Travelling over bridges delights me.
It reminds me of the time when my dad would encourage me to take a coin, make a silent wish, kiss it, and throw it nice and far… so that it would reach the water.
And then, no matter how much I was dying to tell him what I asked for, he would never let tell him about it. “It’s bad luck, and your wish may not come true”, he would say.
We had just broken up, and we were in the “I’m not talking to you, yet I will stare creepily at you” zone. Coincidently, we were in the same volunteer group and were heading towards an old age home that day. Amidst the ‘ignoring’ and subtle glances, he did manage to see me struggle to get to the other side of the bus to throw my coin before the bridge ended. He extended his hand towards me and volunteered to throw the coin for me. I kissed it and passed it on to him.
This was the only time I hoped the coin didn’t make it to the waters.
But he made sure it did. He really wanted my wish to come true.
The guilt was killing me.
I’d wished for us to move on.