The Hennepin Avenue bridge curves and peaks in the middle like the brim of a baseball hat, maybe all suspension bridges do that, I don’t know. This young lady had picked the absolute pinnacle of the bridge. When I approached, slowly, I could see she was standing on the outer edge several feet from the railing. It reminded me of the movie Staying Alive. She’d found a place that was safe, too far from anyone’s reach.
“Hello,” I stated. I remained calm spoke quietly. She stood facing the Mississippi river below making no attempt to communicate with me. She didn’t respond but her body language shifted - aware I was there. Her shoes were stark white like nursing shoes with no distinct pattern but very comfortable and soft. She wore bleached blue jeans too short for her legs and a white puffy coat. She had black hair cut at her shoulders and her skin seemed dark but I really couldn’t see her face.
She was whimpering with occasional moans. Her shoes were halfway over the edge barely hanging on. I felt that she was going to leap at any minute. I focused on the water below. The water stared back up providing no solace, it spoke to me and said it couldn’t intervene. It was neutral, dark, and scary. I realized the leap wasn’t far enough to take her life. It wasn’t a question, it was a certainty, and in that instant I knew I was going in after her.
Saint Anthony falls was no more than a quarter mile down the river. Nicollet Island split the river with Saint Anthony Falls toward the East shore and the main body of the river toward downtown. The city created an artificial falls to direct flow on the West side. She chose a location not high enough for the fall to kill her, but the current would pull her down and drag her over the man-made falls. Unless she was an amazing swimmer it didn’t look good. I calculated the distance between where we were standing and the Western shore; it would be difficult but a ladder leading up out of the water, about 300 feet away, was the plan that flashed in my mind.
I was not going to watch her die.
“Can I talk with you?” I asked. She didn’t say no, so I took it as a yes. I didn’t analyze, formulate, categorize, or quantify my words. I just talked and hoped she would listen rather than jump. I was convinced she was going to leap at any instant.
“I can’t imagine what put you on this bridge tonight,” she didn’t respond, just whimpered, “what’s your name?”
She waved her left hand up in the air and for a moment I thought this was it. And then I could see in her palm was an ID, it was the only thing she carried. She swung her arm and threw it straight into the air. It flipped and turned like a playing card. It bounced off of the railing barely missing the gap to the river below. I stared at it resting along the concrete about fifteen feet from where I was standing. I couldn’t just go, I was tethered to her, I was connected, if I went to get it, that could be the moment she chose to end it.
“Don’t go anywhere? Okay? I’m going to get your ID,” She didn’t say okay. I sprinted to the card and picked it up and ran back as fast as possible; my chest tightened as the space between us increased. She was still there when I got back.
I was at stake for her, there was no question, we were in it together now. I read the ID.
“Candice, I will not leave you!”
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