Image: META AI
The bridge was nothing extraordinary—just a concrete walkway that spanned a narrow river running through my town. But something about me always pulled me in. Maybe it was how the river below reflected pieces of the orange sky.
I'd often pass by after school with my bag pack hanging on my shoulders. But on this particular day, I wasn't alone. My friend Chika walked beside me.
"Have you thought about it?" she asked.
"Thought about what," I pretended not to know, but I did. She had been pushing me for weeks.
"Leaving," she said bluntly. "You can't just stay here. You know that, right?"
The truth was that I had thought about it. Everytime I stood on that bridge, I wondered what it would feel like to keep walking, to cross over into someplace else —somewhere larger, louder, and less predictable. But I also thought about my mother at home in our one bedroom apartment.
Chika stopped and looked at me. "If we don't get out, we'll become part of this place. Just like everyone else, stuck. Do you want that?"
I didn't answer.
A Tuesday afternoon a fight happened. Fighting between students wasn't really something new in our school, and this time it was between Uchenna—the noise maker of the class—and Ifeanyi, the quiet boy everyone underestimated. No one really knew how it started. But by the time everyone arrived at the courtyard, a circle of students had formed, gingering them up to continue like it was some sort of entertainment.
"Hit him!" someone yelled.
I watched as they exchanged blows and the crowd cheered. Chika was besides me, with both of her fists closed up tight as if she too was part of the fight. Then a teacher arrived and broke up the fight. But the damage was done—Uche left with one swollen eye, and Ifeanyi with a suspension.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The fight replayed in my head, not because of the violence, but because of what it revealed; and that was how quick we all were to tear into each other, to find release in someone else's pain. It made me think of Chika's words again. Stuck.
The next afternoon, I met Chika on the bridge. She slung her headphones around her neck, humming to a music I couldn't hear clearly.
"You saw the fight?" she asked without looking at me.
I nodded.
She turned. Her expression serious. "That's what I mean. This place...it eats people alive. Even the quiet ones."
"Not everyone," I said. Though I didn't believe it fully.
"Name one person who left and came back better," she challenged.
I thought hard but couldn't.
Finally, she said, "Promise me one thing. Promise me when the time comes, you won't hesitate. You'll cross."
I wanted to promise. I wanted to believe I could walk away, but promises are heavy, and I wasn't ready to carry that weight.
I continued with my regular routine like everything was normal, but something shifted after that week. One evening, on my way home, I found myself again at the bridge. I saw someone standing at the far end. It was Ifeanyi.
I hadn't spoken to him since the fight. His suspension had just ended. He looked at me for a second, and then looked back into the river.
"You ever think about jumping?" he asked suddenly.
The question startled me. "Jumping? Like, into the river?"
He nodded. "Not to die. Just to... disappear for a while."
I didn't know what to say. We just stood there, two teenagers weighed down by thoughts two heavy for our years. Then I replied, "I think about leaving. Not disappearing, but... leaving."
"Maybe that's better," he said.
Visiting the bridge gradually became a ritual. Chika was often there, and Ifeanyi seemed to started visiting there more often likewise, sometimes with a notebook which he sketched on. The three of us never planned it, but somehow the bridge became our meeting ground.
One evening, the three of us stood there as it began to rain. Chika spread her arms wide, laughing, while Ifeanyi shielded his notebook.
"Do you feel it?" Chika shouted at the top of her voice.
"Feel what?" I asked.
"Freedom. Even if it's just for a moment."
For the first time, I thought maybe she was right. Maybe freedom wasn't a faraway city or an impossible dream. Maybe it started here—on this bridge, in the rain, with three friends who wanted the same thing.
Years later, when I finally left our town for the university in the city, the bridge was the last place I visited. I stood there and watched as the river flowed. I thought of Chika who had gone abroad on a scholarship. I thought of Ifeanyi who stayed but turned his sketches into murals which he sketched on the walls of our town.
As I walked away, I realized the bridge and wasn't just concrete and steel. It serves as a reminder to us that leaving doesn't mean abandoning, and staying doesn't always mean being stuck. Sometimes, it simply means you've found your way to cross.