The Bridge (unfinished)

Unfinished short story-racial tensions between a white boy and a black boy.

I pull up to the gas station and that little black boy is out front again, dressed even shoddier than usual. He has overalls on and one of his straps is undone dangling down on his scrawny chest. And underneath he is wearing a white shirt, but it looks almost yellow it’s so worn and dirty. My mom would never let me leave the house like that. His mom must not be very strict. I park my bike right in front of him, but I don’t look up. I keep my eyes squinted and my mouth tight like I see my Dad do all the time.
“Hey man.” He says. I don’t say anything. I just keep walking in the store. I grab a handful of tootsie rolls and a mountain dew. Up at the counter I lay it all out and look up at Mr. Gray.
“Hey there, son.” He says. He knew my Grandpa when he was alive and he and his wife still come to the meetings we have at the house every Tuesday night. He had a nephew, Canaan, who lived with him like a son since he was a baby. Canaan and me used to be best friends. We would hang around Mr. Gray’s store all day in the summer, perched on the ice coolers outside, our dripping sweat merging like a river with the condensation of the freezers. We would sit cross legged on top of the big boxes with cards and a pile of tootsie rolls spread out between us. About two summers ago Canaan was taken by some suits and put in foster care. He lives in Mobile, now and we go to different schools. One more story I’ve heard whispers about yet never been allowed to hear in its entirety. I don’t much mind giving in to the cuffs of childhood naiveté at times. Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answers to-that’s what my brother Danny always tells me. Seems pretty fishy to me, but who am I to ask questions anyway. Mr. Gray is a friend of my fathers-and I figure my dad is a good enough judge of character.
“Hello, sir.” I say.
“Will I see you tomorrow night, boy?” He says over his glasses with a smile.
“Oh yes sir,” I answer, “I’ve been to every meeting this year so far. And Dad would never let me miss one no how.”
I feel the little black boy coming up behind me. I look back and he has a handful of tootsie rolls too.
“You ain’t got no money to pay for that, boy. Get on outta here, now.” Mr. Clifton says, his smile turning to a growl.
“I do too have money.” The little boy says as he opens his other grubby hand to reveal a small pile of coins, mostly pennies.
Mr. Clifton puts all my candy and my soda into a little brown paper bag and takes my two dollars. I step aside so he can deal with the boy and his dirty coins.
“See ya tomorrow, Mr. Clifton!” I say as I leave the store. Outside as I’m getting my stuff secure and climbing back on my bike, the little boy walks up beside me.
“That’s a cool bike!” He says. “I ain’t never seen one like that before.”
“You ain’t never seen a bike before?” I ask.
“Not one wit’ all those colors like that. My ol’ man’s got a black’n, but it don’t ride that well and he don’t let us near it ever.”
“Your dad rides a bike?” I laugh. “Bikes are for kids. Adults drive cars! Don’t you kinda folks know anything?” I say with a snicker.
“Whatya mean us kinda folks?” He says as he tilts his head back.
“You know what I mean, boy.” I try to make my voice sound deeper. More like my Dad’s. He’s always calling me and Danny “boy” or “kid” even though I’m almost 15 and Danny’s 18.
The boy throws his head back even farther and starts laughing at me. I wanna smack him one, but there’s some people I think my parents know that just drove up in a car and I don’t want to get in trouble.
“Boy?” He laughs. “I’m probably older than you! I’m 16. What are you, 12?”
“You’re 16? You’re mighty small to be 16. Your parents not have enough money to feed ya?”
He doesn’t say anything. His laugh turns into a tight smile and he looks over my shoulder. “You know that old man in there is in a hate group. My pa told me he goes around an’ shoots people he don’t like.”
“He only don’t like black folks,” I say, looking him straight in the eye even though he’s not looking back at me. “Black folks and Jews.”
“Well I ain’t no Jew.” The boy says.
“I know that dummy.” I say, laughing. “Ain’t no black Jews.”
The boy squints up at me. “What’s he got against black folks?” The boy asks me.
I think for a second. Seems like a pretty weird question to me. “Well he don’t like em’ cause they’re always causin’ trouble and never payin’ for their food.” I feel bad when I say it, like I’m snuffing out a cigarette on the boy’s arm. “And they’re dirty.” I say it before I can stop myself. I spit out the last word like I’m pitching it at him.
He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking over my shoulder. I glance back to see what he’s looking at but there’s nothing there. Just parking lot.
“You wanna see somethin’ cool?” The boy asks me. I squint my eyes up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Just down the road there.” He points. “There’s a bridge you can jump offa’ into the river. It’s ‘bout a 30 foot drop. Me and my cousin found it yestaday.”
I think about it. I don’t know if my ma would be too happy with me getting my clothes all wet. But I kind of want to see it. “Okay. I’ll go with ya.”
“I ain’t got no bike,” he says, “you’ll have to wait up for me.”
“Okay.” I say. “My name’s Billy by the way.”
“Isaiah.” He says, and he looks me in the eye for the first time.


I walk my bike next to Isaiah all the way to the bridge. He asks me about what school I go to and I tell him. He says his folks are his teachers and he doesn’t go to any school. He didn’t even know what subjects he was taking. So we just talk about the river.
“You ever done any fishing in this river?” I ask him.
“Naw. We got a pond back behind our place that’s got some fish, but you can’t eat em. Only catch em and then put em back.”
“Oh.” I say. We get to the river and he takes off his overalls and jumps off the bridge in his dirty t-shirt and undershorts. The bridge is about 30 feet up just like he said. There are big pine trees all around and lots of shiny gray rocks around the sides of the water. My eyes follow the river as it winds away from us and I can’t even see where it turns or stops. After he splashes into the water it’s quiet for a second. I look up as a bird squawks angrily overhead. I guess we probably ruined his peaceful afternoon of fishing.
“Come on scaredy-cat!” he yells up at me.
“Shut up!” I laugh, as I take off my boots and jeans and jump in after him.
We swim around and jump off the bridge a couple more times. Then I let him ride my bike around for a while. When it the daylight starts to fade, I tell him I should probably head home. We both climb quietly back up the wall of gray rocks and step unsteadily back on to the planks of the bridge. We both throw our pants back on, ring out our shirts, and with a nod head off in our separate directions. He walks off back towards the gas station and I take off on my bike down the opposite path towards home.
“See ya later, Isaiah!” I say.
“See ya!” he yells back over his shoulder. When I get home I tell Dad I went swimming with Blake. I don’t mention Isaiah.



…will continue with developing friendship between the two boys. Ending will be Billy’s guilt getting the best of him and in a haze of confusion and family pressure hanging over him, he meets Isaiah at the bridge and shoots him with one of his father’s guns.