The Bridge Over the Mire

The waves gushed over each other, crashing down like bombs. I'm not going to lie and say that the water was a shimmering blue, because it wasn't. It was more like a mix of green, blue, and brown. There were no silver minnows darting through crystal clear waters. The only animals I had ever seen in that river were frogs, mosquitoes, and sometimes stray dogs. And there were no amazing riverboats cruising down the calm river. No one was stupid enough to sail the Mire River. So me and Brian had that place all to ourselves.
 
It was sort of deep into the woods, but in the summer, we ran there barefoot. I can't even count how many times I walked back home, leaving bloody footprints with every step I took. The dry grass was almost as sharp as the blade of a knife. But I never wore socks. No matter how many scrapes ended up on my legs. Me and Brian weren't afraid of a little blood.
 
That river was our own little world. We sloshed around in it, and we went swimming in it on the calm days in June. We had mud-ball fights in that river, because the water was mostly mud anyway. We sat on the edge of it, with our feet in the water, when we got tired. And when we were feeling especially bored, we dared each other to do the craziest things. Once, I'd dared Brian to catch a frog in the river and eat it. He said he'd do it, only if I would drink a bowl of mud-water with the dead mosquitoes still floating around in it. We both had stomach viruses for about a week.
 
I haven't been in the Mire River since last summer. And each time I push myself to go into the woods, I end up making myself so sick, I start crying and throwing up. My father keeps trying to make me forget all about last summer. My mother avoids the subject, like it never happened. My sisters are always trying to distract me. It's like Brian never existed. It's like there's no such river as the Mire. And it's like July 3rd is just like every other day in July. But that's all wrong. Brian did exist. The Mire River is in the woods by his house. And to me, July 3rd is a different day. It's the day I will always remember as the day the Mire River killed Brian.

  "Tay-lor!"
 
I grabbed a few crackers off the counter and ran outside. I knew I looked a mess, but it was the second day of July, and everyone looked a mess around the middle of the summer. Brian was waiting over by the henhouse, messing with the chickens and scaring them away from their eggs. He looked up as I raced over to him. "Finally," he said. "I thought you were cleaning the whole house."
 
I rolled my eyes. "Shut up," I joked. "My room is just a little dirty."
 
"Your room," he said, "has the freakiest stuff growing in it. You might as well tape a sign to your door that says 'Area 51'."
 
I stuck my tongue out and asked, "Are we running or not, Bree?"

  He smirked. "Yeah, sure, as long as you never call me 'Bree' again."
 
We pulled off our sneakers, tossed them to the side, and took off running. We were so busy trying to beat each other, we didn't notice the sweat dripping from our faces, or the sun beating down on us. It was about a mile to the river, but a mile can go by pretty fast when you're racing Brian Cooks, barefoot, on a hot summer day. I don't notice the blazing, dried grass under my feet, or the soaking wetness of sweat sticking to my back. All I notice is me, Brian, and the image of the river in my head.
 
"Come on, you can't stink that bad!" Brian called, pushing ahead of me. I shot him a look and pushed ahead, too.
 
"I don't! That's your job!" I called back. I laughed as we ran into the woods. I heard the twigs snap under me, but I couldn't feel anything except my sore throat. I felt like just dying in the middle of the woods. But I pushed on.

  Finally, we made it to the river. I dunked my whole head in, just to cool me off. Brian panted like a dog, and collapsed on the grass. "Man, Taylor," he said, breathing like his lungs were on fire. "I just want you to know, I let you win."
 
"Oh, yeah, of course you did," I said. I tossed a mud-ball on him.
 
He sat up and grinned. "Is this war?"
 
"Yes. This is war," I said with a salute. "And, as you know..."
 
"All's fair in love, war, and mud-ball!" we shouted together.
 
I leaped into the river in all of my clothes, and came up with a handful of mud. But before I threw it, Brian hit me right on the forehead with a mud-ball of his own. "Oh, you stink, Bree-zy!" I shouted, tossing my mud-ball at him. At least I hit his shirt.
 
"Never call a man Breezy when he's armed with mud-balls!" he shouted back. In less than three minutes, I was covered in mud.
 
"I surrender!" I shouted.
 
"Good," he said. "You fear me."
 
I washed some mud off of me. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say."
 
Brian jumped into the water, too. It wasn't too deep, but it wasn't exactly a kiddie pool, either. There were a few rocks at the bottom, and a few times, they had stabbed my feet. But for the most part, I thought the river was the only safe place in the world. It was the only place I knew of that could be called "home". And with my best friend there, what more could I ask for?
 
  I felt like staying in the water forever. The clay in the river felt so smooth and squishy in between my toes. The trees towered over me, so the sun couldn't melt me. Brian was having fun, seeing how long he could hold his breath underwater. When he finally got bored, he just laid back and relaxed, like me.
 
"Oh, yeah," he said, like he'd just remembered something. "My parents are having a Fourth of July barbecue tomorrow. You want to come?"

  "Uh, Brian, the Fourth of July is on... the fourth of July."

  "Oh, no, really?" he asked, sarcastically. I rolled my eyes as he went on. "We're leaving for Florida early on the fourth, so we're doing the barbecue tomorrow. You coming?"
 
No, duh, Bree-zy, I was thinking in my head. He knew I'd come. But I liked to torture him. I shrugged. "Maybe. I have to see."

  He looked at me, then said, "Oh, okay, well... I hope you do, 'cause I'm not going to end up stuck at a table full of old people."
 
I laughed, then for the heck of it, I splashed him with the mud-water and leaped onto the grass. I ran, as fast as I could, because I could just feel Brian catching up. He was a good runner, but of course, I was much better. The run home didn't feel as long and vast as the run to the river had been. In four or five minutes, we were jogging up to his front porch; muddy, sweaty, barefoot, and soaking wet. If we'd looked a mess when we'd left, you can imagine how we must have looked then. Brian's mom gave us a look.
 
"You do plan on washing, right?" she asked. She wasn't looking at the two of us anymore, but mostly at me. She'd never liked me, I could tell. I tried so hard to be a sweet, polite girl around her, but I never was good at acting.
 
"Yeah, Mrs. Cooks," I said, "I wouldn't want to mess up anything in your house."
 
She didn't hear me. She'd already rushed back to the kitchen to take whatever she was making for lunch out of the oven.
 
Brian must have sensed the harsh-level between his mom and me, because he said, "Don't sweat it, she's just a neat-freak."
 
I nodded, but I think we both knew that his mom was more of a Taylor-hater than a germ-hater. "I... I'm gonna eat lunch at home, I guess. So, see you around."
 
"Are we going to the river tomorrow?" he asked.
 
I turned back and gave him a look. He already knew the answer.
 
"After the barbecue. I'll meet you there." And I turned and ran to my house, where my mom had a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for me on the table.


  I had to admit, the barbecue was big. I think everyone within three or four miles of Brian's house was there, including me and my family, of course. And around here, the families were big.
 
Me and Brian pretty much had a spot to ourselves on a patch of grass on the front lawn. I had to keep an eye on the kiddie table, where my sisters, Jasmine and Nicole, were painting each other's faces with the orange finger paint. And Brian could care less about his brothers, Troy and Kyle, or his sister, Sarah. He'd pretty much forgotten they were even there.
 
It was getting pretty dark out, and after eating two hotdogs, a hamburger, and a bowl of baked beans, I felt like I'd just put on ten pounds in fifteen minutes. "Ready to go?" Brian asked, finishing off his can of Pepsi.
 
"You go ahead, I'll be there in, like, three minutes," I said. "I have to walk Jazz and Nikki home first."
 
"All right," he said. He gave me a wave, and I waved back. I grabbed my sisters, who looked like two finger-painted rainbows, and dragged them over to our house. My dad was already there, washing his face.
 
"I'm going to hang out with Brian, okay?" I called to him.
 
I heard him say something, and assuming it was a 'yes', I raced to the Mire River, barefoot and free. But as soon as I got there, I sensed something was wrong. For one thing, no one was there.
 
"Brian?" I called. No answer.
 
No big deal, I thought. He's probably coming now.
 
Three minutes went by. I started pacing around, half-looking for him and half-thinking. "Brian?" I called again. Nothing. "Bree-zy?"
 
I slipped on a rock, shiny with mud. My heart jumped out of me for a split second until I grabbed a branch and gained some balance. "Oh, my God," I breathed to myself. As I looked down, I realized that if I hadn't grabbed that branch, I would've fallen into the river, where the currents were the deadliest.
 
I was still breathing hard from my near-death experience, when I had a sudden lightbulb-went-off-in-my-head-moment. I didn't want to believe it, but I looked down again at the mud near the bank of the river. Footprints. They weren't mine. They were more like... Brian's.
 
Please don't tell me he slipped, I thought. Please don't tell me he fell in.
 
But in my heart, I knew he did. I knew that's exactly what had happened. I knew that he hadn't grabbed the branch in time. I knew he'd drowned. And because I knew all of this, I backed away from the river, and I raced barefoot back to the barbecue, letting the tears fall from my eyes.

  I knew something else. I knew my whole life was over.


  The morning of July 4th was supposed to be full of happiness, parades, festivals, and joy. Instead, dozens of people came together to say goodbye to a great kid, and an unforgettable friend. Even my little sisters, the loudest kids in the United States, had solemn expressions and quivering lips today. I recognized a lot of faces from last night's barbecue, but all of those faces looked as miserable and hardened as mine was. I caught Mrs. Cooks' eye. For once, she tried to smile at me. But she couldn't. I didn't mind. I couldn't smile, either.
 
Depressing music played, as the line to view the casket slowly moved ahead. I was trying so hard not to cry, because then, Nikki and Jazz would start crying too, and then Brian's brothers and his sister would start crying, and I'd wreck the whole funeral. I wanted this to be the most beautiful funeral ever. I wanted it to be beautiful, because it was Brian's.

  I came to the front of the line. I stared at his face. He looked so different. The Brian I knew was full of energy and sarcasm. He'd been an amazing friend. The Brian I knew had been... alive. This Brian wasn't any of that. He was plain and bored, and he... he was dead. The only thing that was the same about these two Brians was the fact that no matter what, Brian Cooks would always be the best friend I ever had. Always.
 
I felt tears fill my eyes, and I had to walk away. I didn't know where to go, so I left. I ran. I felt like running forever, and never stopping or turning back. But what would that do? How would that change anything? So I just ran home. And I ran up to my room. And I jumped onto the bed. Then, I cried.

 
"Taylor?" my mom said, knocking on my door.
 
"It's open," I said. I didn't move. I was lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, and I didn't plan on moving at all that day. I wanted to feel dead.
 
Mom came in, but she didn't bother me or sit on my bed or anything. She just whispered, "Will you come with me?"
 
"I don't want to go to camp, or to grandma's," I said flatly.
 
"I know," Mom said. "But we're going to see something different."
 
I sat up and looked at her. I could see her eyes shining. Was she excited about something? No. She was going to cry.
 
I got off the bed and followed Mom out to the car. It just hit me. We weren't taking Jazz or Nikki, or even Dad. So where were we going?
 
Mom drove off, and I stared out of the window the entire ride. My mom didn't say anything until she stopped the car and whispered, "Come on."

  I looked up, and for the first time, I realized we'd been driving to the woods. To the river. I gave my mom a vicious look and shook my head. She'd tricked me. I'd made it a promise to myself. I was never going back. Never. I couldn't go to the Mire River after what had happened.
 
But my mother didn't seem to understand. She pulled me out of the car, and carried me down to the river. "No!" I screamed. "Drop me! I'm not going!"
 
Almost like a zombie, Mom placed me on the ground, right on the bank of the river. I was going to make a run for it. But I decided to stay. Something was different here.
 
And then I saw it. A beautiful bridge arching over the river. I caught myself smiling and moving closer to it. I stopped, though, when I was right in front of the bridge. Fear held me back.
 
"Go on," Mom whispered. I looked at her, to make sure she honestly meant it, and when I saw she did, I ran. I ran onto the bridge. I jumped on it. I danced on it. And not once did I slip.
 
I danced all the way to the other side, where I saw something else. Right at the end of the bridge, there was a picture frame. I looked into it. And I saw him. Brian. In small, fancy print under his picture, there were a few sentences. It didn't look like much, but when I read it, I felt the earth change a little.

In loving memory of Brian Cooks, Jr.
Earth loves you, but Heaven will love you even more.
 
  I smiled when I read that, because there's never been anything more true. I would miss Brian, no matter how many summers passed, and no matter how many new friends I'd make. I felt like there was a little "reserved" sign in my heart for him. I can never look at this river in the same way again, but from now on, I would look at it and think, "Even when Brian is with God, he's still looking out for me. He wants me to come to this place. He wants me to remember him, and he wants me to remember our little world. Because if he didn't want that, he wouldn't have asked God to build a bridge over the Mire."

The End