The bridge by her apartment has been under construction for months. The orange cones are a distraction and she has a healthy fear of hitting the temporary Jersey barrier. Driving in a straight line has never been among her strengths.
Earlier this week, the safety fences had been removed in preparation for what now appears to be the instillation of more safety fences.
“They took down the fences. You could jump if you wanted,” she had remarked to her passenger. “Well, not you. But you know... anyone could.”
'I could,' is what she had thought, but she chose to keep that to herself. As the week wore on her fantasies became more complex.
At first, she just pictured herself pulling her car to the side of the highway, as if it had simply broken down, and calmly walking to the edge and stepping up and off and then slipping through the water soundlessly. She gave little thought to how cold the water might be.
By the end of the week, she had decided the best way to go was to wait until no traffic would get in her way, run from one side of the bridge to the other, and jump over the wall like a hurdle. Her landing wouldn't be pretty, but it would be pretty fantastic.
Grace, she had concluded, is a horrible way to greet death.
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