The jumper stands on the icy ledge of the Mt

The jumper stands on the icy ledge of the Mt Mt. Hope By: Michael Nicolosi The jumper stands on the icy ledge of the Mt. Hope Bridge. It looks like a forest green, miniature model of the Golden Gate Bridge and stands nearly two hundred feet over the calm Mt. Hope Bay. The intense support cable lights illuminate the bay making the cool night sky as clear as day. Some friends and I stand on the stone beach below passing a blunt with complete consciousness on the jumper. He is gripping an iron support beam and one slip is a fall into the black, cold water of the bay. We are within walking distance of my college and I see student’s heads popping out of their dorm windows to watch the man. This is something you don’t want to see, but you can’t look away. Some girl on the beach starts to cry. Why is she crying I wonder? She doesn’t know this person and doesn’t have any ties to him so why is she crying. People die everyday, but then again it’s not everyday you witness someone plunge to their death. I see and hear the blue and red lights flash of our local enforcement. Somebody obviously dialed 911. They box the man in on the bridge with their vehicles. A police boat is now circling below the bridge. An officer is nearing the suicidal man, probably to try and talk him out of it. He probably says the usual bullshit in these situations: “You don’t want to do this.” “You have so much to live for.” “Please step away from the ledge.” Some people just don’t understand. The Mt. Hope Bridge is one of the most popular suicide spots in the country. It has signs and pamphlets on either side of the bridge with suicide hotlines and other various support resources. I don’t think a few pamphlets are going to help anyone. If a person is willing to kill themselves, they’ve probably already done everything they could to save their life. The look on the faces of everyone gives me an eerie feeling. In the back of everyone’s mind they are screaming “jump”. You want to see it, but you don’t. You can’t help but wonder, “Will I feel the spray of the splash?” “What is the body look like tumbling “What kind of sound will it make?” through the air and when it collides with the water?” It’s a given that murder and suicide is bad and sometimes messy. Torture also is often a little too much for some people to take, but they love it in the goddamn tabloids. That’s what pisses me off more, the people who pry in the name of public awareness. Bullshit, they want pictures to sell papers to people who don’t want to see, but love to look. No one likes to see in this world, but they love a quick glance or a long leer. I digress… Molestation, mutilation, murder and suicide. Not especially pleasant, but is it art? I started my adult life by studying art at university. I have always enjoyed it and I love the chance to express one self and to interpret someone else. The closest I get to expression these days is in how long I can hold a lie on for. A talent it may be, but is it me? Maybe suicide is this mans art or his way of being remembered. I respect whatever decision he makes. Human beings are really fucked up. We’re the most psychologically damaged animals. You never see any other animals as psychologically screwed up as we are. I’ve never been in the forest and seen a slutty bear blowing thirty bears at a party because she hates her father. Humans are the only animal that will show mercy on other animals when we’re hunting. I know people that go fishing with their friends and then just throw back everything they catch. You’ll never see a shark do that. A shark won’t grab a dude by his bathing suit and then just let him go unharmed. You’ll never see a bunch of bears getting drunk and then grab you and pull you back to their bear den and just set you free. “Man those bears were cool. Thank God they were only hunting human beings for sport.” We live in a bizarre world. The jumper hops over the large guard rail. Everyone on the now congested beach starts clapping. I’m surprised that they talked him out of jumping. I know I am on ground level, but this mans face was stone cold. He wasn’t crying, shaking or panicking. He was as calm as the water below him. The only thing I noticed is that he smiled for a brief moment with his eyes closed. It was a peculiar moment in this mans supposed final moments. I wonder what his last thoughts were. Everyone on the beach starts walking back to their dorms and into their cars. They’ll all probably go back and tell all of their friends about their “near death experience” as if they were the ones jumping off a bridge. I call it a night too and at least I’ll have something interesting to think about when I fall asleep. I wake the irritating noise of convulsive knocks on my dorm room door. I barely roll myself out of bed and open the door to shut the person up. It’s my neighbor and she is in tears holding a local newspaper. “He’s dead.” She says. “Who’s dead?” “The guy from last night. The guy on the bridge.” “How?” I ask. “After the police took him back to the station they released him. Why the hell would they do that?” She screams. “I don’t know.” I reply. “He went straight to the Mt. Hope Bridge and took a diving leap. He fucking did it.” She starts crying harder. She comes over to me and hugs me. I hate these awkward social moment where I have to pretend to be sad and affected by an event. “His name was James Parker. He left his wife and two kids. I’m going to the funeral with a few friends.” She says. “Why are you going to his funeral?” I ask. “Because it’s the right thing to do.” She replies. “You didn’t even know him.” “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to support the family.” “Okay. Well, I’m going back to bed.” I state. “You’re unbelievable. You almost saw this guy commit suicide and all you can think about is sleeping.” “Yeah. Pretty much.” She slams the door in my face. I grab a bottle of water and take two aspirin. I find it strange to go to a stranger’s funeral. People think because they saw someone on their brink of death they know that person. That’s not how it works. I could sit down and read the obituaries and somehow find an emotional attachment to a person, but that doesn’t mean I should see them on their death bed. Part of life is dying. A person can choose to live or die, but when you’re dead you can’t choose to live. That’s the beauty of life; having choices. That man chose to cut his life short last night and he can never take it back. It was his own decision to end his life. His soul will be forever buried in the Mt. Hope Bay.