The Bridge.
Sam stood on the pebble-mix path leading to the Hills Hoist.
‘Evening, son,’ came a voice through the hedge.
What was Mr Anderson doing in his yard so late?
‘I’m looking at the night sky while it's clear,’ he said.
‘Oh. You got one of those big telescopes, then?’
A chuckle rose. ‘Just these old eyes.’
Why do old people find those things so funny?
‘It's way up in space. You'll never see that,’ Sam offered helpfully.
‘Oh, it is possible.’
Sam scrunched his face. Maybe Mr Anderson was confused again. Like when his wife died.
They used to sit on the front verandah together. Then they were gone. Then, finally, Mr Anderson must have remembered to sit there again.
Sam felt sad, and Mum was beside herself. She took lasagne next door because it ‘gives me purpose’, or something. Mrs Anderson liked that.
Three steps, and Sam was by the Lilly Pilly hedge.
‘Want to see?’
‘I s’pose,’ said Sam
‘Look straight up.’
‘Just stars everywhere.’
‘Beyond measure, Sam. Let your eyes adjust.’
Mr Anderson sure likes eyes.
Then Sam remembered he still had homework—lots to catch up on. Maybe. Because he couldn’t actually remember when he’d last done any at all—or been at school to get his homework list.
His mum would call out for him any moment.
But Sam stayed there, swaying gently in the warm air of the evening, and cricking his neck to seek the Milky Way.
‘There’s cloud.’
‘That's it! That’s the Galaxy!’ Mr Anderson sounded happy.
‘Gotta run,’ Sam said quickly, and was gone.
The next night Sam waited by the Hills Hoist again. Except for the cicadas, it was quiet at the Lilly Pillies, but from the house Mum cried, ‘Sam! Sam!’
‘In a minute, Mum.’
Probably still upset about my homework.
‘Evening, Sam. You made it.’
‘Hi… I mean, evening, Mr Anderson,’ Sam returned through the hedge.
‘Life is marvellous and miraculous. And finite.’
Sam felt Mr Anderson was being tricky with his words, the way adults are.
Maybe he was still sad about Mrs Anderson.
Sam had overheard his mum say she couldn’t go on without Sam. But Mr Anderson went on. ‘Don’t you miss her?’
It seemed Mr Anderson’s old ears hadn’t heard. Then he said, ‘I do.’
Sam looked towards home, which sat further than before, and realised his mum’s crying was far away. It didn’t make much sense and it made Sam’s legs feel wobbly. At his feet, the pebble-mix path was gone.
Sam was standing on the timber bridge. He remembered fishing there, Mr Anderson a few metres away. Always a greeting only. No chatter like by the Lilly Pillies.
The Arcadia Bridge was all put together again, not like the day the pylon gave out. And there, in the middle, stood Mr Anderson. Waiting.
‘But, Mum—’
‘She knows already, Sam. Mrs Anderson knows too. It’s time.’
And then, Sam and Mr Anderson walked across the bridge together. In silence, just like before.