Bridge of Sighs

Living in Sanford Hall at the University of Minnesota in the early 80's, I used to vacillate on cold winter nights between walking into the heart of campus to catch the warm shuttle across the river to West Bank, knowing I might miss one and have to sit in the bus shelter for ten minutes, and just going the other way and hoofing it across the 10th Avenue bridge, a long, high bridge which exposed me to frigid winds, high-speed traffic, and an endless view of the shiny, black Mississippi. In the fall and spring, the very same walk was a treat, allowing me indulgent views of a verdant riverbank and sparkling river as I made my way to and from classes.

Not much further down, a small railroad bridge also spanned the gap between East and West Banks. I remember debates on the safety of walking across that bridge instead; obviously there were no railings or walkways, but had anyone ever actually seen a train on it? I decided to walk across it at least once before graduating but never did.

Last week, when I heard the 35W bridge had collapsed, I quickly looked it up on the map and couldn't believe it: that was the bridge running parallel to the 10th Avenue bridge I had walked across so many times as a student. I had a flash of yearning, a homing instinct, similar, I imagined, to how New Yorkers travelling in Europe felt on 9/11. I took inventory of my friends in Minnesota, trying to think if any would normally be in that area during rush hour, and started calling.

Some of Shelly's staff used the bridge regularly. Lizanne's daughter, a sophomore at the U, had driven across it earlier that day. Both Mary and Karl drove that route regularly, and Karl, leaving work early that day, had crossed the bridge forty-five minutes before it collapsed. Karen's sister was on it twenty minutes before. Frighteningly close calls, but no tragic news.

All the old cliches come to mind: "Live each day as if it's your last," "You never know when it's your time," "Hug your children/spouse/relative and tell them you love them," "Treat everyone as if it's the last time you'll see them." Sayings that elicit eye-rolling in better times, days that are not so sobering. Sometimes, though, trite rings true.