A girl, who would be twelve in two weeks, slept in a bed for a much younger child. Around her, all the things both real and imaginary crept, biting their lips, and licking the dirt off the walls. Hundreds of empty eyes stared, gleefully waiting as their kinfolk worked hard in the next room. The girl stirred and her breath became visible. Her eyes shot open as she sat up with a bolt, sending all the little things into a silent frenzy. A chilly lonesome gloom had seeped into her room, disturbing her sleep. Her feet fell off the bed into a worn pair of bunny slippers, and she stood with one arm wrapped around a beloved, one-eyed bear.
“Dad?” Her voice was like the first snow of winter, delicate and timid. She squeezed the bear tighter and crossed over the rough dirt floor, doing her best to ignore the little things crowded in the corners. Grabbing the faded pink curtain (there was no door), she gently pulled it aside and slipped through the passage.
Her eyes scanned the room (the only other room in the house). It was dark, a kind of muted dark that caused all the edges to fuzz and blur together. Against the walls were a few rickety furniture pieces –a wooden chest, a chipped bureau, a dusty nightstand– all heirlooms from long-dead relatives. Behind her, hundreds of eyes motionlessly blinked; all the little things had piled high on the threshold of her bedroom and watched her with delighted curiosity.
The cot in the far corner of the room was empty. The sheets were piled around it, spilling over the edge, and laying crumbled on the floor. On the broken barrel (it was their dining table) lay a rusted picture frame. She picked it up, her soft hands cradling it like a newborn child. She gazed at the young couple behind the cracked glass. The woman’s smile was so perfect that it could have brought a small spark of light into the room. All the little things, both real and imaginary melted away for a moment as she ran her finger over the face of the woman.
She only saw this treasured relic on rare occasions, usually on her birthday. After hours of begging and prodding, her father would, out of thin air, place it in her little hands. She’d look at it for hours, eventually falling asleep with it held tightly in her arms, knowing when she’d wake, it would be gone, tucked away for another year.
One of the little things, impatient as it was, reached its arm –an ashy, hollow thing– across the room, and nudged the front door, making the old hingers cry in pain. Her skin drew itself tight across her body. She turned, first her head followed by the rest. Had the door always been open? Her father’s coat and boots were still there, partially obscured behind the door. A dreadful, crooked feeling took hold of her heart. She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped onto the recently shoveled path, already topped with new snow.
The wind, enraged by her presence, tried in vain to peel the skin off her body. She shivered and her breath appeared like a fog in front of her. The moon, thinly veiled by silver clouds, cast harsh shadows across the snow. All the little things, both real and imaginary, scampered through the cracks in the walls and tread along the snow drifts to her left and right. They whispered so quietly she thought they were her thoughts.
“Go faster, before… before…” Their voices trailed off, getting lost amid gleeful giggles, or perhaps just the chattering of her teeth. The muddy brown snow drifts on both sides rose to her chin, and past them, she could see the other small row homes lined up like dominos waiting to fall. Further beyond, dark smokestacks smeared thick black ink across the sky. In the distance, the low rumble of a river fought against the high howl of the wind for prominence. The path now crossed two railroad tracks, which led with a gentle turn towards the river. Without thinking, and with the little things guiding her like sheepdogs, she walked between the tracks. A single phrase repeated over and over in her head, “The bridge, the bridge, get to the bridge.”
In the dark, the outline of the steel trestles of the great bridge loomed like dark towers against the night sky. The tracks straightened out and the rails ran the gauntlet between the gigantic shadows cast by the superstructure. Like the mouth of a giant, the train bridge yawned apathetically at her. Its sluggish attitude collided with her urgency and forced her to stop at its entrance.
That’s when she saw him, a dark outline poised on the guardrail. He was in a precarious position; his bare feet were constantly renegotiating their place between the ice and snow that clung to the cold iron. His nightshirt flapped in the wind; it was the only part of him that seemed unwilling to be there.
“Daddy!” Her voice was so soft and faint that the wind swept it far away, delighting all the little things. The girl’s father was motionless on the edge of the bridge, as he stared into the powerful river below. His right hand clung to the thick cables that rose into the sky, connecting to the mighty steel towers above.
“What are you doing!” She screamed, but the wind snatched at it again, taking it even farther than before. She began to run toward her father, but the little things closest to her pulled on her slippers and tugged at her legs with ferocious force. Slipping on a patch of ice, she slammed against the ground, her head smacking the rails.
“Please Dad.” she whimpered; her eyes closed tight as she shuttered in pain, “That’s not safe, you’d never let me be there. please.”
She opened her eyes and slowly got back on her feet, her knees bruised and her head aching. Her father was still perched there, the wind tugging at his hair. She could see them now, all the little things both real and imaginary in the hundreds, perched on his shoulders, clinging to his back, even wrapped around his legs. They poured whispers into his head, pushing his heart further and further toward the river. One of the little things, an empty shadow wrapped in the wind, crawled along the cables above, till it reached his fingers. With a faceless smile, it began to pluck her father’s fingers like guitar strings, letting them loosen and then fall from the cables one after the other.
She shrieked, “Please get down!” startling all the things around her. Running forward again, she hoped to pull him to safety, all while the rest of the little things flooded after her. With formless eyes locked on the girl, the one on the wire plucked her father’s final finger free. His silhouette was outlined in silver by the timid moon, and the wind teased at his clothes as his body chaotically teetered between two worlds.
“Don’t leave too!” Her scream was stronger than before, and though the wind tried to take it, this time her father heard. He looked behind him and she could see, for the first time, his eyes, wet, tired, and scared. She stopped, unsure if she should go to him, or he to her. As their eyes met his face lit up with a smile that could change the seasons. All the little things jumped away, scampering to the closest shadows, and lurking just on the edge of her vision. She laughed, not knowing exactly why, and jumped up and down. Her father started to turn his body, his feet shifting, his eyes brimming with joyful tears. Everything was going to be all right!
The girl looked puzzled as her father’s face became distorted. Numbed by the cold, his bare feet never could have felt the ice. His arms reflexively darted forward, grabbing at the empty air as he fell backward. The girl’s scream shattered the night. So sharp and sorrowful was it that the wind did not dare to take it away, for fear of being cut to pieces. Clutching the bear, she dashed forward, slamming into the guardrail, the shock rippling through her little body.
Her eyes followed her father’s. He was falling. With outstretched arms, he reached toward his daughter, yet the space between them was infinite. His eyes, however, were calm, and in this lifetime of a moment, all he could do was smile up at his daughter. Not wanting the moment to end, she pressed her bear tight to her chest and heaved herself over the icy edge. With her eyes locked on her father’s, she let everything else go, leaving behind all the little things, both real and imaginary.
– By Seth Corry
