Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

“I don’t know.” She looks at me. “What time do you think we’ll be home?”

“I’ll have her home by six,” I tell him.

“Perfect. Have fun and drive safe!”

“Bye,” she says as we hop into my truck. I wave and pull out of the driveway.

Once we’re down the street, she leans her head back on the seat. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be getting out of there and going somewhere.” She looks at me. “Other than the Jiffy Mart, I mean.”

“Really? You’re tired of the Jiffy Mart? But there’s so much to see and do. It doesn’t get much better than corn dogs, hot and ready to eat.”

“What is it with boys and corn dogs?” she asks. “My convenience store meal of choice is nachos. You just can’t go wrong with chips and processed cheese.”

I point behind us, to the bed of my truck. “I brought along some sodas and snacks, but unfortunately, no nachos. I did get some Bugles for you, though.”

“You did?” she says as she claps her hands together.

“I have never seen a girl get so happy about a snack food.”

“Yeah, I admit, it’s kind of insane how much I love those things.”

“So, tell me something else you love. Because so far our conversations have been focused on food. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely like to eat, but I’m thinking there’s got to be more to you than Bugles.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out the window.

“Let’s see. I love sunshine.” Pause. “Daisies.” Pause. “Paint-by-number sets and blue nail polish.” Long pause. “Bake sales, hot air balloons, and birds.”

“Wow. That’s quite the list. Bake sales?”

“A bunch of sweets, all for the taking, and the money is for a good cause. What’s not to love?”

It makes me smile. “You are so right.”

“And here we are, back to food.”

I laugh, because it’s true. “So, what kind of birds, exactly?”

She shrugs. “Any kind, I guess. I think I like them all. I want to go to college and become an ornithologist.”

“A what?”

“Ornithologist.”

“Is that anything like an orthodontist?” I tease.

She gives me a funny look, like she’s not sure if I’m being serious or not. “Um, no. It’s someone who studies birds. I’m thinking I could travel the world and research rare birds or something. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Yeah. Actually, it does. Anything involving travel sounds good to me. What colleges are you looking at?”

“Well, I haven’t really started looking yet. I mean, with moving and everything, it’s been . . . hard. There’s still time, right?”

“Of course. Lots of time. Once school starts up again, you can use the College and Career Center for research. The two ladies who work there are really nice.”

“Good to know. So, what about you? What makes you happy? Besides football and corn dogs.”

“Actually, you can scratch football off my list.” I’m kind of surprised by the words that come tumbling out before I stop them. But this girl isn’t from around here. Her life doesn’t revolve around football like most people I know.

“Wait. So you play, but you don’t really like it?”

I take a turn onto Mill Creek Road. “Well, I love my team, of course. And it’s had its fun moments, but after this year, I’m ready to be done with it. Time to think about other things.”

“Like what?” she asks. “What do you want to think about?”

I can’t believe someone is actually asking me this. As if there’s something worth thinking about that isn’t football.

I just might like this girl.

“You’ll laugh,” I tell her.

“No. I promise I won’t laugh. It can’t be any stranger than birds, can it? What kind of weirdo girl thinks about birds?”

“You’re not weird.”

“Neither are you. So tell me.”

I take a deep breath. I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell this girl who I’ve known for a whopping five days. “Bridges.”

“Bridges? Like in music or the kind you cross over because there’s water?”

“Damn, I wish I was a musician, but no. The other kind.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. I don’t think about bridges much. When you need one, it’s just . . . there, you know?”

“Exactly. It’s pretty incredible when you think about it. How could we get anywhere without them? But even more than that, there are some awesome bridges around the world. Like, there’s this one in Switzerland that was built in 1333, and inside, it has paintings from the seventeenth century.”

“Inside?”

“Yeah. It’s the oldest wooden covered bridge in Europe.”

“Wow. I’ve actually never seen a wooden covered bridge. Do they even exist here in the US anymore?”

I look at her. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“If you want, we can go see one right now. Unless you’re anxious to get to the party.”

“I’m not anxious at all.”

“Okay, then. I can’t believe I get to show you your first covered bridge.”

I take the back roads until we come to it. I pull onto the shoulder, about thirty feet behind the old white bridge. She opens her door and hops out of my truck.

“God. It’s so beautiful,” she calls back. I watch her as she walks up the road until she’s standing underneath the cover.

“I love how the sides are open so you can see out,” she says when I join her.

“Yeah. It’s called a Howe truss. William Howe came up with the design using diagonal beams in 1840. Because wood was less expensive, it could be used for the diagonal beams, while iron was only used for the vertical ones.”

She takes a few steps and peers out between the diagonal beams. “What river is that?”

“It’s Mill Creek, and up there a little ways” — I turn around and point — “is where Willow Springs River empties into the creek. It’s not every day you see a river emptying into a creek. Pretty cool, right?”

She looks at me. “How do you know all of this?”

“Well, it’s incredible, actually. There’s this thing called the Internet. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

She scrunches up her face and sticks her tongue out at me. It’s kind of hilarious. “Ha-ha,” she says. “Okay, so maybe a better question would be, why do you know all of this?”