| The Bridge 3-4 |
| 1 | THREE I got off the bus at 8:40 A.M., in the middle of Florida, hungry. Money was no concern, as it would not be for anyone with so much cash tied into their bedroll. What troubled me was, What happens now? Here's warm Florida. Not only no soulmate waiting at the bus-stop, but no friend, no home, no nothing. The sign in the cafe, when I entered, said that it reserved the right to refuse service to anyone. |
| 2 | You reserve the right to do absolutely anything you want to do, I thought. Why put up signs to say so? Makes you look frightened. Why are you frightened? Rowdies come in here, break things up? Organked-criminals? In this little cafe? The waiter looked at me and then at my bedroll. My blue-denim jacket had one little torn place on the sleeve where the string was coming loose from my mending, the bedroll had a few tiny spots of grease and clean oil from the Fleet's engine on it, and I realized that he was asking himself if now was the time to refuse service to someone. |
| 3 | I smiled hello. "How you doin', there?" I said. "Doin' all right." The place was nearly empty. He decided I'd pass. "Coffee?" Coffee for breakfast? Aak! Bitter stuff . . . they grind it out of bark, or something. "No thank you," I said. "Maybe a piece of that lemon pie hotted up for a half-minute in the microwave? And a glass of milk." "Sure thing," he said. Once I would have ordered bacon or sausage for this meal, but not lately. |
| 4 | The more I had come to believe in the indestructibility of life, the less I wanted to be a part of even illusory killings. If one pig in a million might have a chance for a contemplative lifetime instead of being skrockled up for my breakfast, it was worth swearing off meat. Hot lemon pie, any day. I savored the pie, and looked out the window into town. Was I likely to meet my love in this place? Not likely. |
| 5 | No place is likely, against odds in the billions. How could I already know her? According to the wisest souls, we know everyone everywhere without having met in person-not much comfort when you're trying to narrow your search. "Hi, there, miss. Remember me? Since consciousness isn't limited by space or time, you'll recall that we're old friends. . . ." Not a likely introduction, I thought. Most misses know that there are a few strange folks in the world they want to be a little cautious with, and that is definitely a strangefolk introduction. |
| 6 | I brought to mind every woman I had met, going back years. They were married to careers or to men or to different ways of thinking from mine. Married women sometimes unmarry, I thought, people change. I could call every woman I knew . . . "Hello," she'd say. "Hello." "Who's this?" "Richard Bach." "Who?" "We met at the shopping center? You were reading a book and I said that's a terrific book and you said how do you know and I said I wrote it?" "Oh! Hello." "Hi. |
| 7 | Are you still married?" "Yes." "Well, it's certainly been nice talking to you again. Have a nice day, OK?" "Ah . . . sure will . . ." "Bye." There is better guidance, there has to be, than going through that conversation with every woman . . . When the time is right I'll find her, I thought, and not a second before. The breakfast came to seventy-five cents. I paid it and strolled into the sun. It was going to be a hot day. |
| 8 | Probably lots of mosquitoes tonight. But what do I care? Tonight I sleep indoors! With that I remembered I had left my bedroll on the seat of the breakfast-booth in the restaurant. A different life, this staying on the ground. One doesn't just tie things up in the morning and toss them in the front cockpit and fly off into one's day. One carries things around by hand, or finds a roof and stays under it. |
| 9 | Without the Fleet, without my Alfalfa Hilton, I was no longer welcome in hayfields. There was a new customer in the cafe, sitting in the booth , I had left. She looked up, startled when I walked to her table. "Excuse me," I said, and lifted the bedroll lightly from the other seat. "Left it here just a bit ago. I'd have left my soul if it wasn't tied on with string." She smiled and went back to reading the menu. |
| 10 | "Careful of the lemon pie," I added. "Unless you like it not too lemony and then you'll love it." I walked into the sun again, swinging the bedroll at my side before remembering that the United States Air Force had taught me not to swing any hand that was carrying something. Even when we carry a dime, in the military, we do not swing our hands with it. On impulse, just seeing the telephone in its little glass sentry-box, I decided to make a business call, to someone I hadn't talked with in a long time. |
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