Standing at the bottom the road just looks steep. I don't know what I expected. This bridge is an icon - the infamous Tasman Bridge - but that first sweeping curve doesn't look so steep when you're looking at a postcard.
I'm going to have to walk up there, aren't I?
I guess it's a bit like visiting any temple. You have to humble yourself. You have to prove you're worthy. That's so completely perfect that I grin. I heave a sigh and take the first step upward.
It's cold and wet and the only amusement the walk has to offer is the view. The Derwent winds away from me, smooth and black as oil. Orange and white lights line the banks, reflecting over the river. Only the centre retains that essential blackness. It reminds me of that pigment made from animal bones.
Bone black.
I'm panting hard when I get to the top. I take in the view while I catch my breath. It's silly, this desire for comfort, but I need to feel at ease with this decision. If this view is the last I'll ever see, that's not the worst thing in the world.
The worst thing in the world already happened.
I climb over the railing and stand on the other side, facing the road. There's nothing below me now but the water. It's a deep river, and cold. If the impact doesn't end me the river will. I begin to turn so I can see where I'm going.
There's a girl of around eight or nine skipping up the footpath toward me. She's wearing a white skivvy with a yellow apron - or is it a pinafore? There's a picture of a lemon on the bib and her blonde curls are held back by a thick, yellow ribbon tied in a bow. She's smiling at me as though I'm some kind of early birthday present.
"Hello," she chirps when she reaches me. "Are you going to jump in the water?"
I have no idea how to respond to this. "I'm not sure."
"I see lots of people jump in the water here," she tells me. "I live right there." She points to a small white house at the bottom of the bridge. "I always want to help but lots of them jump before I can help them." She looks at me so earnestly my heart goes out to her.
"I'm not sure you can help me, sweetie."
The railing is so cold on my fingers I can feel them going numb. Our breaths are frost clouds. This sweet child shouldn't be out here because of me. I look over my shoulder at the dark river and make my decision.
Not tonight.
I begin to climb back over the rail. "I don't think I will jump after all," I say.
"I'll help you," she cries. She runs forward and pushes me. "Splishy splashy!"
I'm too surprised to scream.
