Thursday, July 2, 2015

5. Burned Bridges
“I have a son,” Sam told me.  “He’s in foster care. I’m not allowed to see him.  I begged for visitation.  I did, I really, really did.  The lady judge said I’d burned that bridge.”  
Sam told me that after he lost visitation rights, he drove around aimlessly until he passed between the abutments of an old bridge.  The bridge was no longer in service and the sun shone through where the road surface had been removed. He thought the county could have replaced the bridge deck easily if the abutments were sound. 
“It made me think about what the judge had said. I imagined my son was on the far bank of a wide river.  The bridge had burned down. It was foggy and I couldn’t see the other side.  I hoped they were fixing up the abutment on the opposite bank.  Even if they weren’t, I had to do something to stay sane.  I’d have to fix up the abutment on my side.” He shook his head, smiled, and added, “I’m fixing me.  If I wanna rebuild that bridge, my side has to be strong.”

Today I will look to repair bridges, starting on my side.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
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(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

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