Don't Go (Part 1)

All my life, I've lived on this bridge.

For as long as I can remember, I've been here. I don't know anywhere else, I don't remember anywhere else, and I don't need anywhere else. I love this bridge. It has everything I need. Well, I guess there is one thing I want, but I can't seem to ever have it. I would do a whole Broadway musical number to explain, but I'm afraid I don't have any backup dancers. That's sort of the issue: There's no one else here.

I'm alone here. There are no other people. No people to talk to, no people to hang out with, no people to play with. No people to fight with, no people to laugh with, no people to complain with. No people to befriend, no people to go through the hardships of life with, no people to help in the lowest of times. No people to help calm me down when something goes wrong, no one to help me fix something when it breaks, no people to break things I can fix. No people. No people to be happy with, no people to be sad with.

Well... there sometimes are people to be sad with. Sometimes I do get visitors, but they never stay. I try to convince them to stay, but they always leave. Sometimes it's off the side of the bridge (which is a very inefficient way to get home, I must add) and sometimes it's back the way they came. The latter is a more efficient way to get home, but do they really have to go home? I've got the almost-perfect home they could stay at! The only thing it's missing is a family....

I suppose you want to see how the lovely interactions with people go, so I'll let you observe a few. But don't say anything! You might scare them away. That happened once, and it wasn't very nice.

One night, I was sitting in my usual spot on a tree branch after a looooooooooong day of trying to find new things. Sometimes I find things that bounce, sometimes things that pop the things that bounce, and other times I find REALLY shiny things. They're really fun to play with, even if I am quite clumsy and drop them and lose them all the time.

On this day, someone came to the bridge, sitting near the edge. I spend a moment or two trying to figure out if they're a girl or a boy, and I settle on girl. She has short hair, but a viable chest and feminine features. She's slumped over, kind of looking like a shrimp. I chuckle to myself at that thought.

"Hi," I say.

Par usual, I startle the person, but the person always goes back to their sad look. She does this, looking out from the bridge at the horizon and she says, "Hi?"

"Hi," I repeat, "Do you want to stay here?"

"No," she says, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to stay."

"That doesn't make any sense," I say, "If you didn't want to be here, you wouldn't have come here in the first place."

"If I had a choice, I wouldn't be here," she says, "But that doesn't matter; I'm not staying much longer."

"Why don't you want to stay?" I ask.

"Because," she says, thinking momentarily, "I don't know; it's hard to explain! I guess... I'm not how I want to be. And people don't see me how I want to be seen, how I really am."

"Why don't they see you how you are?" I ask, "I see you how you are."

"No, you don't," she says, "You're probably thinking I'm exactly what I'm not."

"I think you're a person," I say, "Are you not a person?"

"Yes, I'm a person," she says, "Of course I am. Everyone is a person." She sighs, "I just don't look or sound like the person I want to be."

"What person do you want to be?" I ask. 

She sighs again, glancing my way as she stands, "I want to be a boy with short hair and a flat chest." She closes her eyes, tilting her head back as a small smile appears on her face, "I want to be a boy who gets called a boy. A boy who people see as a boy. A boy people like because he's a boy and he's masculine and he's tall." She looks back out to the horizon, "But I'm not. I'm not tall, I'm not a boy, I don't have a flat chest, and I don't get called a boy. I'm just a girl who can't be happy with what she has."

"So..." I say, "You're a boy?"

"Yes, I'm a boy," she... no, he says, exasperated, "I'm a boy, but you couldn't tell that! I'm a boy, but you don't see me as one. I'm a boy, but I'm not. I'm a girl. Wrong body, wrong parts, wrong anything, I don't care what you call it! I'm a boy, but I'm a girl." He looks off the edge of the bridge, "But that's not what I want."

"Why is that what you want?" I ask. 

"I..." he says, falling silent.

There's a few moments of silence, and I think he's thinking about his answer. 

"I don't know," he says, looking at the horizon again.

"Oh," I say quietly.

"When I think about being a boy, it makes me happy. It makes me feel right," he says, closing his eyes and sighing, "It makes me feel okay with my body, even though it hurts. It makes me feel like maybe I could be happy."

"You should stay here," I say, "You can be happy here."

"I... I guess I can," he says.

"Just keep thinking of yourself as a boy, and soon other people will see you as a boy," I say, "And you'll be a boy. So you should stay here!" I think I sound a little too excited right now.

"I..." he says, but he doesn't finish.

"If you stay, you can be happy. If you go, you might never be happy," I say. Lots of people might never see him as a boy, so if he stays here with me, I'll always see him as a boy. Everyone else will see him as a boy, and he'll be a boy. Everyone will be happy, and I'll have a friend! I've never had one of those before, you know.

"I..." he says again. Is that all he says? Is that all he can say? Wow, conversation wouldn't be the most interesting if that's all he can say...

He stands up, "I'll give it another try, I guess." He looks over to me, "I'll stay."

"Yay!" I say, but the excitement is short-lived as he walks away. I don't say anything else to him, I just watch him walk away. 

He looks content, but why is he not staying? He said he'd stay! What happened? Did I do something wrong? Maybe he knew I though he was a girl. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to be my friend. But he said he'd stay, so why didn't he? 

I go through this every time, asking myself if I did something wrong because they didn't stay. I'm a good person! At least, I think I am. I try to be a good person. I try not to do anything wrong, and I try to help people when I need them to. These people always leave. They don't stay long enough to get to know me, they don't stay long enough to have this bridge be their permanent home, and they don't stay long enough to be my friend!

All I want is a friend.

After that, I decided that I was never, ever, ever, ever, ever going to guess if someone's a boy or a girl or neither of them or all of them or anything. I can't risk losing a potential friend.

One time, though, someone stayed the night but they never came back.

They were walking up to the side of the bridge, humming a song I'd never heard before. It was a catchy song, but I hadn't known it'd be stuck in my head for weeks to come. I sat on my favorite branch of my favorite tree, kicking my legs as I listened to them. The moon's light made my skin shine a little more than usual. I always love it when that happens. The person glanced at me but paid me no mind after that. At least, not for a while.

They continued to hum their song. It was a song of happiness and joy as I saw it.

It seemed like hours passed before they finally stopped, which was sad for me, I guess because they weren't humming anymore. I liked the song. It was fun to listen to.

Lazily gesturing to me, they looked at me again with their miserable, tired eyes, "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," I said.

"Yeah, right," they say sarcastically, "Like you could actually live here. On a bridge." They laugh at the thought of living here like it's a joke.

I don't understand what's funny. "I do live here," I say, "And you could too if you stayed. It's actually not that bad."

"I'm not staying," they say loudly, nearly interrupting me. They slump against another tree.

"What's so bad about it that you're not staying?" I ask.

"So many, many things," they say.

"Like...?" I prompt.

"First off, no one listens," they say, "Ever."

"I'm listening," I say.

"Yeah, one person, whoo-hoo," they say, "And how many are on this planet?"

"I'm not sure," I say. I've never thought about it. Surely at least ten. I add, "Soon there'll be more people here. I hope."

"Wow," they say, "You aren't really that optimistic, are you?"

That's kind of mean. I am this optimistic. If I wasn't, then... well, I don't really know what would happen, but that doesn't matter.

They scoff at my silence. I'm trying to figure out what to say.

"If you don't believe me, why don't you just stay for tonight?" I say, "It's not as bad as you would think."

They hesitate for a moment, "Fine. I'll stay. Just for tonight."

We spent the night talking about everything under the moon. We talked about the stars especially. I learned that they really like astronomy. I told them I once knew someone who liked astrology, and they told me that the two things are very different. I never knew. They said that astrology doesn't actually exist, and I told them that everything people talk about or believe in has to exist or they wouldn't be able to believe in it. They didn't understand what I meant.

Soon after that, I learned that they have a name. They said their name is Jai. I don't know how it's spelled, but I like J-A-I best. Maybe it's just J. Maybe it's J-A-Y. Maybe it's something like J-E-I-G-H. That's still pronounced the same, right? I'm not sure.

They asked what my name is, and I told them I don't really have one. Sometimes I'll make up a name, and other times I'll simply just tell them I don't have one.

In the morning, I woke up to see them sleeping by the tree. I didn't want to wake them up, so I went to go look for things and stretch my legs. Maybe I could bring something back to show them. I had found a few things, by now I can't remember what exactly. I don't really want to remember, it makes me sad. When I got back, Jai was gone. I didn't want them to leave.

For the following weeks, the song they had been humming would be stuck in my head, this time a song of sadness and loneliness.