7 minute read
WELL DONE! Fiction BEST FRIENDS FOREVER by Mark Braught
BEST FRIENDS FOREVER by Mark Braught
October in Georgia is the welcome reward we enjoy for surviving the unbearable heat and humidity of summer. We celebrate this annual event with the sacred southern traditions of football and festivals.
Our rural county had a number of covered bridges that were a good excuse as any to create one of those festivals. These century-old structures, off the beaten paths of progress and paved, laned roads, were evidence that connected us to a much slower time as well as both sides of the creek it spanned. It was a wonderful opportunity for family and friends to gather and people to wander out of the city limits a few days to pick-up some homemade knick-knacks and collectibles of yesteryear.
One bridge in particular captured the young imaginations of the area and loomed large in our curiosity and darkest dreams. The Concord bridge over Nickajack Creek.
Originally built in 1848 . . . was burned down by Sherman’s troops on their march to Savannah in 1864 . . . and rebuilt on the very same footings in 1872.
Every year Teri K. Holbrook, my childhood friend, and I meet on this bridge at midnight on Halloween to catch-up, eat candy and most importantly, retell the local legend that has been passed on from generation to generation, to see who would lose their courage and retreat. This is our tradition. It is my job to bring the candy bars and her duty to supply the courage. Inevitably, no matter how much she brought, there was never enough courage to help me outlast her.
This legend has it that at some time, long ago, there was an asylum, a place for unwanted children, now long gone, somewhere in the woods around Nickajack Creek. The tale goes on to describe that these unfortunate children were left pretty much to themselves with little or no care, and many of them died of starvation and neglect. The institution was closed, but it is widely believed that those unfortunate lost souls as well as all the others that passed away testing this legend, coming empty-handed, reside under the bridge still looking for sweet treats to eat.
Every year, and there have been many now, I return to the stomping grounds of my childhood to visit family, see how the town has not really changed all that much and most importantly, see Teri, my best friend again. How is she? Has she changed any? I remember her as that curious, courageous, force-of-nature that I looked up to and felt that if I were around her enough I might become brave too. Maybe she needed to lead someone as much as I needed to be that someone to follow. We were a duo, facing challenges and adventures, mostly of her creation, together. Climbing trees, running farther, jumping higher, and exploring the unknown nooks and crannies of our little town and the curiosities waiting there to be discovered. These are my memories of our friendship and why she is still my dearest friend. It’s why I come back here every year to see her again.
It’s getting darker, and the anxiety to get ready for our annual reunion is growing. There’s not really that much to do, but I do have to make sure I have enough Snickers bars for both of us. A full moon lights my solitary hike to the bridge along the dirt road edged by the looming white oaks and a growing fog. Only a whispering breeze and pesky insects interrupt my thoughts and the ever-tightening knot in my stomach wondering how she will surprise me this year. She seems to take way-too-much pleasure scaring the be-gezzes out of me. I know it’s coming. Don’t know when. I know it will be quick, of course it will be painless, but it has become our weird sort of “hello” and reminder to us both that I am still the Robin to her Batman. Some things can’t change.
My footsteps create an echo as I step onto the wooden floor of the enclosed bridge and move a few steps in.
I stop, look around and bark into the dark, “HELLO! . . . Teri?”
Teri was not to be seen. Venturing forward, I inspected every inch of the walls, left and right and right to left until I stood in the center of the bridge. There is no sound and my eyes have adjusted this darkness.
Inside my head I reassured myself, “Strategically, I’ve got this covered. I can see you coming from any direction and finally avoid being scared out of my wits. This is my year!”
Silence, me, and the darkness stood waiting, occasionally asking the obvious question.
“Teri?”
Eventually, too much time had passed and it had to be admitted she wasn’t coming this year.
“I hope she’s OK.” I thought, but between us I figured my friend had evolved to a point where there were other things more important and she was moving on.
Feeling a bit rejected and a little hurt; I dropped my head, slid my hands into my pockets and turned to leave. As I lifted my eyes to get a bearing on the road, “DAMN IT TERI!”
Who knows how long she had been standing there patiently, quietly behind me waiting for that inevitable moment I would turn around and jump out of my skin.
After gathering my wits and composure I offer her a reluctant concession of, “Well done”.
Standing there was Teri. Still the same with that friendly, crooked little grin and twinkling eyes that we both know is proclaiming her obvious victory.
I couldn’t stop thinking how good it is to see her again. Quickly, I produce from my pocket candy bars for each of us, and together we unwrap and nibble our treats. We just stood there looking into each other fondly, chewing away.
Finally, it couldn’t be contained any longer.
“It’s so good to see you. How have you been?” I whispered.
She lowered the chocolate from her lips and beamed, grinning from ear-to-ear and nodded happily.
With that, she began to become transparent, thinning herself to the point she became part of the night fog and she was gone.
Who knows why Teri shows up every year. The doubters in the group will believe it’s all about the candy, and she can’t resist the temptation of a free-sweet treat. I prefer to believe it is her way of letting me know she is doing well on the other side and my best friend forever.
