The Scary Bridge
The Bridge[1]
@shantellewrites June 28th, 2025, 9:21PM This is the scariest bridge I’ve ever crossed in my life, so I knew I’d write about it one day–while I was still on it.
Before I pulled off, I selected the blue map route furthest to the right with the shortest time. Now I know, if you don’t see highway route icons, and just a blob of green, you won’t be driving anywhere near civilization. I took twists and turns onto dirt roads and was tempted to push the gas to 100, to speed by the endless corn fields and farmhouses. As I twisted and turned down roads with no streetlamps, the sky seemed to turn black in an instant. There was no one really driving on these back roads late at night, except for what I assumed to be the occasional local.
I found comfort driving behind someone who knew the way, focusing on their headlights instead of the tall menacing trees and darkness that surrounded me. Not looking up, I followed the lights about 2 cars ahead of me onto a narrow road. There’s hardly room for cars driving in opposite directions to share, what I come to realize, is a 2-lane bridge. There are no tall steel walls like a New York City Bridge. It’s more like Florida, where the road meets the water. And I can tell there’s water on both sides of me now. Black vast nothingness stretched out into the night, and a silhouette of mountains and trees in the distance where it ends. It literally feels like I could easily fall in on either side. I speed up to keep up with the lead car, trying to shut out my peripheral vision and focus only on the lights. As an athlete, whether goaltending in soccer, swinging the bat in softball, or rebounding a basketball, the key is to focus on nothing but the ball. I was on speaker phone with my daughter at the time, but when the phone fell, I gripped the steering wheel tighter and screamed as I drove the 2 or three miles all the way across. When the phone dropped, she was silent, afraid that I didn’t make it and too afraid to ask and find out.
I started congratulating myself right before the car ahead drove onto another one. “I can’t do this!”, I screamed to my daughter. “I can’t.” There was this small dirt area right before the next bridge where I could make a 3-point turn and I started to, but then I realized I was turning back to go back onto the bridge I just crossed, alone, with no leading lights. The only way was forward. I tried to catch up to the lead car, but she was way ahead now. I had to cross it alone. This bridge was much longer and darker. I prayed and kept the steering wheel steady till I reached the end. Then I breathed. I checked the map, and I saw that I’d crossed over a big blue blob in green. There was more blue as I scrolled, so I looked for a place to pull over for the night. I’m a black woman in the deep country, so I had to scan for confederate flags. I found a big empty space with a tall American flag (which might mean the same thing these days) and pulled over on my left. I sat in the car on black-alert. I read Bible verses to strengthen me and looked at the massive menacing house in the hills across the street. It towered over me, and I scanned the windows to make sure no one seemed to care that I was there. I got out to pee behind my car door just once.
In the morning, I woke to bright monster truck lights shining down on me asleep in the car. A big white country man, who looked exactly like what I was trying to avoid, got out of the truck and started to approach my car. I quickly adjusted my clothes and jumped out of my car too. I told him in my best damsel-in-distress voice that I had gotten so scared crossing the bridges at night that I pulled over to sleep and drive out in the morning. He laughed knowingly and said a lot of non-locals feel that way and he understood. I told him I was leaving and pulled off. I didn’t have to cross anymore bridges. The houses behind the open space I pulled into were on the water and the coast would continue to stay way over to the side as I continued the drive down the mountain. And I knew the lesson immediately: To get to the other side, even when scared, you have to keep driving forward.
Psalm 23 | A psalm of David.
1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 He refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
They comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and mercy will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
[1] My mom has become one of my favorite writers, and I’ve read "The Greats". The first short story I remember her writing–and that truly entertained me– was called The Curve. It was set on a school bus as it turned on a famous highway junction in our homecity, Bridgeport, CT. Bullied as an immigrant child from Jamaica, she learned to fight back. The girl says, “What’s that smell?”, and my mom retorts, “It must be your upper lip!”. Jamaicans are witty like that. As the bus turns the long curve to get onto Route 8, the fight is on. I hope this piece turns out well cuz I’m dedicating it to her.
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