunette in her thirties, dressed in typical housewife clothes, finished eavesdropping on the conversation and walked towards her car.

  Jerry marched off as the much-relieved Helms moved towards the Bridge Authority staff. Jerry felt he needed a walk. He headed towards the city, pulling his jacket collar up to provide as much protection as possible from the cold and foggy weather.

  He received a call.

  "Hello...is she still there?"

  Frustrated, he hung up.

  "Christ!"

  He ran towards a departing squad car and opened the door.

  "The Dolores Mission," he yelled to the driver as he got in.

  The police car's lights flashed and siren wailed as it sped away.

  The Dolores Mission was founded in the eighteenth century, one of San Francisco's prominent religious, civil and cultural landmarks. All were welcome.

  The squad car, its lights and siren now still, turned the corner and stopped in front of the gate.

  Jerry got out and hurried into the Mission's beautiful grounds, where powerful spotlights highlighted the building - as if to show God how proud he should be that this building was erected for him.

  Jerry jogged to the church door, knocked, and entered.

  The foyer was eerily quiet. Jerry searched for signs of life.

  "Hello? Father Marcado?"

  He opened the inner doors and saw Father Marcado approach. Jerry was about to enter the nave when Marcado ushered him back out. He waited until the door was fully closed before speaking in a hushed tone.

  "Ellie's safe."

  "Where is she?"

  "At the altar."

  Jerry quizzed Marcado with his eyes.

  "She's calming down, but was very panicked when she came in."

  Jerry tried to move past Marcado. The priest's hand stopped him.

  "Those who are tormented only find peace when it makes sense to them...in their heart and soul."

  "There isn't a shrink in the city that she hasn't seen."

  "Love is what she needs."

  Jerry let the comment sink in, then nodded his agreement. Marcado retracted his hand and let Jerry in.

  He walked towards Ellie, who was sitting on a pew, rocking back and forth. Jerry was transfixed by the wreck in front of him. She was dressed in her nightgown, sneakers on her feet. And also b
aked out of her tree; staring at a statue of Jesus on the cross.

  Jerry moved beside her, took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, then took a seat beside her. Gradually, Ellie stopped rocking and looked him in the eyes.

  "Why don't we stop and pick up some ice cream on the way home?" he offered.

  Ellie, dressed in sweat pants and top, sat at the kitchen table.

  Jerry scooped some ice cream into a bowl, took a glass of orange juice, and set them both down in front of her. He took a seat.

  Ellie lifted up the spoon and ate small amounts. Jerry watched as he tried to find the words.

  "We have to talk about this."

  "You have to talk about it."

  "I can't block my grandson out of my life, Ellie."

  Her pained eyes briefly closed over.

  "It's harder for me."

  Jerry took a hold of her hand.

  "But we know it won't change anything. Blocking Logan out can't make it better. That angel is pure innocence. And he needs his mom. Right?"

  "It's too late."

  "It's never too late, Ellie."

  She reluctantly nodded.

  "I only want to help you. Not to judge. To help you. So, what junk are you on?"

  "Just marijuana and methadone."

  "Just?"

  "I'm trying."

  "I know you are. How do you afford the drugs?"

  "I listen in on your phone bets and then bet the opposite. Been making hundreds."

  Jerry fought the smile that wanted to dominate his face - she was his daughter, alright.

  They lay on the living room sofa. She had a blanket wrapped around her and was snuggled up tight to her old man. He held the family photo album and turned the pages.

  "Mom was so pretty."

  "Yes, she was."

  "Do you ever think about her?"

  Jerry kissed Ellie's head.

  "Every time I see you. It's why I drink so much."

  "Dad..."

  "Just kidding."

  They looked at a few more pages. A photo fell out of the album. It depicted a beaming Jerry holding a baby: Ellie's baby, Logan.

  Ellie picked up the photo, studied it for too long, and passed it to him. He replaced it and closed the album. Ellie sheepishly hugged Jerry tighter.

  "Sorry," he said. "I didn't think that was in there."

  "I see his face every minute of every day."

  "Father Marcado--"

  "I like Father Marcado. And the Mission. I feel safe there."

  Jerry stroked Ellie's hair.

  "I wanted to talk to you about that. Father Marcado told me the Mission needs a live-in volunteer for all of next week."

  "Doing what?"

  "Helping with the sick."

  "Are there many sick there?"

  "I'm not too sure. I would think so."

  "I could help."

  Again, Jerry kissed Ellie on the head, but this time it was a double peck.

  "I know I'm a burden, Dad."

  "You'll never be a burden on me."

  "And there won't be any drugs...unless Father Marcado smokes the odd joint."

  Ellie crawled over Jerry and sat down on the sofa's arm.

  "This is the next step I need. No distractions. I'll be so busy helping, my brain won't have time to think."

  "I'll be a phone call away."

  "Don't worry, Dad. Have a week of freedom. You deserve it."

  Ellie kissed Jerry and was about to move off when he grabbed her hand.

  "We'll get through this."

  Ellie nodded, somewhat skeptical.

  The unseasonably bright and potent sun that shone over the Mission added to its beauty. Jerry, dressed in his good suit, retrieved Ellie's bag from the trunk of the taxi and brought it to his daughter. They embraced. He passed Ellie the bag.

  "You phone me when you want to come home."

  Ellie kissed Jerry and walked to the Mission's gate. She turned to wave off Jerry one last time, but the taxi was already moving down the street.

  In the taxi, Jerry glanced back to see Ellie walk inside, and then turned around and sank deeper into the cheap fabric. He sighed and caught the taxi driver's eyes through the rearview mirror.

  "Please tell me they serve alcohol at gay weddings."

  The driver's response was blatantly camp.

  "What do you think they put in a Singapore Sling, baby?"

  The taxi pulled up in front of City Hall. Jerry got out and handed the driver a bill.

  "Put the change towards the Village People's greatest hits."

  After closing the cab's door, he joined the other wedding guests who were having a smoke against the wall of the impressive building. He spotted Helms, whose suit was bought in the same decade as Jerry's.

  "My new hotline hasn't been ringing," Jerry said.

  "What do you want, you sick fuck?" came Helms' reply. "Someone jumping every day?"

  "Whoa, Cap, relax. It was a joke!"

  Now Helms understood.

  "What's put the smile on your face?"

  Jerry beamed.

  "I just get the feeling today is going to be a good day."

  Helms ushered Jerry away from the main group of smokers.

  "I don't know what to do about this wedding," he said. "I've never been to one like this before."

  "Neither have I. We'll hold each other's hands and work it out."

  Jerry winked at his captain and tried to hold his hand, but was forcefully pushed back.

  "In your dreams, Craig."

  They shared a laugh before both their mouths dropped as two limos arrived, filled with all of Darryl and Ming's friends: a stream of twenty- and thirty-somethings, dressed in outrageously bright and tight clothes.

  Jerry smiled.

  "This is gonna be one of those days..."

  Together with the other smokers, Jerry and Helms followed the Pride March up the steps.

  The ceremonial room was stunningly decorated. Plenty of tears streamed mascara downwards.

  Jerry sat beside Helms. To the guests, they looked like the perfect couple. Both stared at Darryl's future husband, Ming, a man of Chinese decent and a full foot shorter than his proud fiancÈ.

  The minister progressed through the ritual. Helms leaned in close to Jerry.

  "Wouldn't have happened in our day."

  "Bet you a hundred bucks Darryl is the giver."

  Helms analyzed the couple and held out his hand. They shook on it. The bet was good.

  "And by the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you legally bound for life," proclaimed the marriage commissioner.

  Cheers, whistles and applause echoed around the room while the happy couple kissed. As they moved down the aisle, confetti was thrown from every angle. Jerry and Darryl shared a smile and a thumbs-up.

  In the hotel reception room, Jerry, whiskey in hand, had the attention of Helms and three other male guests.

  "Don't tell me anything else about football. I will shoot you."

  The guest pushed his point.

  "You really think Montana was a better quarterback than Garcia?"

  Jerry face-palmed.

  "Please, Cap. Let me shoot him. Just in the leg."

  For once, Helms was in Jerry's corner.

  "We should feel sorry for the delusional."

  Jerry got more animated.

  "Four Superbowl rings. Three Superbowl MVPs. Over forty thousand yards. Nearly three hundred touchdowns. And you tell me..."

  Darryl joined the group. Jerry, somewhat fatherly, threw an arm around his shoulder.

  "There he is! Darryl, your guests know nothing about football."

  "I wouldn't be so sure, Jerry."

  "Huh?"

  Darryl took a firm hold of Jerry's arm.

  "Can we go talk?"

  He ushered Jerry to a quiet corner and was about to say something, when Je
rry interrupted.

  "You and...uh..."

  "Ming."

  "Ming. Is Ming merciless? You know, in the bedroom?"

  Darryl could only frown.

  "It's okay," Jerry said. "I'll find out later on."

  Darryl nodded, a sarcastic show of thanks for Jerry's decency, then said what was on his mind.

  "I wanted to thank you for the other night on the bridge."

  "Hey, it's your wedding day. We don't--"

  "No, it meant a lot."

  "Listen, it's not easy dealing with suicides. We can't change their minds in five minutes. To get to that point, they've been thinking about it for months...years."

  Ming appeared and checked out Jerry, from shoes to hairstyle.

  "I hope you're not stealing my husband!" he exclaimed.

  "I'm too old for this young stud."

  "I know. I've seen your partner. You look so nice together!"

  Ming clapped his hands like a seal clapping its flippers for fish. All three of them stared back at Helms. Jerry tried to turn the conversation to his advantage.

  "Yeah, he's a real giver."

  Darryl sighed, took hold of Ming's hand.

  "Come on, Ming. Let's dance."

  "So you wear the trousers in the relationship, Darryl?" inquired Jerry.

  Darryl fired him The Look. Ming leaned in and winked.

  "Only when I let him."

  Jerry turned serious.

  "So you're the giver?"

  Ming waved the question away.

  "That would be telling!"

  Jerry was more pissed than he should have been not to have gotten the answer.

  In a hotel room, Jerry, Helms, and some of the male guests played Texas Hold 'Em. The flop and turn already revealed. A few grand accompanied the empty, half-full, and unopened bottles of liquor on the table.

  "Two hundred," bet a guest. He slid the money into the pot. Jerry pondered, threw his money in. Helms folded, picked up the deck, and dealt the river. Jerry stared at the table while his opponent thought about his next move.

  "Five hundred."

  He counted out the money and tossed it into the pot.

  Jerry was anxious for about two seconds.

  "Call, call," he said, and flipped over two fives for a set.