The Bridge

A hopeful remission 

I stepped away from this page for longer than I intended, and tonight, I found my way back after a fellow student in my graduate thesis course suggested I write again.

I’m in the home stretch for my MFA, and fingers crossed, my diploma will be in hand come December. I look forward to walking the stage in May. I submitted a draft of my first section to my thesis adviser, and I’m happy. Of course, the story is the one I began with, a teacher working with children with special needs until finding myself on the other side of disability. It’s a hopeful story told through a lyrical lens and alternative and augmentative communication. I have a lot of typing to do! In the meantime, here’s a little snippet of my life as of late when I had the opportunity to venture into the city and do all the simple things I love to do: see a play and bump into old friends. 

The Bridge

A hopeful remission. 

We’re only as far away as we want to be

I sat in the theatre, looking at the stage. The familiar exits lead to the dressing room stairs. 

I was there once. 

The ghost of me lingers beneath the lights. I cradle my chin in my hand, tilting my head to the lights shining on the actors. I’m about twelve feet away from the spotlights. I know the actor onstage. She speaks with confidence. I knew her twenty years ago when I was there. 

A man is performing onstage. We acted together years ago when I was teetering on the bridge of existence. Was my life a dream as I slipped beneath the water, surfaced, slipped again, and emerged in a foreign terrain? 

Now he is there. I am here.  

I close my eyes for just a second and feel a buzz. A chill of recognition. The far away returning to meet me in the darkened theatre. This spotlight. Twelve feet away. Almost there. But Not quite possible. 

My footing is unsure of this place or that as I make my way to my new life, twelve miles away. The grace of an almost remission holds me in her light.