by Jack Swenson
My wife was working in San Francisco at that time, and she took the train back and forth. I would drive her to the station in the morning, and late in the afternoon, I'd pick her up. Sometimes I'd visit a bar near the station and have a beer before her train arrived.
It was just a beer bar, and the only thing that was different about it was the Jumpers' Pool. The way that worked was you gave the bartender a buck, and he would write your name on a square on a calendar that was behind the bar. If somebody jumped off the bridge that day, you won the pot.
My wife and I were still getting along in those days. Life wasn't perfect, but it never is, is it? At least we weren't at each other's throats. That came later. We had a nice house in one of the suburbs, and for a time, our house was the place to be after hours for our circle of acquaintances. People would start to drift in on Friday afternoon. We would party until late in the evening.
Two of our regular guests were a black couple, our dentist and his wife. The dentist was a tall, handsome man. His wife was no beauty, but she was lively and intelligent. Outspoken, too.
I liked Hazel. I liked her husband, as well. I knew their daughter, too. Later the daughter married a lawyer who became a judge. I didn't like him at all. To him I was The Man. An Ofay. For one reason or another, we rubbed each other the wrong way.
Later on my wife and I got a divorce, and I moved into an apartment further down the peninsula. It was some years after that when I heard about Hazel's suicide. It was rumored that her husband, the dentist, was two-timing her, and that's the reason she killed herself. She jumped off the Golden Gate bridge. When I heard that, I immediately recalled the jumper's pool and that sleazy little bar where you could bet on life and death.
It's odd, but when I heard of Hazel's death, the first question that popped into my mind was what was she thinking? Not why did she do it, but what were her thoughts as she fell to her death? I still can't quite wrap my mind around that.
Maybe she wasn't thinking about anything. I doubt she had time. I've heard that when you fall that far, when you hit the water, you're going ninety miles an hour.
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True story.
I really liked this. Didn't have any Minnesota referecnes, but it still kept me reading. Nice.
A well written story. I really like the way it moves along, and then circles back to the pool. Good writing.
This is damn good, Jack. It evokes things like "Faces of Death" and the horrifying awful videos people (including me) have watched online, "enjoying" others' suffering.
I like how you tie back in the jumper's pool but don't reach any "closure" about any of this kind of thing. I don't think I ever will either.
This is a great piece, Jack. Enjoyed this one a lot. Great form.
I read this from beginning to end feeling a sense of enjoyment in the confidence of the voice in the writing. Very relaxed and many things said in a way which invites further reading.
This one took some work. Your generous comments made it all worth while. Thanks John, Foster, David, Sam, and Bobbi.
It took work, yes, I'm sure, because it's so clean and you got in so much in so few lines. Narrator seems balanced on a narrow rail, keeping his balance, looking back at calamaties. It's alive and in the moment. Its questions seem to me wonderfully worded.
Love the jumper's pool. What an incredible device--and used very effectively in this story.