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rusted bridge

He said, “Well hell yea I’ll do it.”

And with that Sammy climbed over the railing and jumped off the bridge.

We stood there and watched as he plummeted ten feet then twenty feet and then he hit the water. He just disappeared, the brown murky water boiled, and the air bubbles fizzed to the surface where his body had dug a hole in the murky brown water.

It seemed as if he would never rise to the surface, we held our breath and waved our arms in the motion of trying to levitate him to the surface nothing seemed to help, nothing at all. He simply vanished into the murky depths of that damn river.

“Whoa was that a rush.” We heard his shrill voice cry out from the other end of the bridge. We turned, we stood there, in shocked amazement to see him standing there in all his glory laughing at us. He was drenched in the nasty dirty river water his hair was caked with the oily brown mud, he was a mess.

We let out or breath with a sigh of relief and ran to where he stood by the time we got there he had this puzzled look in his face.

Jimbo yelled, “You sumbitch are you ok?”

“Hell Naw, I ain’t ok, I damn near…”

Sammy collapsed and fell dead on the bridge. The coroner findings when he hit the river bottom he had broken a rib it had punctured the pericardial sac around his heart it filled with blood and stopped his heart.

The bridge has many names, the name the state named it when they built it. The one the town gave it when they dedicated it to a WWII hero. The name lovers have for it when they go to jump off it to meet their maker or a lost love. And the name Sammy gave it when he bet he could jump off it in the summer of 66.