Chapter 1
I always liked the way the fog rolls over Mt. Tamalpais in the wee hours of the mornings. It reminds me of dry ice rolling off a stage, down to the floor, and onto the crowd up front watching the show. It doesn’t happen every morning, but when the fog rolls in, I like to watch. It reminds me of the first time I saw it almost thirty years ago. I was eighteen years old and a young navy sailor from Iowa. I was making out with a beautiful Swedish girl I met from The Golden Gate Bar and Grill that night down in the triangle bars area of San Francisco. We closed the bar and drove in her little truck to the Marin side of the Golden Gate. We parked at the lookout, and I was giving it my best to help her out of her clothes. She would have nothing to do with it, but I kept trying. Unfortunately, being a tall guy, maneuvering around in the cab of a tiny Toyota truck was no easy task. We were both young, a long way from home, and in love in San Francisco. We ended up getting married and then divorced a few years later. It still seems like it was just yesterday, but it is decades now. She married some Swedish guy and had kids and a wonderful life. I sighed and turned around, headed back towards the south end of the bridge.
I could never leave San Francisco. I did physically, moving back to Iowa from Sweden for college after the split-up in Stockholm. I went back to Iowa heartbroken. I moved on, went to college, met another woman, got a job, remarried, had kids, and settled down for a bit. But I never really fit back in when I came back. “Iowa is flat in more ways than one. You need a bigger fish tank to swim in.” A Swedish friend visiting once told me. He was right. Although I was happily married for about ten years, the Iowa wife who bore me two children left me. I saw my kids every other weekend for years. There was an occasional woman in my life I would fall in love with for a few weeks or months at a time, but for the next decade, I remained a bachelor. I loved several women, and my children even more, but I never felt more alive in my life than when I was in San Francisco as a young sailor. I never left that time in my life and knew I would eventually return to San Francisco somewhere down the road. The psychologists called it arrested development.
Once the kids entered college, I returned to San Francisco. There was no future for me in Iowa. I was destined for mediocrity, and I desperately needed a change. I was convinced this change had to be the venue. I always felt I had a purpose in life but never seemed to be able to figure out exactly what it was. I decided I would make my destiny in the town that I fell in love with years ago. I would become a success or end up jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge anonymously, I thought to myself. I plowed all of my time, money, and heart into building an operation. I took what money I had from the house and started up a boiler room hustling brokers and insurance guys out of my downtown apartment. I sold information you could find in a phone book and dressed it up as hot leads to brokers from big cities I found on the internet. Most of the guys had more money than brains when the market was up. When the market went down, these guys evaporated. The worst part about living 100% commission is when the bad times come. When the market crashed, I was looking at bankruptcy, eviction, and I qualified for food stamps. No one was going to hire me with a terrible credit score and no references. I did not want to go back to Iowa and surely not as a failure.
A couple of years had turned everything upside down, and it was hard to believe it was not repayment for many previous sins. I had nothing and was alone. It went from bad to worse once the accounts were frozen and I was evicted. I had no choice but to live in my Volvo and shower at the gym. I became badly depressed and had no one to share my grief with. Life had dealt me another cruel blow. Things had changed. It was not the same. Seeing couples walking around the wharf in love, the luxury cars, the beautiful boats in the marina, and the homes on the hills gave me goose bumps but not the same feeling one would describe as excitement. It was almost a magnetic pull towards the bridge.
I had nothing to offer of much substance and would hardly be noticed when I was gone. I parked the car and walked for miles through the city, past the marina, through the Presidio, and on to the bridge. I walked past the halfway point and never looked over the edge. Seeing the tourists on the bridge and the parents pushing kids in strollers forced my eyes to look at my shoes as I walked. It hurt too much to look them in the face. It was that feeling of worthlessness and having no future that drove me to jump. I couldn’t face living in my car any longer. I did have a term life insurance policy for $250,000 that was in force though. The kids would need money for college, and having a deadbeat dad was not in the plan when they were brought into the world. I was walking with my head down, crying, and then I suddenly stopped. I just said, “Fuck it.” It took me about three years, but I did make a small fortune, then lost it in a risky proposition, and now it was time to end it. I jumped over the railing and stepped out without looking down.
I knew it was a mistake immediately. I heard a woman scream as I began to fall. It felt like a roller coaster going straight down, and it kept getting faster and faster. I remember the water coming closer and closer, and I began to pray. I do not remember exactly what I prayed for other than screaming, “ I don’t want to die.” I knew from the Navy that if you ever were to abandon ship, you keep your eyes towards the horizon, and it will keep your head up and your feet down. If you look at your feet and the water below you, your head will tilt your body forward, and you will not land feet first. It must have worked because I saw Alcatraz just before I hit the water feet first. I plunged several feet below the surface. Being turned about in the water with the force strong enough to tear my clothes off. My arms and legs felt like they were ripped off my torso as I tossed and turned underwater. I cried out and opened my eyes. I saw my bubbles going up, and I started climbing up in the water. I made a few painful strokes upwards, but I knew I was never going to make it. I could see the water getting lighter. I am not sure how many strokes I made, but I don’t remember making it out of the water.
I next remember hovering above the boat about fifty feet with a view that seemed both panoramic and allowed me to zoom in without moving while I watched what happened next. An older guy in his 50s, who turned out to be a well-respected cardiologist in San Francisco, saw the whole thing while catching some sun from a deck chair on the deck of his boat. I landed about ten feet from the deck chair on the port side and just barely missed him. He looked up at the bridge above and the back down to the water. When my lifeless body made it to the surface, he jumped in and began giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in 54-degree sea water. As soon as he put his lips to mine, I went from watching from above to choking in the water. In less than one second, I knew exactly what had just happened.
The guy's wife threw a couple of life jackets over the side and managed to get a line out in the water her husband grabbed a hold of. He pulled me back to the aft of his boat, and I waited there naked in the water in pain. I tasted blood and saw blood on the guy’s face too. My nose was bleeding. It was so humiliating hanging naked and floating bleeding behind this beautiful boat. I clung to the ladder as the guy and his wife secured my life vest to the boat with a line. I lay there floating in silence looking at the sky until the Coast Guard rescue boat came alongside. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even look at the guy and say thank you for saving my life.
I was taken to San Francisco General Hospital by ambulance and examined in the emergency room. Other than bloodshot eyes and the bloody nose, I was miraculously unscathed from the fall. There was not even bruising or ligament damage. I got down from the examination table and was escorted to the psychiatric unit for about a week. I told them why I did it, and they did their best to tell me how bright my future was and all the wonderful things life had to offer. About a week later, I was discharged back on the street in some donated clothes and $20 I was given by a nurse for a dinner. It was quite a generous act by a nurse named Theresa who was often caring for me at my bedside. I knew that she knew I jumped off the bridge from her reports. As a nurse on the psychiatric unit in downtown San Francisco, I am sure she had seen her share of bizarre human oddities, but she did give me the money, and indeed, it had to be against the rules. I had literally nothing, so I agreed to accept the money.
I walked out of the hospital after about a week with nothing more than a phone number for some Catholic shelter for the homeless that was given to me and the $20 stuffed in the front pocket of some donated jeans I was given that were too short. I walked a few blocks around the hospital and then found a bench at the bus stop in front of the doors I originally walked out of. I decided to take a seat and try to figure out what to do next. I sat there a few moments collecting my thoughts when I was interrupted by the bus pulling up to the stop. I looked up as the bus had stopped directly in front of me on the bench and the doors pulled open. A burly-looking black bus driver wearing mirrored sunglasses looked at me, smiled, and said, “Get on.” I looked over each shoulder and I was the only one at the stop. I shrugged my shoulders, got up, and stepped onto the bus. I reached in my pocket for the $20 to give to the driver for change and realized there was no fare meter. “How much does it cost for the bus ride?” I asked the driver.
“Don’t worry about it. Sit in the back.” The driver said without looking at me. I looked back towards the seats and the bus was empty with the exception of one single old guy in a raincoat who appeared to be blind. He was wearing dark sunglasses with a walking cane at his side. I looked back at the driver. He paid no attention to me and pulled the bus out into traffic. I held the handrail above to steady myself and made my way to the back of the bus and into the seats across from the blind guy.“You should not have jumped from the bridge.” The blind guy said in a deep bass voice as he turned his face to me almost as if he could actually see me when he was speaking.
There was no way this guy could know about the bridge, I thought to myself.
“Excuse me, what are you talking about?” I replied.
“I might not see very well, but my vision is accurate. What you failed to do was think about everyone else. Life is not about you as much as it may seem that way. I understand you wanting to stop your suffering, but in comparison to many, this was a selfish act. This act cost you your life.” He answered directly without hesitation.
“Who are you?” I asked. I thought for a second this guy might have been a doctor or nurse from the hospital I had forgotten about who was now giving me a speech on the bus. The chance of this guy recognizing me, or saying something even if he did recognize me, was close to impossible.
“You will know more in due time. What is important for you to understand now is that you did not live from your jump. You clearly asked God for help before you hit the water, and indeed, your prayer was received. You will now begin your life as a ghost in repayment for the divine intervention.” He tilted his head and continued to stare directly at me with the dark, oversized sunglasses hiding his eyes.
“That is crazy. I don’t know how you figured out about the bridge and all, but I just spent the last week in a hospital very much alive. If I would have died, they would have put me in the morgue and not discharged me.” I replied. I have met my fair share of weirdos and lunatics in the world and had now even jumped off the Golden Gate myself, but this guy was no lunatic, and he was either telling me the truth and I was dead or I was truly losing my mind.
“Are you saying you did not ask for God’s help before you hit the water?” He leaned in and said sternly, eager for my reply.
“I am not saying that. I am saying I think I am still alive, and this is one bizarre dream.” I looked out the window of the bus, and it appeared to be normal city traffic in the streets, shops, and sidewalks. I didn’t feel like I was dreaming either.
“You are not. It may seem that way, but you are indeed deceased. Your body has been eaten by the fish, surely by now. You can, and will, verify this yourself a few times as all of us do, but what you will find out in short order is that indeed you are now a living ghost.” He said confidently and leaned back in his seat.
“And I am supposed to believe you’re a ghost too.” I asked.
“You may believe what you want to believe. You have your choices as a ghost too. If you would like to be a soldier in God’s army, you will have to earn that privilege.” He replied. “What is important for you now is that you return the favor of saving some souls, as yours was saved.”
“What are you saying? I’m an angel?” I was confused.
“Far from it. You must become a soldier in God’s army before you are even eligible to become an angel. You are merely a ghost.” He said in a militaristic tone.
“Is this some kind of sick and warped joke? I mean, I don’t even know how you know all this stuff? There is no way. I talked to several doctors and nurses for almost a week. I watched the news from the bed in my room. There is no way I am dead. I just walked down the damn street and got on this bus. I might have jumped off the bridge, but I lived.” I refused to believe it. This by far was the strangest conversation I had ever had with another person in my life. It was the confidence he had in the tone of his deep voice that was the most frightening and compelling, though. What divine entity would choose this guy as a messenger?
“It may appear that way right now, but you will discover indeed you are missing and will not be found. The official definition will potentially become missing and presumed dead. This will be important for you personally. You jumped because you felt the life insurance money meant more than your own ability to create positive outcomes. The motive was dubious to begin with; however, what you failed to take into consideration in your haste is that your body needed to be recovered to be identified. Yours was not.”
That was it. There was absolutely no way he could have known that. “I am at a loss for words. I don’t know even know what to say. How do I even know you are real?” I asked.
“You will. This is your stop.” He said as the doors in the back of the bus opened and the bus came to a stop. He turned his head forward to look towards the driver. I shook my head, stood up, and made my way to the door. I stepped down off the bus onto the curb in front of a small crowd of homeless people in front of St. Anthony’s Second Chance Mission. The bus signaled and silently moved into traffic and disappeared.
Chapter 2
The Second Chance Mission was run by a dozen volunteers from the parish and a priest named Father Callaghan. His portrait hung above the piano in the day room where the homeless milled about between meals. Father Callaghan was a stout guy in his forties with a barrel chest and a baby face. He looked both stern and graceful and ran a pretty tight ship about the shelter. This was no small accomplishment as the shelter was full of worst-case scenario drunks, junkies, washed-up gamblers, criminals, and lunatics. All of them were in desperate need of a shower, a bed, a change of clothes, medicines, lawyers, and divine intervention in some form or fashion. Father Callaghan orchestrated the daily regimen in the shelter and expected each and every one receiving the help and assistance to volunteer to the best of their ability in the shelter. The showers and bathrooms were scrubbed daily. The laundry, food service, pantry, and nurse’s station were staffed by educated and committed volunteers from the church, but the more stable residents of the shelter filled many of the positions on a rotating basis. Father Callaghan spoke to each and every individual homeless person seeking shelter when they checked in for a night. As a seminary student at St. Anthony’s, much of his community work was volunteering at the shelter. Father Callaghan had seen it all at the shelter during his ascent from seminary volunteer to the priesthood. He witnessed all of it from the police raids, to overdoses, assaults, stabbings, shootings, bankrupt businessmen, deadbeat criminals, and veterans unable to find a footing in society. He had broken up many a fight, cleaned up buckets of blood, vomit, and urine, and helped carry bodies out the back door and hoist them into ambulances on numerous occasions. He fought with insurance companies, hospital administrators, attorneys, probation officers, and police all on behalf of the people who had fallen through the cracks. It was Father Callaghan who got confessions the police could not get. It was Father Callaghan who took the confession of the mayor’s daughter, who turned up a junkie in the back of a car dumped in front of the shelter years ago. It was Father Callaghan who contacted the mayor and discreetly got his daughter into rehabilitation at a Catholic hospital out of town. She later recovered to lead a life of sobriety, and the mayor never forgot this act of kindness. It was Father Callaghan who also unofficially tipped off the police and probation officers to the violent criminals seeking shelter on the run. In turn, the police enforced the letter of the law with impunity in the immediate vicinity of the shelter around the clock.
I had been at the shelter for a couple of days, collecting my thoughts and listening to the stories surrounding me. I had yet to figure out how my life had spun out of control, landing me in this predicament, and yet still trying to decipher my interaction with the blind prophet on the bus. What I did notice is that no one seemed to remember my name, and it seemed as if they were always meeting me for the first time. Every time I saw the same staff members, I was constantly asked if I had checked in, completed indoctrination, or been assigned a work assignment for the day, even when they had checked me in themselves just minutes before. We would return to their office, they would check the logbook and the database where they had just entered my information, and nothing had been entered into either nor had been saved. My file was gone, and my dated and handwritten signature in the logbook disappeared on three different occasions. I walked out of the shelter after the third incident, furious, figuring they would not remember that either.
I clutched the $20 in the front pocket of the newer pants I managed to exchange at the shelter for the hospital loaners. I walked out the front door of the shelter and down the sidewalk past the lady who asked me for a cigarette for the twentieth time. I was trying to understand what had just occurred in the shelter. If I were dead or missing it would have to appear on the internet somewhere in a police blotter. I kept walking until I came to a mobile phone store on a corner. I asked the salesperson if I could demo a new smartphone. The guy began showing me the phone’s applications and encouraged me to play around with it while he helped another customer. I began searching the internet through the phone. There was not a peep in the Chronicle or Examiner and not even a word about me or anyone jumping off the bridge except a woman who did last month. The sales agent helped the other customer and returned to me and asked me if he could help me as if had never spoken to me before. I shook my head and walked out. I took two steps on to the side walk and made an about face. I walked back into the store and again was greeted by the same salesperson who again asked me if I he could help me as if he had never seen me before. I just shook my head.
I left the mobile phone store again and began to have the sinking feeling I indeed had become a ghost. It was becoming obvious I was leaving no trace of my own existence. People could interact with me as they would with a million other anonymous people in their lives, but I left not even the slightest impression anywhere that could be recognized. I could feel the ground below my feet. I felt the chilly wind, I tasted the food in the shelter, and felt the warm water of the shower head pouring down on me earlier in the day. I was alive, but only to me and unrecognizable to anyone? I was dumbfounded. I spent the better part of the day walking the streets back to San Francisco General Hospital. Upon my arrival, I went to the patient information and asked for myself. There was no record of me ever being at the hospital. It was impossible. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the nurse, Theresa, who gave me the $20 walking out of the gift shop talking on her phone. I walked over to her. I walked right in front of her, and she clearly saw me but gave no indication she had ever seen me in her life. I was a ghost.
I walked out of San Francisco General and back out to the bench at the bus stop and sat down again. I looked over each shoulder and there was absolutely nothing that was out of place except me. I sat there for quite some time and began wondering where I was going to go and what I was going to do. There was no bus coming. I tried to remember all the stuff the blind guy on the bus said but it all kind of blurred together. The sun would set soon and the line in front of the shelter would be around the block by dinner time. I decided to make my way back towards the shelter. I waved at people as I walked and they would look at me. I smiled at people and they smiled back. I walked in front of cars and they would slow down or stop. How could they see me and not remember me? I approached the shelter after a lengthy walk and saw a man who looked exactly like the portrait of Father Callaghan in the day room speaking with a police officer in front of the shelter. Father Callaghan turned his head towards me and smiled when he saw me approaching. He shook hands with the cop and the cop got back in his car and pulled out into traffic. He looked right at me through his window as he drove by slowly. I looked at him also and he was definitely staring at me and smiling too as he drove off. I approached Father Callaghan and he smiled. “It is nice to finally meet you. I was looking forward to our conversation.” Father Callaghan extended his large hand to me.
“It has been an interesting day.” I said as I shook his hand.
“I imagine it has. You have had a very transformational experience. Would you like to join me for dinner?” He stared deep into my eyes with his invitation and it made me even more uncomfortable than I already was.
“I am sure it would be wonderful but I doubt you will remember it.” I replied.
“I am sure I will. Follow me.” He said as he walked across the street.
There was no intersection, and yet as Father Callaghan stepped out into the busy street, the traffic came to a stop until we were on the other side of the street. This was the first time I had ever seen this in busy city traffic. Not one person honked their horn, and none of them seemed to even acknowledge us walking across the street. Father Callaghan walked in front quickly and with purpose to an Italian restaurant less than 100 yards from the shelter. I couldn’t think of a worse location for a restaurant. There was nothing special about the Renaissance-themed restaurant on the outside, or the inside, other than it was empty except for our hostess and ourselves. Father Callaghan said nothing and simply nodded. The attractive hostess led us to a large table in the back with high-backed benches. “Thank you, Mary,” Father Callaghan said to the hostess as she seated us.
There was a single candle burning and the table was set for two. The hostess returned with a loaf of warm Italian bread, an opened bottle of red wine, and two glasses. Without saying a word, she poured the wine into both glasses and left us alone. “Are you convinced now that you are no longer with the living?” Father Callaghan asked as he took a healthy swig of the wine.
“Do you know the guy on the bus?” I cut right to the chase.
“Of course. He’s got a great assignment. You would be surprised by the good deeds he has done for a long, long time.”
“If I walk out of this door and come back in, are you going to remember me?” I blurted out.
“Of course, but I am one of the few. None of the people you meet from now on will recognize you or anything you do or have done for that matter.” Father Callaghan answered.
“Are you alive or dead?” I asked in a muted voice.
“You could say I am very old. Let’s leave it at that for now. We need to talk about your assignment.”
“At the shelter? I signed up three different times, and it keeps disappearing.”
“Don’t worry about the shelter. You may come and go as you please. You will need food, a shower, clean clothes, and a place to sleep. Don’t bother being frustrated with people not remembering you. You will get used to it.” He replied as he stuffed a large piece of the crusty bread into his mouth. “This is the best bread in the entire city.”
“So what, I am now destined to roam the planet unrecognized by anyone?” I asked.
“Pretty much, unless you want to complete your assignment.” He took another swig off his wine and filled his glass again. “You should try your wine. This is some of the finest reserve Cabernet from Napa Valley.” He said as the hostess set two large plates of pasta in front of us on the table.
“Are you paying for this? I have about $20 to my name.” I said.
“You won’t have to worry about paying for anything. Money is of no importance, and you will need none to complete your assignment. You have everything you need already.”
“I literally have nothing except $20 to my name.” I reached in my pocket to make sure I still at least had that.
“Again with the money. Don’t worry about it. Have some faith.” Father Callaghan stated as he forked a huge mouthful of pasta into his mouth.
“So, what is the assignment then?” I asked as I became irritated at his nonchalance.
“I am glad you asked. You are not the only person who has jumped from that bridge. It is a problem for us, and there are some souls that are going to be up there soon enough, like you were, that we need to make sure don’t become ghosts.” He said as he wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin.
“You want me saving people that are going to jump off the bridge? Are you serious?” I was shocked.
“I am quite serious, and if you would like to control the destiny of your soul, I would recommend you take it rather seriously as well.” He chomped on another piece of bread.
“How exactly am I going to talk these people out of jumping? I am no counselor or shrink?” I asked, ignoring the food and wine.
“That will be up to you. I think if I were in your shoes and this was my assignment, I would probably jump first. It will terrify them and repel them from committing the act themselves.” He raised his eyebrows and stuffed another forkful of pasta in his mouth and sighed in delight at the flavor.
“You are kidding, right?” I was shocked.
“Do I look like I am kidding?” he replied after he swallowed.
“You want me to jump off the Golden Gate to stop other people from doing it?” I asked again to make sure there wasn’t something I missed.
“Indeed, we already have someone working the Bay Bridge.”
“You have to be joking. That was terrifying. I can’t jump off the bridge again. It killed me for heaven’s sake.” I exclaimed in my own defense.
“The people that will be out on the ledge will also be terrified. You have already made your choice, and it is impossible for you to die again. It is probably one hell of a ride, but you definitely won’t die from it again.”
“What if I get hurt or drown?”
“That is a risk you take. I would advise you to have a little faith. Again, you don’t have to do it, and you can continue on as you are for eternity.” Father Callaghan dipped a piece of bread into the sauce and then popped the soaked bread into his mouth.
“Exactly how many people am I going to have to save to get control of my own soul?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
“I am not sure. The last guy was up there for about forty years, I think.” Father Callaghan shrugged and took another swig of the wine.
“Forty years? You mean I could be eighty years old jumping off the freakin’ bridge?”
“I guess I never thought about it like that, but sure, it’s possible, I guess.”
I sat there in silence, changing my gaze from my food to Father Callaghan to the empty restaurant and back to my food. I took a huge slug off the velvety red wine, tilted my head back, and looked up at the ceiling.
“Look on the bright side,” Father Callaghan began, “you have a golden opportunity to make some significant changes in human life. If you are successful, you will find redemption. If you fail, I suspect you will be up there a long, long time.”
Chapter 3
I had been up on the bridge for weeks, walking around at various times of the day and night, and still no jumpers. Time seemed to stop as the days melted into weeks. I never saw the blind guy on the bus again and only checked in from time to time at the shelter. Father Callaghan would wink at me when he saw me, but he usually continued on with the multitude of his daily duties. Most of the time, I spent walking back and forth on the bridge looking out for someone important that looked like they were about to jump. I saw nothing but thousands of tourists, joggers, and bikers. It is hard to say how many miles I walked. In the rain, the wind, and cold, I plodded on looking for a clue as to who might be the person I was supposed to save, but I saw nothing even remotely suspicious. One very early morning, I walked along in the dark as usual, replaying all the previous episodes of my lifetime and again in my mind. The wind picked up, and the temperature dropped to the mid-fifties. The temperature never seemed to matter anymore, but I wore a thick black wool sweater I found in the laundry room at the shelter, so I looked less conspicuous. Then suddenly, up ahead on the bridge, I saw what looked like an Asian-looking guy about fifty yards away from me on the other side of the railing. I couldn’t believe it. It was an actual guy about to jump. I was alone and ran over to the guy.
“Hey, you. You speak English?” I yelled at the guy who was about four feet away from me and just out of arm’s reach.
“Leave me alone. I am going to jump.” He said, crying, trembling, and barely audible enough for me to hear him. He looked like a business guy about my age. The left hand had no wedding ring on, and the shoes were new and expensive-looking wingtips. The blue blazer was also expensive-looking, and the sleeves were stretched by his grasping just enough to reveal a nice-looking watch as well.
“Hey, no problem. Since I am the last guy you are going to speak to before you hit the water at about 75 miles per hour, I just thought I might share a little wisdom with you.” I replied.
“Leave me alone, Goddamn it.” He yelled back without looking.
“Interesting you bring up God. Do you believe in God?” I asked.
“Leave me alone, I said.” He yelled back again. He was clearly having some doubts.
“Well, I believe in God. I can’t think of any other reason I have been chosen for this assignment.” I said loud enough he could clearly hear me.
“I know what you are doing. It ain’t going to work. Leave me alone, god damn it. I am going to jump.” He yelled out without looking back.
“I don’t care if you jump, man. But there are the deck lights of a navy ship coming in to port about two minutes behind us and right underneath you. If you jumped and landed on the deck of a ship, that would be terrible for all the sailors on that ship. They would be traumatized forever by seeing you hit the deck. At least wait until it passes, will you?” I lied. He refused to look back at me or say anything. Like a stroke from the heavens, a large cargo ship headed out to sea on the other end of the bridge blasted its horn, and I saw him turn his head to look. I had a chance.
“Yeah, that is how I got this fine assignment. I jumped a little over a month ago. I was down a little farther towards the center, but I am one of the 33 people who actually lived. Ain’t that some shit?” I got him to turn around, and he looked at me from the corner of his eye. “There is about one person a month up here trying to jump. What is your name, buddy?” I asked.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” He was getting frustrated.
“Sorry, it’s my assignment. You wanna tell me what is so bad that you want to end your life?” I continued as I folded my hands over the railing. He was definitely out of reach.
“It’s over. It’s all over.” He replied and then began babbling something in a foreign language.
“You might be right. You might also be wrong. You look like a pretty decent guy. What happened? Did the wife leave you, or did you catch her in bed with another guy?” I tried stalling for time.
“Leave me alone. You have no idea what you are talking about, you crazy son of a bitch.”
“With all due respect, I don’t think you have much experience with jumping off bridges.” I answered.
“You have no idea who I am or what is going on.” He tilted his head to the side and yelled back.
“You’re right. That is why I asked your name and what is going on.” I tried to keep him talking.
“Leave me alone.” He said and removed one hand from the stanchion and held it out over the water.
“Yo, hey, you don’t want to do that. Why don’t you step back over here real slowly, and we can talk about it.” I said, but he instead removed his other hand from the stanchion and now held both hands down by his sides. I looked up in the dark sky and shook my head. I looked down over the rail, and there was no navy ship with its running lights coming. It was now or never.
“Hey, buddy. Hold on a second. Check this out. I am going to jump first, and if you still think it is a good idea, you can follow me. Here I come.” I said loud enough for him to hear me. I saw his hands reach behind his back and grasp the stanchion behind him again. He turned his head to look at me, and I slowly and reluctantly climbed over the railing myself. I was trembling but steadied myself, holding on to the railing.
He looked away, and I thought he was going to jump right there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the sirens coming over the bridge. Someone must have seen us and called it in. It sounded like he started praying or mumbling to himself, and I stepped off. I blurted out a scream of “no, no, no…” as I disappeared from the deck of the bridge. I could see the blur of lights from the city as I fell faster and faster, twisting in every direction in the black night. It was terrifying, and I was falling headfirst and still faster and faster. I hit the water and felt excruciating pain race through my entire body as I sank in the sea. I had surely died again.
I am not sure how long I was underwater, but the next thing I knew, I was floating on the surface under the bridge. I wanted to yell out in pain, but my pain was gone. I looked up and could see nothing up on the bridge, nor did I see anyone else jumping off the bridge. There was none else in the water as far as I could see.
“Ahoy, nice jump. I knew you would do it.” I turned in the water when I heard Father Callaghan’s voice over the waves. He was rowing up to me in a small rowboat. “You should try and land feet first so it doesn’t hurt so much when you hit the surface.” Father Callaghan said, chuckling.
“Are you kidding me? You were out here the whole time and didn’t do anything?”
“It’s not my assignment, it’s yours. I at least came out to give you a lift back to shore. It’s a pretty long swim.”
I laid my head back in the water and looked up at the dark sky. I couldn’t believe I just survived jumping off the Golden Gate for the second time. It was such an incredible feeling. There is nothing that ever came close to the feeling of free falling that far, knowing death is imminent. I made a few strokes towards Father Callaghan’s rowboat, and indeed, there was no pain at all. I felt more alive than I ever had before in my life.
“How do you feel?” Father Callaghan asked as he rowed right up to me.
“I honestly feel pretty good. I feel so alive.” I replied.
“You’re not. But he is.” Father Callaghan said as he looked up at the bridge. “You did a good job. You might actually have some potential. The young guy is a researcher. He wanted to jump because he didn’t get accepted to Stanford’s medical school. He is going to end up a lab technician and meet another woman in the lab who will become his wife. They will have a daughter who is going to become a pretty significant cancer researcher a few years from now. You did the right thing. Why don’t you get out of the water now it is getting cold?”
“You have to be kidding me. I just jumped off the bridge again, and you are cold?” I said as I reached my hand out of the water to grab the small ladder Father Callaghan placed over the side.
“At least I am not wet. Let’s go now. The Lord’s work is never done, son.” Father Callaghan said as he grabbed my other hand, helping me into the boat. “Are you hungry? I know this great Italian place with the best bread in the entire city.”
The End