Crossing Paths

Something different from the usual poetry today

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Late one night, leash in hand, a man walks with his dog. Their footsteps fall softly on the wet pavement, as a full moon lights their way, a pale witness to their quiet pace. At the corner, he chooses left, but the dog pulls hard to the right.

That same night, a girl stands on a railing, her heart heavy with the weight of all that's broken, a bridge beneath her feet, the world stretched out far below. She tries to breathe, tries to find courage in the wind, and she wonders how the night could be so full of silence yet still so loud.

The dog tugs harder on the leash, and the man gives in. Right, then left, then right again to the bridge that crosses the ravine, where the dog suddenly stops in his tracks, his ears perking up and body tense with apprehension. The man follows his gaze, and he sees her. A silhouette standing on the railing, like a shadow on the edge of nothing.

"Hey!" he calls out, his voice breaking with the realization of what he's about to witness.

He steps closer, as the girl turns her eyes away from the darkness below.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, stepping slowly towards her. "Please don't," his voice trembling, almost pleading.

For a moment, she sees something in his eyes, a stranger, but somehow the right one. His words break the spell, just enough for her to hear her own heart. "Do I look like I'm okay?" she replies, in a voice thick with sarcasm, but breaking at the edges. The man chuckles slightly, realizing what a stupid question to ask of someone standing on a railing on a bridge above a ravine in the middle of the night. His slight smile breaks the tension and she notices his eyes again. Some people have eyes that see directly into your soul. You can't hide from eyes like that. She looks away.

He extends his hand, reaching out to her. "You don't want to do this. Please. Give me your hand," his voice firmer now, almost commanding.

She hesitates.

"Talk to me," he says. "Tell me what brought you to this."

"It's a long story," she replies, her voice weak and nearly inaudible.

"I've got all night," he says firmly, planting his feet, his hand still outstretched. The dog sits at attention by his side, like a soldier.

There are moments that change everything, and they both know this is one of those moments. Whatever happens next will change both of their lives forever. The girl looks at his hand, then his eyes, and she sees it again. There's a kind of warmth there, a compassionate something that she can't quite name. The voices inside her head shout at the other voices inside her head. But one voice, louder than all the others screams, "Talk to him."

She hesitates a moment longer, then takes his hand. He helps her down from the railing, and they sit on the bridge and talk. Hours pass, until the first light of dawn appears, while the dog sleeps quietly at their feet.

I could tell you the story wraps up neatly from there; that he walks her home to a fairy tale ending where she lives happily ever after, but that would be a lie. It's messy and complicated. But she chose not to die that night, and she lived to fight another day. And that's enough, for now.

Years have passed since then, and the man still thinks about it from time to time and wonders. If he had taken a different route — turned left instead of right — would she have jumped? He likes to think it wasn’t just luck, that something larger guided their paths to cross that night. Maybe it was God, or destiny, or just the quiet pull of the universe. Or maybe it was just the stubborn instinct of a dog who wanted to go right instead of left. But somehow, in that moment, the universe got it right — a thin thread of fate woven tightly between a man and a girl, and a dog and a bridge, under the pale light of a full moon.

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True story. I've tried many times to capture that night in a poem, but I've never been able to. So here it is in prose, and that will have to do for now.

That girl was me, and I can't say for sure if I would have jumped or not. I was hesitating, trying to find the courage — or the cowardice, depending on your point of view — it takes just the right combination of both, I think, and I don't know if I had enough of either. But I do know that I'm glad I didn't. And I do believe God (or the universe, if you prefer) sometimes puts the right people in the right place at just the right time. I don't know why that happens sometimes but not others — maybe it's part of some grand Master Plan, or maybe it really is just random chance — but, random or not, I feel like I owe the universe a debt of gratitude, and I'm trying my best to pay it forward whenever I can.


In the US, dialing 988 will connect you to the national suicide prevention hotline.
Here is a list of hotlines in other countries: https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/
If you ever find yourself in that awful place and can't see another way out, please, please let someone help you. There is always someone who cares. Always.