The Bridge

The bridge has carried trains for more than a century. Steel and stone do not remember the men who built them, but they remember the weight.

Every summer, boys came here with fishing poles and pockets full of worms and lures. They caught perch, bass, and stories. They stood on the timber ties and looked into the dark water where the Saco River moved without hurry.

Sometimes a dare was worth more than good judgment.

One boy would climb the rail. The others would shout. Then he would jump because boys believe they cannot die. They only believe they have something to prove. The river took him without ceremony and gave him back if it wished.

Around here, people spoke of the Saco River with respect. Every family, from both sides of the river,  knew someone who had been lost to its currents. Every generation added another name. They called it the river’s curse. Legend held that after a young Native family drowned, allegedly at the hands of early settlers, the river never stopped collecting more than fish.

The trains still cross.

The river still waits below.