MIGHT AS WELL... (PART 2)

by: Dottie Pond Rothchild

That morning , around 1 a.m. Joey was parking his cousin Frank's '82 Charger on the shoulder of 287, NY side, about a quarter of a mile shy of the bridge. It was a warm breezy night and Joey didn't mind the walk because, frequently these days, the conversations he had with himself were among the best. He was witty, charming, understanding and when arguing, ultimately always right. So far, he hadn't run into anyone. Traffic was pretty light, it was only wednesday, glancing to his right he saw the lights of Tarrytown, the boats in their slips, the puny lighthouse he went to with his first grade class. Mrs. Marcy told them some guy actually lived there, you know running things. He happened to be out getting groceries when the class came, even back then, Joey figured this was by choice.

He was getting pretty high up now, he was feeling like the king of Tarrytown, master of the Hudson, Henry Hudson himself come back from the dead- it was exhilarating, liberating, all this vast twinkling and black expanse, maybe he should feel small and humbled, but instead he felt empowered, ready to deliver his address to the masses when he finally reached the center.

Walking with determination, really hitting his stride, Joey flew right past the first phone, well fuck, it was obscured in a grey metal box. I t seemed like choosing to be cryptic in moments of desperation isn't the best plan, but there it is. Yet, what really made him take a second look was the girl, squatting down in the puddle of her sundress, with her head folded to her lap , her arms gathering cloth at her sides to keep the wind from peeking under her skirt, her black leather shoes displayed in the swirl, brushed worn at the toes.

" Hey, what are you doing down there? are you hurt or something?" Joey circled back and then spotted the phone.

"There it is! just one though, I bet you came to see this too." Joey headed toward the metal box, then abruptly stopped and asked "are you okay? need a hand? "

Jenna raised her head, she was plain but smart looking, no make-up to speak of, no style either, not in a complete sense, but she wasn't typical, the clothes she picked were quirky, old, but chosen with care. But her shoes spoke her secrets, the heels worn away on one side, probably a hole in the sole at the big toe, exposing the layers of deteriorating cardboard in concentric circles like the cross-section of an old tree, she would wear these shoes into the ground.

Joey saw the moment in her eyes, felt it freeze like a snapshot, a breezy night on the bridge, her head tilted up, her skirt battling with the wind around her, he knew why she was here.