Dark Crossing

By T.R. Healy

 

Her cappuccino was so hot Naomi couldn’t take more than a sip and decided to wait for it to cool off and slid it aside for the moment. Across the table sat Rhonda whose latte was also a little too hot to drink.

"It's still hard to believe the mayor will be retiring at the end of the summer," Naomi remarked as she watched a man whose entire scalp was covered in tattoos enter the coffee house.

"He's been in office longer than I've been alive."

She nodded. "Seven terms."

"I wonder what he's going to do after he leaves city hall."

"I have no idea."

"He probably doesn't, either."

Naomi took another sip and smiled, grateful the drink didn't burn her tongue this time. "He shouldn't be forgotten."

"He will be, eventually."

"Something should be done to keep his name with us."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Rhonda."

"I suppose a plaque with his name on it could be placed on the sidewalk outside city hall."

Naomi frowned. "There are already quite a few plaques out there and, to be honest, I don't know a single person there."

"Neither do I."

"Maybe we could name something after him."

"What?"

"I don't know but something that can't be forgotten."

Both young women worked for the city as file clerks in the Bureau of Transportation and later that afternoon brought the idea to the attention of their immediate supervisor, Mrs. Krummholz, who was a long time supporter of Mayor Earl Earles. She agreed with them that the mayor should be honored in some way after all his many years of public service.

"Let me give it some thought, ladies," she told them.

They nodded in concert.

"It should be something that the public will see, I believe, not something tucked away in a dark corner."

Again they nodded.

Two days later, Mrs. Krumholtz summoned the young women into her office and said she had come up with a way that the mayor could be honored.

"Not another sidewalk plaque, please," Naomi said at once.

Mrs. Krumholtz smiled. "No, dear, there's more than enough of them already."

"What then?" Rhonda asked.

"I think a bridge might be something to consider."

The women smiled in agreement with her suggestion.

"The Earles Bridge would be something lasting ... something people wouldn't forget."

"We certainly have plenty of river bridges around here," Naomi observed.

Mrs. Krumholtz leaned back from her always cluttered desk. "Well, as you ladies no doubt are aware, the mayor can be quite rude and obnoxious on occasion and, as a result, he has made his share of enemies over the course of his long career. So I think it is very unlikely he could get enough people in city hall to support naming one of the major bridges after him."

"You really don't think so, ma'am?"

"I don't."

"So what sort of bridge are you thinking of?" Rhonda wondered.

"I had in mind a footbridge."

Naomi smiled. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all."

"That's pretty small potatoes," Rhonda declared. "I think the mayor might be insulted by having his name attached to something so minor."

"I disagree."

Naomi didn't. "It is pretty insignificant, all right."

"Toward the end of this spring a bicycle and pedestrian footbridge was opened over Wiltshire Road in east county. I am sure we could garner enough support to have it designed the Earles Bridge."

"Maybe so," Rhonda agreed, "but I don't know if it's really worth the effort. As I said, it seems pretty underwhelming."

"Years ago, shortly after the mayor became the mayor, he was fond of leading what he called 'morning constitutionals' all around the city to encourage people to get in better physical shape," she told the young women. "He is still an avid walker, especially on weekends, so I believe he would be grateful to have the footbridge named after him."

"If you say so, ma'am," Naomi said skeptically.

"I do, dear."

The dedication ceremony was held on a blustery Saturday morning with most of the people in attendance holding umbrellas in their hands. To polite applause, the mayor cut the thick red ribbon strong across the north end of the 475-foot-long tied-arch footbridge then picked up a megaphone and expressed his appreciation for what he called a "true honor."

"Do you believe him?" Naomi whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Rhonda shook her umbrella. "Not for a second."

"He can't even fake any enthusiasm and one thing he's always been good at is pretending to be sincere in whatever he says."

"He has to be somewhat embarrassed to have such a puny little thing named after him."

"I know I would be."

Nearly a month and a half after the dedication, an explosive article appeared on the front page of one of the weekly tabloids which reported that the late Big Bill Blume, the mayor who preceded Earles, had a five-month-long sexual relationship with a fourteen-year-old girl during his first term in office.

The article also reported that some of his closest associates, including Earles, were aware of the illicit affair but never reported it to anyone in law enforcement. Earles denied he knew anything about the relationship but no one believed him because he was as close as a son to Big Bill and, a week after the article appeared, he resigned in disgrace.

Naomi looked up from her cell phone just as Rhonda entered the coffee house and waved her over to her table.

"I didn't know if you were coming."

Plopping down in a chair, Rhonda sighed, "I'm sorry I was so late."

"No problem."

"You'll never guess where I was."

"Tell me."

"Earles Bridge."

"No way!"

"I swear."

"What in the world were you doing over there?"

"I was visiting my uncle and at one point he needed to walk his white lab and invited me to come along," Rhonda explained. "I thought we'd just go around the block but, instead, we walked close to a mile to the footbridge."

"Why?"

She grinned wickedly. "He told me he walks his dog there a couple of times a week and waits on the bridge until the dog does his business then he says almost proudly that he never picks up after the animal. Few people do he claims."

"Why's that?"

She shrugged. "I gather he hopes that some day the bridge will collapse from all the excrement left on it."

"One can only pray."

 

T.R. Healy from US was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. His stories have appeared in such publications as the Beloit Fiction Journal, Foliate Oak, and the Red Cedar Review.