The Bridge Parties

The snow had only just started to fall, but it had been cold for weeks. It was a preview of what was to come. At least it gave everyone a chance to prepare. To stock up on fire wood and heaters, gloves, hats and scarves, thermals. The snow sales were a bust. You were lucky to score a pair of pants in the correct size. Some people lined up or sent generous friends to buy up everything and divvy it up later. Some stuff sold out fast and later showed up on the classified pages online. Kym had her stuff from the snow trip three years ago. It was daggy and second hand, but it still fit and she wasn’t prepared to replace it yet. Had it not been for Naya’s premature exit, she would have been rugged up on the couch in front of the tele with the air con blaring drinking port. Not at the bridge crying her heart out, icy tears and snot burning her face.

Naya was a skinny, shy little girl, standing by herself, waiting excruciatingly for the classroom door to finally open on her first day at her new school in 4^th grade, when Kym spotted her and thinking her completely pathetic, approached her, lest her mother’s voice in her head suffocated her with guilt. Naya barely spoke above a whisper she was so crippled with insecurity and Kym being the boisterous, jolly soul she was, easily diverted all the attention on to herself. They became immediate friends. Naya would have spent the rest of her school days alone if Kym hadn’t befriended her. Kym was too much to bear for anyone else. Their connection was the perfect symmetry and it was to last a lifetime, one that ended prematurely for Naya. Her illness finally claimed her a fortnight short of her 37^th birthday and although Kym had months of cold preparation, she still wasn’t prepared for the winter that was about to descend on her.

After high school they went their separate ways. Naya was always going places academically and ended up doing a college exchange in the US for a few years, while Kym stayed behind and worked in her mother’s shop, making a measly income and waiting around for whoever was going to father her children. That’s the way she saw it. She wasn’t a romantic. She didn’t dream about the cliché of a fairytale romance. She just wanted someone who had the guts to put up with her and was at least willing to stick around. All she wanted was babies. She didn’t really think about the details. She never left her home suburb. She lived with her mother until Mr Bland came along; who by the way was a sweet, strong and reliable man that loved her deeply. She was lucky in that regard. They bought a humble home and raised three kids while they were still young, while Naya globe trotted her way around the world earning diplomas and degrees effortlessly. When she finally did come home they were both in their late twenties and while not much had changed in Kym’s world (except the mammoth changes that no one gives enough credit to becoming a mother brings), Naya was a completely different person; worldly and sophisticated; educated, experienced. She wanted a baby, but wasn’t really prepared to drop everything and settle down to have a traditional family, especially if it meant giving up her independence and her three figured salary. She was working as a lecturer at the university she’d attended; she was writing and teaching and loving life. She was able to buy real estate in the city and while Kym was happy to have stayed put, Naya saw that world as her past. Somehow their identities had drifted apart, but the love they had for each other, their friendship, their connection still mirrored those two 4^th grade girls in the playground; giggling at nothing, looking up dirty words in the dictionary in the library, making fun of the bullies and swapping their lunch. The only problem they had now was geography.

Neither one of them enjoyed going to where the other one lived. Kym hated the city. She drove only locally and wasn’t confident on public transport. The kids were all at school now and she spent her days looking after the family home and helping her elderly mother manage her shop. She liked her closed little world and didn’t venture far from her comfort zone very often. Naya dreaded returning home. It reminded her of the intimidated, miserable little girl she had been and the trapped teenager she shed when she escaped to university abroad. She never learned to drive. She didn’t have to. She was a born traveller and always found a way to get to where she wanted to go. She loved public transport – she’d sampled systems all over the world. She cycled or walked where she could, but all three of those options were useless to get her to the suburbs. Public transport was a possibility, but it would take her literally hours and many connecting trips and it would just be easier to pay for a taxi.

The city and the suburbs were separated by a lake. Both could relatively easily get to the lake; Kym could drive, Naya could cycle. It was crossing that lake that was the obstacle. A ferry operated twice a day – early in the morning and late in the evening. It mainly catered for the workers commuting to the city. A huge bridge was constructed to cross the lake. It was easy enough to travel across, but it was long and traffic was a nightmare. Kym was terrified to drive across it and do battle with the trucks and taxis, Naya didn’t dare cycle it; she swore she’d pass out from the fumes. There was a third arterial road that lead to the coast in the middle of the bridge, almost exactly half way and just before the exit a rest stop and pier were established to give people the opportunity to split their journey in half. 

Once, Kym was driving the kids to a show in the city. The first and only time she dared and only because her mother bought the tickets and was traveling with her. The entire trip was an ordeal and her eldest James then 4, decided he needed to use the bathroom as soon as they’d got on the bridge. It’s 25 minutes on a good run to the rest stop and it’s not the most accommodating place. The rest stop isn’t a family picnic spot; it was intended for truck drivers and cabbies. The toilet is over a giant hole in the ground; festering, stinking – especially in the summer, surrounded by a corrugated iron shed. The pier is often frequented by lone fishermen and the whole place is just unseemly, not welcoming at all to a young mum with kids. People literally stopped there if they were desperate. Other than the toilet and the pier there was nothing else there. No tables or benches, no bins, no running water, barely a gravel road to park the car. Kym’s only choice that day was to utilise those facilities or risk an accident in the car. 

James whined until they stopped, the other two children bickered. Kym and her mother ranted at each other and fretted about finding parking in town and missing the start of the show. When they got there Kym whisked James out of the car, ordered him to hold his breath the moment the stench hit her and had his pants unbuttoned before he knew what was happening. At the exact moment that they opened the corrugated door to leave, practically gasping for air, Kym swung the door open knocking someone on the other side flat. It was Naya. The shock to both of them rendered them mute and frozen momentarily before they both erupted in astounded laughter. James ran to his grandmother in the car; proclaiming loudly to his siblings how there was a giant pit of stinking shit right under the toilet. 

Naya had been cycling over the bridge to the coast and planned to take the exit, but realised mid ride that she’d got her period and needed to stop desperately. It didn’t matter how sophisticated and worldly she thought she was, if she forgot to check her calendar or the bloody friend showed up unexpectedly, she was just like every other woman, she thought to herself. 

They chatted briefly, the years of absence melting away with each anecdote. Kym had to cut it short, her mother and the kids were agitating to get going to the show. Naya vowed to stay in touch. It was easier now with social media, but neither could deny how thrilling it was to catch up with each other in the flesh. They read each other’s minds. This was it. This was going to be their place. They looked about them and silently acknowledged how deserted the place was; how possible it was that they would be taking a risk and that if they were ever confronted with foul play they may be putting themselves in danger, but they both silently shrugged and dismissed that possibility. Why should they compromise? Why should they be afraid? In all the years they met at the bridge, they never once felt that they were in harm’s way. They’d seen all sorts of burly, scary looking blokes there, but most just wanted to take a piss or a nap and left them alone. Kym secretly carried a pocket size can of hair spray just in case; Naya carried a knife. Neither thought that it would ever save their lives if they were really threatened, but it was something. They always made sure someone knew where they were going and were contactable at all times. Kym’s husband worried himself sick every time she went, but that didn’t stop her. Both refused to live in fear; to change their behaviour because of some stupid societal script that told them they were to blame for potential violence against them.

They met at the bridge for the next few years. At any opportunity, whenever they could co ordinate their lives they dedicated a day to spend together alone. The meetings evolved into elaborate picnics, with gourmet food offerings, champagne and the odd joint for old time’s sake. They found a fairly secluded spot under a tree closer to the pier and the water. Kym would park her car and Naya would put her bike in the boot. They took chairs, blankets and music. On warm days they swam. They told people about the spot, but it never really caught on. Over the years it became their little paradise. They celebrated birthdays together, met up on public holidays; they supported each other through life’s disappointments and reveled in their triumphs. They even rang in the new year together once; fearlessly meeting just before midnight – abandoning their families and friends, all the people in their lives to give their friendship the attention and priority it deserved. They both had separate and all consuming lives that they loved and worked hard to maintain, but the importance of their friendship was something neither one of them was willing to compromise, especially as they got older. That connection and its importance only grew.

So it was only natural that Naya told Kym about her illness at one of the bridge get togethers. It was a lazy, warm autumn Friday afternoon. Kym made her husband leave work early to do the school pick ups and organise dinner for the kids. She was going to be home late. Naya left work early and they agreed to meet around 4ish to start cocktail hour. Kym baked a lasagne and made a salad and bought a chocolate cake from the local bakery. She always volunteered to bring the bulk of the food because it was easier to transport by car. Naya always took care of the booze. They set up their stuff at the usual spot and tucked into the meal; catching up with each other’s lives while they ate and drank. They hadn’t seen each other in months. Naya had rehearsed what she was going to say a million times over, but it didn’t come out that way. She just blurted it out.

“Kym I’m dying.”

It didn’t immediately register with Kym, she initially thought Naya was metaphorically dying – to tell her some office gossip, to confide in her about a new relationship, to bitch about her colleagues. Not for a moment did she think that Naya was actually dying. But she was. She’d had the illness dormant in her body most of her life. It had taken her mother when she was a child and her grandmother before that. She’d kept an eye on it, convinced it had spared her, but it hadn’t and it had invaded her body vengefully and violently. She was stage four. She didn’t look ill. She certainly didn’t behave sick – she’d cycled from the city for heaven’s sake. Kym argued it all with her. It just wasn’t possible, the doctors were mistaken. She was having her on. It wasn’t even April, but if she thought this prank was in good taste she was bloody mistaken. It took a few hours of convincing and many questions and Kym wanting every miniscule detail in an attempt to catch her out joking, lying, but it wasn’t so. Naya was dying and she didn’t have long.

The bridge parties subsided after that. They had a couple more get togethers, literally a handful, but Naya’s treatment and rapid deterioration put an end to them. They say, about lots of things, you just never know when the last time will be. The last time was 3 weeks before Naya died. She couldn’t cycle to the bridge, she had a friend drive her. He was someone she’d met abroad and she’d mentioned him to Kym a few times. They had a passionate affair in Europe and travelled together. They ended up in San Francisco for a few months, where he was from, until Naya found herself falling in love and wanting to make the relationship permanent. He was willing, but Naya knew she couldn’t live there. They talked about doing a few years living there and a few years back home for Naya, but they both knew it was never going to work. They really were in love and maintained a strong friendship, but Naya wanted more. She wanted a family, she just didn’t know how to have both that and hold onto her traveling and career. Other women did it. She knew them. She worked and travelled with them. They had babies and still lived that life, but she just never reconciled both – and in the end she got neither. Her illness took over and she had to put everything on hold for treatment. The only thing she sustained through it all was her friendships. It was just so quick. A matter of months really, from diagnosis til the end.

That day, Peter dropped her off and picked her up a few hours later. Kym and Naya didn’t say much that day. They set up their picnic and rugged up against the cold. It was the beginning of the cold snap. Kym had arrived earlier and got a fire going. She warmed up the billy and prepared the scones and cakes, busying herself to avoid thinking too much and bursting into tears. When Naya arrived she looked frail and very bald. She’d warned Kym in her email so she was prepared, but nothing was preparation enough to see her friend so ill. She avoided eye contact throughout the meal. They talked about nothing. They’d never really done that. They always delved so deeply into each conversation, exploring their deepest thoughts and feelings, but unbeknownst to them today was different. It was the last time and they talked about nothing real. They laughed a lot, they reminisced and gossiped. They talked about a pretend future neither of them truly believed would come. 

By the time Peter returned to pick Naya up and they’d cleaned up their picnic there was not much else to say. He waited patiently in the car while they sat in silence, huddled together under a blanket, watching the last of the embers die and the sun descend behind the bush. When it got dark and Peter’s head lights were the only thing illuminating them, they stood up and embraced.

“Thanks for making the effort to come Nay, go home and rest hun.”

“I’m ok. I’m so full. I’ll sleep in the car.”

Kym cried all the way home.

That was the last time. The last time she saw her alive. The last time they met at the bridge. The last embrace. The last laugh. They stayed in touch superficially online. Naya went in for her last surgery two weeks later and never came home. Kym and her family went to the funeral. There were a few familiar faces from school and the old days. She did what she could to help out at the wake, which had been organised by Naya’s colleagues and friends. Her dad was old and just sat there looking glum most of the day.

The very next day Kym was up at the crack of dawn. The kids were still in bed and her husband knew exactly where she was going. He reassured her that he’d sort out the kids and to take all the time she needed. She didn’t have the strength or foresight to prepare food, she simply bought some fish and chips and a coffee at the last kiosk before the bridge. She lit a fire and threw the blanket around herself and cried. She took in every inch of her surroundings. After today she never wanted to return to this place because it was sacred and it was empty without Naya. She never did.