Jumping Off a Bridge

There’s something about trouble that sneaks up on a man the same way a pothole does, quietly, and right when you thought the road was smooth. It never comes alone, either.

It brings along bad timing, poor judgment, and at least one person who says, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Take Raymond Tucker, for example. Raymond wasn’t what you’d call reckless, but he had a habit of following bad ideas to see where they’d go, like a cat following a laser pointer.

His best friend, Joey McCall, was the kind of guy who believed that consequences were merely suggestions, which made him an excellent source of both entertainment and regret.

One Saturday afternoon, the two of them stood on the old steel bridge that crossed over Maple Creek. It wasn’t high enough to make headlines, but just tall enough to make your stomach question your brain’s decisions. Joey had that look in his eyes, the same one he got right before talking Raymond into something regrettable.

“You ever jump off this bridge?” Joey asked, peering over the edge like he was considering a real estate investment.

Raymond frowned. “Nope. And I don’t aim to. Last time I followed you, I ended up explaining to your aunt why her lawnmower was in the pond.”

“That was different,” Joey said. “This is water. You can’t break water.”

Raymond wasn’t convinced, but Joey already had his shirt off and was grinning like a man who’d found religion in stupidity. And before Raymond could say, “Maybe we should think this through,” Joey leapt.

There was a splash, followed by a triumphant whoop from below. Raymond sighed.

He knew that sound. That was the sound of peer pressure with a heartbeat.

So, naturally, he jumped.

The water hit him like cold concrete. When he came up sputtering, Joey was laughing so hard he nearly drowned himself.

Raymond looked at him, hair plastered to his face, and said, “You ever notice how trouble always looks like fun right up until you’re in it?”

Joey grinned. “You say that every time.”

Raymond thought about that on the walk home, barefoot, soaking wet, and missing one shoe as the creek had claimed it in the name of poor decisions. Trouble, he decided, was a lot like jumping off a bridge just because your friend did it.

You might live through it, you might even laugh about it later, but somewhere deep down, you’ll know you could’ve just watched from the rail and stayed dry. Still, Raymond figured, life’s a little duller when you never get your feet wet, just maybe not that wet.