The Old Man's Bridge

I was honestly worried about putting anything out that I thought was good enough, but I managed to do it and I rather like it. I wrote this story based on a most amazing photo I saw, and like one thing lead to another and this cute little tale came about. I may even expand on this one as well. Anyway, enjoy.

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Theme: Free Theme Week
Title: The Old Man's Bridge
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The Old Man’s Bridge


You ever wake up to a day where the sun is shining gently into your room, keeping you toasty warm? And I don’t mean to warm. I mean warm enough, like that extra bit of comfort your blankets don’t seem to have. Warmth that wakes you like a loving parent might wake you, telling you its time to get up and start the day. You could stay in bed just a little bit longer but you know that you don’t need to. You know that the day is gonna be perfect when you roll out of your covers and put both feet firmly on the floor. Where do you go on days like that? I mean let’s pretend for a second that on this particular day you do not have anywhere important to be. You have got the whole day to yourself (and lets be real, these kinds of days have a tendency to no show up when you have to work.). I know where I go. There is this special little bit of forest that I go to on my island that I like to think no one else knows about. The only thing that could shatter that belief is a bridge in my forest, but I don’t let that stop me from believing that this spot is mine and mine alone.

I could bore you with the details of my morning after the sun stopped in and gently woke me up, but I won’t. Instead I will cut right to the chase. The sounds of gravel underfoot are quickly replaced by the soft crunching of tree leaves and loose twigs as I step into the woods that neighbor me. The sun manages to squeeze just a little bit of itself onto my chosen path, for the canopy above me is thick with the tops of mighty trees that almost seem to bend themselves over me as I walk through a wooded corridor. I have one destination in mind. The bridge. The bridge is this old stone bridge that by rights seems to have no earthly business in the middle of a forest. There is nothing around it at all to give way to what it could be or may have been for. But its there, and it’s my quiet place. The bridge sits over top of one of the most undisturbed ponds I have ever seen in my life. Its surface like a fragile glass reflects the whole forest around it and within its shadows allows you to see within it to the bottom of the pond. You ever read the Lord of the Rings? There is a marsh that Frodo, Samwise, and Gollum find themselves trying to move through, a marsh that was once the home to a horrific battle. Frodo can see bodies, preserved bodies, in the waters of the marsh and Gollum mentions that he had tried to reach them once, but they were to far down to reach. I often wonder if this pond is similar. If the image of the bottom just appears close, but in face if one were to try and reach it, they could swim for all eternity and never set foot on its bottom. I suppose I could check, but why? I am afraid I would ruin the magic I put into that pond and managed to walk across it. So I let it rest, allowing only frogs to splash into it without disturbing its glassy surface. I could spend hours upon hours at this bridge, allowing my imagination to get away from me. Today was different, however. Today there was an older man at the bridge, sitting on a bench; a bench that I swear to you now, I never thought was there. He looked like a vagabond, a transient if you will, with a tattered top hat wit a belt tied around it. A scraggly beard, salt and pepper in color, seemed to hide any evidence to a neck, or an upper lip for that matter. The old man had a jacket draped over the bench and was wearing a light brown sweater with a checkered blue dress shirt underneath of it, its color trying but failing to make itself known within the tangles of that mighty beard. His dark brown slacks were home to an assortment of pocket watches and a tattered old brief case, which at the moment seemed to be the resting place for the bottom end of a newspaper.
“Beautiful day isn’t it sir?”
“No arguing with that, one of the better days I’d say lad.” The man’s accent was Irish, odd for these parts.
“Is that your bench? I don’t ever remember seeing it before.”
“Well if it weren’t mine, whose would it be? Especially since you ain’t seen it before, musta come with me then.”
The old man had this intense kindness in his eyes, they seemed to smile right along with him when he spoke and laughed. He was a very approachable old man to be true. So I sat down beside him, and let him to his paper before curiosity finally took control of me.
“So…you dragged this bench all the way out here?”
“Well not all the way boy. Its not a long pull from home.”
“Where’s home?”
The old man began to rustle through his newspaper until he finally seemed to land on something. He began shaking his head and talking to himself.
“Sir? Did you hear me?”
“You know, these clowns who try to predict your horoscope will never get it right. Not once. For instance today, I don’t see a single bloody thing about me running in to a rather inquisitive young lad.” He gave a smile and a wink as he spoke to me.
I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed; I suppose I had been a little bothersome with all the questions. All worry left though when the old man clapped me on the shoulder with a laugh and answered my question anyway.
“I live in there!”
I looked over to where he was pointing, and his finger landed right on the bridge. I had to laugh, and he started to laugh along side with me.
“That’s a bridge.” I rather humorously pointed out to him.
“Your right,” he continued to laugh. “And that’s where I live.”
“I suppose you have a little bed and bedside table on one side of the bridge, and a little kitchenette on the other side?”
“Don’t be daft boy. Trolls live under bridges, or at least Mother Goose would have you believe that, I said I live in the bridge.”
I am sad to say that the old man was completely off his rocker, or at leas he had to be. There was just no way anyone in there right mind would seriously argue as to their living situation being inside a bridge. That look in his eye though never left, and he was still sitting there smiling at me, challenging me even. I knew what was going to come next.
“I can prove it to you.”
The last thing I wanted was to have this old vagrant try and pull me under the bridge, where he would no doubt do me in. But this was not one of those days now was it? If we were all paying attention we would remember that this is in fact, a perfect day. And perfect days seem to have a sense of wonderment about them that pops up when we least expect it to. The old man folded up his news paper and placed it into his briefcase. And in an instant, and I still can’t really be sure if what I saw was what I saw, the old man folded up his bench and put that into his briefcase as well. At least I am sure this is what I think I saw, or rather, the bench was no longer there, so where could it go? The only reasonable explanation was that it went into the briefcase, which the old man with the raggedy top hat was now clipping shut and allowing drooping from one hand. He walked, ever so calmly to the bridge and stood there looking puzzled for a moment, his hand holding his chin up as he took on an expression of deep though. I suppose I had held my tongue long enough, because I blurted out rather curtly, “I suppose you don’t remember where the door is.”
“Close enough,” he said without a hiccup. “Blasted knob is always changing its spot, took me almost three days last time to find it.”
“Well suppose you ask it politely to show up, I haven’t really got three days to wait for you to find it.”
“You know…I never really thought to ask it to show up. Perhaps I’ll give that a try.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem, alright you little rascal, I’ve about had enough of this game, this young lad here seems to be in a rather hurry and I think it best we prove our point to him before he need be on his way,”
You would have had to be rather quick to catch it, I never did (it was to become something that would be one of my largest hassles in the future.). But there was a slightly off colored stone, almost brass color in shape, and yet still a stone, that showed up at the old man’s foot. He laughed with triumph and glee. Not before, of course, turning the stone like anyone might turn a door knob and having the ground at his feet turn into a cobble stone set of stairs. He started to walk down them.
“Come along boy, we mustn’t waist time.”
I will never tell you why I did what I did, but I followed him down into the door at the bottom of the stairs, and sure enough, there was indeed a home. And it was as cozy looking as any woodland cottage. There were even several windows letting sun in.
“Where did those windows come from? They weren’t outside!”
“My boy, they would have had to of been from outside, otherwise, where would the sun come from?”
I was getting a little annoyed now.
“No, I have been to this bridge as many times as I care to remember and I do not remember ever seeing any windows!”
“Perhaps you missed them then, after all, you couldn’t find the door either could you?”
There were windows where I could have sworn there were no windows and walls where there should not have been walls, and yet the view outside was unchanging. There was even a window on a wall that overlooked the pond! And if that didn’t baffle you, the patio that was sitting on the pond itself was sure to do just that!
“Where is this place?”
“The best I can explain boy,” the old man laughed. “Is telling you that it exists in the same place your wallet goes when you’ve lost it, or your keys, or even your television remote.”
“And where is that?”
“Well if I knew that I doubt I would be losing my own items!”
The whole room began to shake, decorative plates on the wall were clanging, the cupboards were making a racket and the old man sprang to his feet to keep as many things as he could from falling over. I, however, could only roll my eyes as the event brought forth yet another question. And I think the old man knew it.
“That was the woodland train.” By this point, I wasn’t even going to put up a fuss about there being no train in these woods. “Near as I can figure it, that thing rolls over here about the same time everyday. Not quite sure where it goes. Been meanin to get on that thing one day, take a bit of a vacation. Me ruddy daughters rarely come in for a visit anymore. Maybe I should hop aboard that train. Take a trip around wherever it goes. Perhaps I will sleep on the idea a little bit more.”
I had slowly made my way back towards the door, having enough weirdness for one day.
“Oh my dear boy, I am sorry I am sorry. You must be in a rush to be on your way. I tell you what, take a cookie from the jar on the counter there for your walk back, and perhaps the next chance you get you can come and visit me again.”
I took a bite from my cookie and nodded a smile at him, a genuine smile at that. There was something rather nice about being in this place; I rather enjoyed all the little surprises it added. I waved my goodbye to the old man, I never did get his name though, I suppose there was always next time. And I made my way up the stairs.

All in all, it was indeed a perfect day. It’s unfortunately a story I would never be able to tell anyone, after all, who would believe something like this. But I suppose I could settle with someone thinking me creating a tall tale. I made my way through the forest once more, the leaves softly crunching and the sound of a chocolate chip cookie crunching along with them. As the trees lightened, the sun shone through them a little bit more, curious to know as to what happened in the woods today. Gently wrapping me up in subtle warmth, it walked with me the rest of the way home.