"I swear we parked here!" I frantically yelled. Ashley's eyes scanned the parking lot.

"Oh my god our truck got stolen!" Morgan, Ashley's little sister, added in a terrified tone.

"What the hell? This is L5 isn't it?" I asked the two faces staring at me. They simply nodded. My phone began to ring. "S***! It's my mom! We we're suppose to leave 40 minutes ago!" Sweat was dripping down my face as the sun was starting to fade behind the mountains. "Hi Mom, we’re on the road but I can't talk too long don't wanna get pulled over," I put her on speaker so I could run without her hearing me panting into the phone.

"Okay honey, see you soon! I don't want you to drive the hill in the dark," my mom explained. I quickly hung up the phone as the three of us finally found our way to my truck. What was left of the sun glimmered off the hood; my truck sat in the vacant parking lot. What mall has ten different parking lots? Through my irritation I got comfort from the realization, at least it wasn’t stolen.

"Do you think orange is too summery for the Winter Formal?" I asked as I merged onto highway 17.

"No, I mean it's cute so whatever, better be careful on how you dance though, it's pretty short." Ashley snickered without lifting her eyes from Instagram.

Suddenly coming around the bend to where the outer lanes veer off to 85 I was swarmed by brake lights. Like red ants marching into the dusk the four lanes of traffic were at a complete stop. "Hey, look at the bright side, we can just tell your mom that there's an accident so she won't even know we were late leaving the mall," Morgan explained in a timid voice from the back seat.
"Do you even see the cars of the accident?" I asked.

"Honestly no, just cops," Ashley said as she peered out the side window.
"Must be pretty bad, look at all the people on the bridge watching," I pointed.
"Oh my god, look someone's sitting on the top of bridge cage!" Morgan said. We looked in amazement at the small figures in the distance that filled the pedestrian bridge.

We were finally summoned by a sheriff to take 85-junction where we would later get back onto 17, that’s when I saw him up close. Baggy over sized jeans, backwards hat and some overpriced graphic t-shirt big enough for two people; he looked no older then eighteen years old. The crowd wasn’t for an accident, it was for him; it was for that boy who was convinced the world would be better off without him. Sitting on the edge of life or death on the top of the 85-junction bridge. Suddenly goose bumps covered my pale body. I felt the cold leather seats sticking to my previously sweaty shoulder blades. The formerly comforting “new car smell” of our gold Toyota Tundra was now strangling me. I rolled down my window, only to smell gasoline and hot cement. My knuckles turned white due to the grip I had on the steering wheel. Someone only a year older then me was contemplating life or death while I was contemplating the color of dress I was going to wear to formal. I was sitting in the comfort of my car complaining about traffic and he was sitting on the top of the bridge struggling emotionally. Within an instant of seeing him priorities filled into place inside my brain. I wanted to flip a U turn and go back to the boy. I wanted to talk him down from the decision he was about to make. I would say to him,

Young man, you have so much to live for. The dark days that have brought you down are only temporary, they are only there to help us appreciate the bright days to come. I’m sure you’re a brother, a son, a friend, a classmate to someone who wants you, no needs you, here.

I wanted to get to know him because for some odd reason I felt that I, in the ten seconds I took to get a good look at him as I passed, was connected to him. I wanted to tell him it gets better, I wanted to promise him it would get better. But how? How the hell was I going to convince an eighteen year old boy that one day he would suddenly get up and there would be no more problems? No alcohol poisoning your loved ones, no more drugs to be pressured into, no more war waiting for us around every corner, no more discrimination. I couldn’t promise him that. I didn’t know who, or what put him on that bridge, could have been a coward, faceless behind his computer screen, it could have been his father who liked to give out beatings instead of fatherly advice. Regardless of what put him on that bridge, he was there, and there was nothing I could do to help.

Helpless and distressed we made our way over the hill. I peered into the back seat a few times, I wondered if Morgan was as concerned about the situation as I was. I was four years older then her and I wondered if the age difference impaired her from realizing what we had almost just witnessed. I stole a glimpse at Ashley expecting to see her eyes glued to her phone, only to find them peering out the fogged up window. Her dark eyes and furrowed eyebrows looked both puzzled and worried. I wondered if she was thinking the same thoughts I was. I tried to get my mind away from the boy and focus on the road in front of me. Conversation escaped the three of us, the only sound came from the country station creeping from my speakers.

After dropping off Ashley and Morgan, I arrived home. The lectures from my mother and father of my late arrival went in one ear and out the other; I felt numb to any confrontation. I couldn’t shake that boy from my head. He is someone I’ll always carry with me to remind me how fragile life really is. Today I still don’t know the outcome of his evening that Sunday, I can only pray that he was taken to wherever he decided to go, safely.