Chapter 1 The Old Tale
After babysitting, I always waited for my mom to finish her shift at the bar. Every day I visited her with my friend Dorris to tell her what events had occurred throughout the day.
“Hey girls, I’ll be over in a minute!” Mom shouted upon spotting us in the crowd.
Dorris leaned in conspiratorily, “Hey Vanessa, we should tell your mom that we overheard Mr. Johnson talking to another woman about taking a so-called business trip.”
“Hush, Dorris, no, that would be so wrong of us even to bring that up,” I scolded.
“Ahh, come on, Vanessa!”
Impatience etched my face as I responded, “Noooo, Dorris!”
“Fine,” she huffed in resignation.
Mom’s voice drifted into our conversation. “Hey girls, what story do you two have for me today?”
Dorris blurted, “Mr. Johnson is taking a so-called business trip soon with a co-worker of his, but they were flirty about it all.”
“Dorris! I said no, ugh. Mom, I think he’s cheating on his wife. He was on the phone with a woman who was urging him to, and I quote, ‘Hurry up and pack your bags.’ Then she said, ‘I’ll come over to pick you up tomorrow. Don’t tell your wife where you’re going.’ Can you believe that, Mom?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “What? Vanessa, you weren’t going to tell me this?”
“I wasn’t sure,“ I stammered, “I just wish I knew more.”
Mom stood up. “Well, girls. I’m about to finish my last 10 minutes here. I will see you later and we can finish our conversation then.”
“Bye, Mom!”
Dorris started back up immediately. “Well, Vanessa, how can we figure more about Mr. Johnson?”
Who Is This Guy
As soon as I was about to respond, a man pulled up a chair. He had on black jeans and a white shirt. His jeans were dirty and torn, and his shirt had stains as if he’d been working in the dirt. He reeked of alcohol. I overheard you girls talking about wanting to know something?”
Dorris and I turned and looked at each other. “Yeah, that’s right,” I said cautiously.
“What if I told you girls that you can get your answer from a bridge? It can tell you anything you want to know, anything at all. But for this to happen,” he leaned in closer and lowered his voice, “you must make an offering. Not just any offering though. It must be something meaningful and precious to you.”
Dorris and I were quiet for about five seconds until Dorris said, “Dude, what are you talking about?”
Where It Begins
“Alright,” the man said, “let me tell you a tale about the bridge. Before this city was a town, there was a girl whose name was Raven that came across a bridge. It was raining that day, and once she stepped upon it, it got frigid as the temperature dropped. She had her pet frog in hand and wanted to know if a boy in her class had a crush on her. She leaned against the bridge, but she accidentally dropped her frog. She was crying profusely, but the bridge said to Raven, ‘The boy in your class you are talking about likes you, but he’s timid to tell you.’ Raven heard what the bridge said.
The boy approached the girl the following day and said, ‘Raven, I like you, but I’ve been too afraid to tell you.’ Since that day, Raven went around town saying it was this magic bridge that would tell you anything you wanted to know, but only if you give up something precious.”
Skeptically, I said, “How do you even know if this is real? How long ago did this story supposedly take place?”
The man said it happened in the ’90s. Dorris noted we are in the 2000s man, and that’s probably a made-up story.
Lilith Lane
The man sat up straighter. “No, it’s not. Raven started to get so many answers for what she wanted to know that she got addicted to. The strain of it lead her to kill herself. Sacrificing something that means so much to oneself must have been so hard on her. It drove her to the ultimate despair.”
Maybe, just maybe this could be true, I thought. Prodding for more information, I asked, “How do you know all about this? Where is this bridge anyway?”
“Because my father told me. The bridge can be found on West Blvd. Lilith Lane.” With that, he pulled himself out of his chair and walked heavily away.
Dorris was wide-eyed and jittery. “Vanessa, do you think that guy was serious?”
“I’m not sure,” I responded cautiously, “but that story was fascinating. We should at least check it out.”
“I don’t know, Vanessa. It’s getting late, don’t you think?”
“Please, Dorris?”
“OK, Vanessa. Let’s go check it out.”
