Crossroads & Intersections #2

8" x 8" x 1.5"

Acrylic on Canvas

It’s apple blossom time in the valley and the annual festival is in full bloom. I just met a girl, briefly at one of the many colorful events. I’ve never exactly been a lady’s man and girls kinda scare me, but I’d do anything to see that girl again, well, almost anything, I think. She goes to a different school, in a different town, in a different county. The distance between our homes is seven long miles and I don’t have a car, in fact, I don’t even drive, and my bike is in less than working order. Still, the distance between her house and mine doesn’t bother me that much, it’s the tall, busy bridge that spans the big river that worries me. You see, if I were to walk those seven miles, I’d have to cross that towering, expansive bridge. This brings me to a crossroad… To see this girl, I’d have to swallow my fears. My fear of bridges and death, my fear of failure and death, and my fear of girls and death.

I once fell through an old wooden bridge my friends and I were crossing on a dare. The bridge supported a large irrigation pipe, with jagged rocks and cascading waters over 50 feet below. I barely survived the harrowing experience, dangling from the cross beams and hanging on for dear life. Luckily, my friends pulled me to safety before I fell to my death. Perhaps, I exaggerated a bit, but it did scare the dickens out of me. 

I set out on my journey, with the foolish thought of romance pushing me forward not knowing what lies ahead. Will I be able to cross that bridge that spans the big river, or will my fears let me down? Will the girl I long to see be home or will I have crossed the bridge of death for nothing. You see, she doesn’t even know I’m coming. I didn’t plan to go; I just went on a whim. And now it feels like a foolish decision that I will regret for the rest of my life, or at least until I get to that scary bridge… and turn back.

As I walk many miles toward the monstrous bridge, passing houses and crossing intersections, I wonder what she’ll say when she sees me. Will she be happy? Will she be surprised? Or will she be appalled by the very sight of me? I don’t even know if she’ll remember who I am, after all, our encounter at the festival of blossoms was so brief and long ago... well, a week anyway.

At last, I stand before the bridge that spans the big river, I find myself at a crossroad. The idea of vertigo is whirling through my head like a psychedelic kaleidoscope. Do I cross the bridge and reach the girl I long to see, or do I turn around and head home in defeat?

As I reach her house up the hill from the bridge that spans the big river, I see her standing in her front yard as if waiting for me. I think about the distressing task of crossing that bridge again. Oh, I should never have walked those seven miles, but I’m glad I did.