TW: Suicidal ideation.
The steel guardrail familiar against his knees. The straight, level bridge concealing its loftiness, the gorge below indistinct in the moonlight. The constricted river shushing over the worn-down remains of ancient, majestic mountains. The crappy car they’d once shared parked back at the overlook (the car she’ll soon steal from a downtown parking space, with impunity because legally they’re still married). The scrawled note left on the seat: Now you can have it all. The notion of diving off, down into rushing wind, then silence. But the slight chance of failure, of survival, of living on, a miserable, broken husk.
Jay Parr didn't jump. He lives with his partner and daughter in Greensboro, North Carolina, where he's a lecturer in UNCG's nontraditional humanities program. Find Jay at jayparr.wordpress.com and on Twitter @crankypacifist.