Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Sally Bellerose
“Get us to the bridge, Mom,” Tom, the oldest sibling, says. “I gotta
meet a guy.” There hasn’t been a family event in forty years when Tom
hasn’t had to “meet a guy.”
“The Mueller Bridge,” Mom says.
“We were on our way to Quabbin.” Dad jumps in. “And she says,”
he nods at Mom in case any of us have forgotten the main characters,
“‘I’m going to jump off the bridge,’ one time too many. So I said, ‘Okay.’
Made a U-turn right there on Route 202.”
“That’s right,” Mom agrees. “You kids were with Memere.” (That’s
what we called our grandmother.) “Memere wasn’t so happy I was
pregnant again either. Your father was just going home.” She waves in
his direction, dismissing his lack of initiative. “I told him, ‘Take me to
the bridge.’”
“An order’s an order.” Dad smiles. He spent eight years in the
army. “I parked on the bridge.” His eyebrows shoot up. “Illegally.”
“Oh, there was so little traffic in those days. He walked around the
car and opened the door for me.” Now Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. She
pauses, as if this was the main action in the story.
“All the men in this family are gentlemen,” Tom says.
“People really have died jumping off the Mueller,” Kathy says.
Now it’s time for my big line. “The Mueller Bridge wasn’t built
until 1958.” Jane was born in ’54.
“Sh,” Tom says. “I want to hear whether or not she jumps.”
“Oh, go meet a guy,” Kathy says.
Jane prompts Mom again, “So he helps you out of the car and tells
you you have beautiful legs.”
“Told her if she jumped she was going to break her beautiful legs.
That’s what we did in the service. A guy got squirrelly, wanted to do
himself in, why, we’d just remind him of his best attributes.”
“Tough guy,” Mom chides. “He was holding my hand, looking
into the water, calm as you please one minute, telling me he was going
to miss me, telling me how much you kids were going to miss me, then
like a water faucet, he’s crying like a baby.”
Dad winks at the twins and taps his head. “They can’t stand to see
a man cry.”
“Never saw a man cry like that,” Mom smirks.
“You were crying, too.” Dad leans back, tired but satisfied. “Crying
like babies, both of us.”
“Of course,” Mom says. “We needed sleep.”
“Money,” Dad says with closed eyes. “We needed money.”
Crab Orchard Review ◆ 3