Flash Fiction Contest: Bridges

She still couldn't shake the previous night's dream. Although some of the details were starting to blur, the vision as a whole was too real, too vivid to lose completely. Perhaps it was also the fact that she, as an old widowed woman, had long since abandoned dreams altogether. She had not had a true dream in many years. In her old age her days and nights passed by with barely any differences between them. By day she sat in her rocker out on the front porch, watching the cars whiz by on the highway bridge visible from her property. Warm nights she would relax in the screened back porch, listening to the crickets and katydids. Cool nights were spent in her living room by the large old-fashioned wood stove.

The only company she ever had these days were the mailman when he had her utility bills or Social Security check and the utility meter reader, who always seemed to be some new young 'un without anytime to stop and chat.

She sighed as her mind replayed what it could of the dream. He had appeared to her in the dream, her beloved husband who had passed so many years ago. His face was that of the man she had watched slowly fade away in the hospital, but yet it was also different. It was full of life and literally beaming with happiness. She remembered that he almost seemed to glow brightly with a gentle radiance.

In the dream, he didn't speak one word to her as she approached him, merely smiled in a warm and loving fashion. He stood at the foot of a wooden bridge that looked rather old and rickety. It was an arched bridge that went up so high she couldn't see the other side. In fact, she couldn't remember even seeing the other side at all. It must have been way far off. Or maybe it had been hidden by a fog? She couldn't remember exactly. She did remember that there was a strong feeling of purpose in the dream. The bridge was there for her to cross, and he was there to help her. She wished he had said something, anything. It would have been wonderful to hear his voice again.

Her heart beat an unusually strong beat. She felt different in some way. Almost, refreshed or excited. She couldn't place her finger on the right word, but whatever it was, it felt good. Her rocker creaked quietly as she gazed at the busy highway in the distance.

With a sudden emphatic movement, she rose from her rocker. She went inside the house and fetched her sweater. Sweater donned, she closed her front door but then hesitated as she went to lock it. Not really knowing the reason why, she left the door unlocked and placed the keys on the nearby windowsill. Something told her that was how it needed to be.

She paused a moment to take a deep breath and drink in the view ahead of her. Then, with a strong, but slightly teetering step, she stepped off her porch toward the highway.

It took her the rest of the morning to pick her way over the field that lay between her house and the highway. The river was gurgling loudly to her left as she neared the bridge. Vibrations from the passing cars and trucks filled her body as she set foot on the cement. She was tired from all that walking, but that good feeling inside of her had grown stronger with each step so she barely noticed her aching.

Once she reached the center of the bridge, she turned to look out over the river toward her house. The sun sat just over it, framing it a wondrous light. Slowly, but purposefully, she grasped the bridge railing near a column and somehow managed to pull her old body up. Using the column as a support she stood overlooking the rushing river below. That good feeling filled her completely now. It felt like it was pouring out of all of her pores. She closed her eyes and saw his radiance fade into view. A smile brightened her face as every fiber of her being was filled with that wonderful feeling. Then, as her tired old heart squeezed out its final beat, her body fell to the water below the bridge.