The Bridges of Friendship

Kevin wanted to commit suicide. He was “trapped in a theater, watching a movie that he did not want to see the end to.” Suicide was not actually his term for it. He was just planning to remove himself from the picture.
I had known him for over two years; he lived alone in the cramped basement of an old dump, in an area infested with drugs and prostitutes. Roaches aside, Kevin kept an immaculate apartment; his frequent scrubbings had left his quarters permeated with the reek of disinfectant. All of his belongings were neatly stacked and labeled and his papers were filed categorically in folders lining his walls. Once, years before, he had been a math major in university, these days he barely ventured from his room.
I was the only person he talked to anymore, so naturally it was me whom he came to for advice on the various methods of ending one’s life.
He appeared suddenly one day, as he always did, and explained his intentions to me in a quiet, rational manner, his hands neatly folded in his lap and legs firmly pressed together.
“Well,” I suggested, “you could buy a shot gun and blow your brains out.”
Kevin did not possess any firearms.
I sighed. “Well, there are other ways of committing suicide, I suppose you don’t have to do it with a shot gun. Would be the easiest way, though.”
He visibly cringed at the word suicide.
“Please don’t say that. Suicide implies something wrong. This is not wrong. Let’s call it something else please.”
“Like what?”
His hands twitched and for a moment he looked at me as though he was expecting something. . Then, he spoke.
“Let’s call it schlooving.”
“Schlooving?!”
“Yes. A nice, generic, undefined word. A non word , to be precise. Very appropriate.”
I leaned back in my chair and stretched my legs, a smile playing on my lips.
“Okay, schlooving then. You should schloove off a bridge, like Fourth Narrows. Very effective.” An image came to me of a cat, lying inert on the rail tracks below the bridge in the glow of moonlight, every bone in its body shattered. “Not a chance of survival.”
Kevin looked uncertain.
“You are sure?”
I smiled knowingly.
“I’m sure.”
He fidgeted some more, smoothing down the front of his shirt with long, slim, pale fingers. Then he looked up.
“Would you take me there?”
I chewed my lip, feigning uncertainty.
“I will pay you,” he said.
I agreed to show him the bridge.

We went the next day, braving traffic as we edged our way along the narrow walkway lining the side of the bridge. We paused over the railroad tracks. The wind whipped at our clothes as we peered down at that wide open space, gaping before us like a hungry mouth. Traffic roared past. Kevin was frowning.
“It’s not high enough.” His voice was swept away with the rush of traffic.
“Whah?”
“It’s not high enough!” I could barely hear him over the drone of automobiles. I sighed with annoyance and explained the conditions of the cat after death. He knew me well enough not to ask where I had gotten the information.
“It’s not high enough.” He repeated firmly. I could see his eyes blinking in rapid succession as they skirted across the rail tracks below.
“Okay. Okay! What do you want, a goddamn cliff?” I was tempted to stamp my foot, but settled for putting my hands on my hips. I glowered at him. Kevin lowered his eyes.
Did I know of any cliffs?
I considered it as cars roared by, ripping at my jacket.
I knew of a giant mine pit in the interior near Ashville. Provided he rented the car and paid for motels and food, I would gladly accompany him.
Kevin seemed pleased as we headed for home. He agreed to my terms and promised me the savings in his accounts as an added bonus.

Neither Kevin or I had a driver’s license. The only person I knew with driving abilities was my roommate, Mickey. Mickey had recently been laid off for the summer at his factory job and was currently working construction on and off. He was sure to have time on his hands. It seemed I had no alternative but to coerce him into the trip. Cornering Mickey the next day as he came through the door after work, I explained my intentions to him and reluctantly promised him half the profits.
His eyes flew open in mock horror.
“You sick freak!” he exclaimed.
Good old Mickey, the guy with the righteous front.
“You have to be kiddin’ me.” He kicked off his muddied boots, keeping his eyes on me. I suppressed the urge to cringe at the sound of his slang and explained Kevin’s worth. I saw something flicker in his eyes.
“You have credit card debts, don’t you?” I pointed out.
The amusement left his face and he cocked an eyebrow. My eyes narrowed.
“You leave your statements on the kitchen table,” I flashed him a wry smile.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he remained silent.
“There’s not a chance of trouble. We simply drop him off in a restaurant with many witnesses after he withdraws his accounts. Then we head home and he can do what he wants.”
Mickey crossed his bulky arms over his chest and leaned back. I could see the sweat glistening on his chest hair. My nose began to twitch.
“It’s easy money…”
“Half? No games, no cheating?”
“Most definitely. Plus all expenses.”
His resolve was melting. I had him.
“Okay,” he feigned reluctance. He grinned, “You’re so evil!”
Yeah, Mickey, I wanted to add, but I’m so very necessary at times, aren’t I? He was, after all, the guy who had commissioned me to dispatch of his girlfriend’s cat.

That weekend we took off in a bright red Ford Taurus station wagon. Whistling a song of anticipation, I loaded my things into the car and popped a tape into the stereo before anyone else had the opportunity. I blasted the music the moment the car pulled away from the curb and rolled down my window to feel the wind on my face. The sound was clear and full and the speakers did not crack. Mickey had slipped behind the steering wheel in a wave of cheap cologne, wearing tight, faded jeans and a shirt left unbuttoned half way down his hairy chest. He’d glanced at the stereo and said nothing, just giving me a look, much as he always did. I wasn’t going to let him monopolize our playlist with macho tunes from the seventies and eighties. It was enough to have to endure ten minute guitar solos on the stereo system at home; Mickey was the primary reason for my recent purchase of ear plugs. I made a mental note to continue scratching his cds when I got back. For his part, Kevin wasn’t one to complain. We had made him take the back seat and he sat there in silence, straight as a rod, hands folded in his lap.
We attempted to escape the city at high speeds, but found ourselves stalled by traffic. Mickey grew restless and annoyed at the other cars, occasionally rolling down his window to make a rude remark.
“Asshole!” He would bark. I could see, almost feel Kevin flinch in the back seat. He despised obscenities.
Once, a car cut us off abruptly and Mickey grew livid with anger, a flush of red creeping up the tips of his chest hairs to his neck. He told me to reach into the glove compartment and hand him some of the eggs he’d stocked up on.
“I bet it’s a Chink,” he mumbled. I did as I was told and watched silently as we pulled up beside the offending vehicle.
“Asshole! Chinks!” Mickey screamed and smashed an egg into the passenger side window. The occupants, an elderly Chinese couple, were visibly startled, giving us surprised looks of confusion.
Micky prepared to launch his next missile.
“Stop this!”
It was Kevin, his voice shrill. His face was bright red and he looked simply horrified.
“I want to get out. Now! Let me out!!!!”
Mickey withdrew the egg and turned to me.
“It’s okay, Kevin, he’ll stop.” I shot Mickey a look of warning.
In the next lane, the other car had already disappeared.

Our first stops were Hampton and Boston Bar. I sung to myself as the car streaked along the highway, lush mountains of green rising to either side of us. Music pulsed from the speakers. I felt hot; the late afternoon heat had penetrated the car and I implored Mickey to turn on the air conditioning. Kevin noticed a bridge on the side of the road and sorely demanded to be let out to take a better look. Mickey and I were hungry, so we offered to drop him off and fetch him later, after we had grabbed something to eat.
“What’s with ‘im, anyway?” Mickey questioned me as we sat in a cool Dairy Queen eating hamburgers.
I tried to find the words to explain Kevin, but discovered I could not.
Um.. he’s just, um…. he’s very moral.” I fought with my burger, snapping at falling onions with my teeth. Sauce dripped on the table and ran down my hands. I wiped them on the neighboring seat.
Mickey surveyed the restaurant, lingering on women in tiny shorts. Eyes firmly fixed on a scantily clad brunette, he grunted.
“Moral, eh?”

We found Kevin standing at the edge of the bridge, still as a statue, as though he had not moved since we had left him. His tall, slight frame was clearly outlined against the trees, his head held high as he spotted us through the thick lenses of his glasses. He greeted us eagerly, already restored to his usual spirits.
“Much too low,” he informed me. I didn’t bother to look.
Our next bridge stop was a group thing. We all got out and gauged the drop, focusing on the sharp, jagged rocks below. I dropped a penny and we all gathered round to see it disappear into oblivion.
There was no walkway, so when a car came on our side, we were forced to scramble to the opposite side in a small herd. Awaiting us there was a putrid, dead opossum ground firmly into the curb. It radiated the hot, pungent stink of rot. Kevin approached it and bowed his head. Mickey hooted with laughter.
“Awww, how sweet, your friend is bondin’ with road kill!” He cackled and slapped his knee.
Kevin turned to me, his face serious. “We should bury it.”
I stopped laughing.
“Get real,” I sneered. Mickey snorted.
Kevin looked hurt. I tried to lighten my voice.
“Anyway, Kevin, what do you think of the bridge?”
He paused, eyes to the ground.
“I don’t think it will do,” he whispered.
I sighed and turned to Mickey. He arched his brows and shrugged. The drop on the bridge had been at least one hundred feet.
“To the mine pit then.”

Darkness descended upon the open highway like a cloak, draping the hills and fields in shadows as we continued to follow the road by the glare of our headlights. I yawned and stretched my legs, glancing at Mickey illuminated by the light of the dashboard. His eyes did not meet mine. Stretching my arms, I could see Kevin’s solemn face reflected in the rear view, his prominent nose looming from the darkness of the back seat. I closed my eyes.

We took a motel in Cactus Creek, in a clean, Spartan building next to a 24 hour convenience store. The proprietor was barrel shaped, with a hairy beard and booming voice. He greeted us with enthusiasm and gave us fresh coffee.
Kevin needed a new toothbrush, so I accompanied him to the store before bedtime. Once inside, I began loading a basket with items of interest, skipping through the aisles as Kevin compared the quality of toothbrushes. We approached the counter together and unloaded our merchandise.
“What’s all this?” Kevin asked politely when I made no motion to pay for my goods.
“Stuff I need.”
“But-”
“Tomorrow you will see the pit. It will be a definite.” I flashed him a broad smile. Kevin looked perplexed. He sighed heavily.
Slowly, he produced his bank card and handed it to the clerk. She gave him the key pad to punch in his code. I grabbed it from his hands.
“What’s the code again, Kevin? I forgot.”
Kevin reached for the pad, then withdrew his hands. He said nothing, his brows furrowed. The clerk sighed and tapped her fingers on the counter. 
Tap, tap.
“Well? Kev?”
Kevin breathed deeply.
“The code, Kevin.”
He adjusted his glasses.
“94964”
I slowly punched it in, savoring the feel of each number. Satisfied, I handed the pad back to the clerk, then snatched Kevin’s card from her fingers.
“Thank you,” I smiled warmly, “Get my bags for me, Kev. I’ll be just a moment.”
Without hesitation I quickly made my way to the rear of the store and to the cash machine. Kevin watched with a forlorn expression as I withdrew eight hundred dollar and emptied his account.
“Here’s your card,” I tucked it into the front pocket of his Oxford shirt and headed for the exit.
“Have a nice evening!” The clerk called after us.

We returned to find Mickey engrossed in pay TV, nursing a beer and sprawled out on of the three beds. He had stripped to the waist and his skin glistened with the sheen of sweat.
“You give her money, Kevin?” he asked, eyeing my new acquisition. Kevin nodded and quietly proceeded to the washroom. Mickey sat up.
“My half. Come on, come on.”
I produced the bills and slapped them into his outstretched palm. I threw myself on the second bed, kicked off my shoes and lit a cigarette. Mickey grimaced, fanning the smoke away from his body. I chased him with it, blowing it in his face and laughing. He threw a pillow at me and covered his face with rough, calloused hands.
Kevin emerged from the washroom, his face contorted with dismay. I immediately ground out the cigarette, but his expression did not change.
“What’s wrong, Kevin?”
“The shower is dirty.” His thin fingers were fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.
“Oh really?”
I heaved myself up and lumbered after him into the washroom to inspect the shower. It was spotless.
“There is no dirt, Kevin. You are imagining things.”
Kevin pointed to the rims between two tiles.
“Look – there is scum in there. I can’t shower in something like this!”
I bent to take a closer look, but couldn’t see anything.
“I can’t see it, Kevin. You’re imagining things – really. You are.”
“What can you expect from a place that expects us to use soap made from animal fat!!” he exclaimed, presenting me with a tiny square of standard motel issue soap.
“I can’t use this! And I am going to require disinfectant for the shower!” he proclaimed.
I groaned.
“So do it. Suit yourself. Just don’t ask me to satisfy your anal needs.” I turned my back and stalked off.
Kevin spent the rest of the evening scrubbing tiles after purchasing liquid soap and disinfectant from the store. Mickey and I reclined on our beds munching chocolate bars, watching the sex channel until Kevin finally emerged from his labor, head held high in silent protest. His skin was a curious hue of pink and his hair slick against one side of his bony scalp.
Mickey took a last swig from his beer can and belched. I wrinkled my nose.
“Bed?”
“Yep. ‘Bout that time.”
Kevin had not only forgotten his toothbrush; he’d forgotten his pajamas. He demanded I shut out the lights before he stripped to his underwear. Mickey snorted, stretched out on his bed in his tiny briefs. He had once told me that he preferred to sleep naked.
“Faggot.”
I obliged Kevin and crawled beneath the cool sheets. I could hear him scramble into the bed next to me and hastily dive under the covers. I suppressed a giggle and snuggled into my pillow. As I tried to get comfortable in my alien bed, I discovered that Mickey snored.

Morning brought harsh, glaring sunlight and the usual disgruntled feelings associated with waking up. Kevin had been the first to rise, already showered and dressed in neatly pressed navy polyester and oxford white. His fine, dark hair was wet, plastered evenly to his skull in a bowl cut.
“Good morning!” He greeted us with cheer, carefully folding his jacket over his arm.
Grunting, Mickey and I emerged from our beds as squinting zombies, cursing the motel’s “out by eleven” rule. Mickey grumbled all the way into the washroom. I waited impatiently for him to finish, licking at the fur on my teeth with a grimace.
“Hurry up, will you!” I called, clutching my new underwear to my chest as I rocked back in forth on the bed.
Mickey flung open the door and stomped out, a cloud of steam and cheap perfume wafting into the room from behind. I grabbed my things and padded into the washroom, gagging on the thick, humid air.
Before we left, I snatched a few clean towels and shoved them into my bag.
“What are you doing?” Kevin’s pale face was creased with anxiety. I laughed.
“Put them back!” he demanded. I stopped laughing.
“Just shut up, Kevin!” I snapped and slung my bag over my shoulder.
“Put them back,” he said more quietly this time. “The owner does not deserve that.”
I was now scowling fiercely.
“Why don’t you take up religion, Kevin? You’ve already got the fitting haircut. No, seriously, I think you’d be good at it! But just leave me the fuck alone. It’s none of your business what I do, all right?”
“If you’re going to take those towels, then I will pay for them.”
“Good. You do that,” I snarled.
True to his word, Kevin left a twenty on his bed as payment before we left, which I promptly snatched while locking up. Before closing the door, I surveyed the room. Kevin was the only one who had bothered to make his bed. It stood as an island in a sea of chaos.
Outside, we were surrounded by dry, dead land. The sky was cloudless and blue above mils of rolling, yellow hills sparsely dotted with skeletal brush. We loaded the car and headed off into the mouth of the desert, along a narrow, winding road that would take us to Ashville and the mine pit.
This huge, open “canyon” is the largest of its kind in North America. I had no idea what was mined there (nor did I care). We reached it by mid afternoon and stopped the car next to a promising drop.
“Wow.” Mickey used his hand as a visor as he surveyed the vast expanse of the pit. It was a deep penetrating chasm carved into the rock, ending in a reservoir of water. Tractors and machinery were visible below, nestled on sand banks. Heat swam like a river on the horizon and I could feel the scorch of the rock we stood on through the think rubber of my soles.
Kevin was impressed. He tentatively approached the edge and looked down. Slowly, he began to wander along the brink, his head lowered and eyes cast into the depths below. Further and further. Kevin kept walking until he disappeared in the distance, leaving me and Mickey to stand together by the car and wait.
And wait.
“I’m getting a sunburn!” I whined and wiped beads of sweat from my brow. I also had to go pee really badly. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other in agony.
Mickey said nothing and walked to the edge of the drop, where he unzipped his pants and proceeded to urinate. I ground my teeth.
“He’s comin’ back, see?” Mickey shook the last drops into the canyon and did up his fly. He pointed to a speck shimmering in the waves of heat. I sighed with relief. Eventually, Kevin approached us and the car.
“Good enough?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then we’ll drop you off in a diner in Ashville. Okay?” I imagined a nice, clean washroom waiting for me.
He was quiet for a moment. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” Mickey stared in disbelief.
“I want to go home first, then come back by bus.”
Mickey shot a look at me.
“Now wait a minute,” he protested. “We came all this way…… for nothin’?”
“It cost you nothing and you got free food.”
I interceded at this point, eager to begin my search for a washroom.
“He’s right, Mickey. Now let’s go. I am SO hot.” I flashed him an urgent expression and he nodded in acknowledgment. We got into the car.
Kevin was extremely talkative on the return trip. He blabbed continuously about attempting to schloove with a plastic bag over his head.
“It did not work. I ended up ripping it from my head during the final moments – I did not want to, but my will was not enough. What a failure; in the end I only managed to schloove brain cells, not myself.”
I cranked up my stereo and my beloved, mindless dance music, giving Kevin the occasional nod of understanding. Eventually he lost his wind.
In Hampton, I got him to clear another account. Nine hundred dollars. He was weary and talked out, in no mood to put up an argument.
The car was due back by four, so we had to hurry. Mickey took advantage of the opportunity to drive fast, often taking hairpin turns at dangerously high speeds.
As we reached the outskirts of the city, we came upon slow, congested traffic. I could practically hear Mickey’s teeth grind as he attempted to wave through the sea of crawling automobiles. An elderly couple ahead of us refused to let him pass. I could feel his anger boiling.
“Give me a bomb!” he commanded. Snickering, I reached into the glove compartment and produced a softened, stinking egg, putrid with heat and decay. Mickey pulled up to the car and rolled down his window, snarling like a vicious animal.
“Fogies!” The egg exploded across the passenger door, the spray of rotten yolk splattering the window. The view was rather obscure, but we could see the shock and horror on those people’s faces.
“Stop!” Kevin shrieked from the back as Mickey flung another egg out the side. I handed him two more.
“Let me out!” Kevin cried as the eggs hit their mark.
Mickey turned to me with a wicked smile and winked. At the next exit, he pulled off the highway and parked in the lot of a McDonald’s.
“Here you go!” He announced and looked back at Kevin, who stared at him in confusion.
“You wanted to leave?”
Kevin hesitated, then opened the car door and stepped outside.
“It’s a long walk home, Kevin,” I remarked. “If I were you, I’d stay for the ride.”
Kevin did not say anything. He looked puzzled and slightly hurt as he turned away from the car and began walking towards town. We watched him for a few minutes; he kept turning his head as if he was waiting for us to approach him.
We didn’t. Mickey turned the car back onto the highway and we headed home, seventeen hundred dollars richer.