someone.â
She canât seriously expect that Iâll go with her?
The door opens to the bathroom and she slips inside. I think of her puking poem and wonder what sheâs doing in there. Do we never get to leave our pasts behind?
âGood luck,â she says when she comes out.
âYou too,â I answer.
For my third poem I do âA Bus Rolls into the Shower Stall.â The scores are good, but if Rosie has a strong finish, sheâll win easily.
When itâs Rosieâs turn, itâs obvious sheâs nervous, which isnât like her at all. Her hands quiver and she licks her lips several times before taking the microphone.
The day I jumped from the
Wishbone Bridge
the sky was clear as a window to
heavenâ¦
Ossie reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I cannot tear my eyes from Rosieâs face as she recites her poem. She is both radiant and terrified. Instead of her usual rapid-fire style, she delivers the opening lines in a slow, smooth roll of images. She stands on a bridge, silently apologizing to her family. She reminds herself why she is there, dizzy when she looks down at the water so far below.
Then she switches to a faster delivery and throws a string of abuse at herself, at usâ
Fat worthless slug
ugly and useless
you deserve this and only this
Then she steps over the rail. Here Rosie slows down again and describes the moment of letting go, the moment when she teeters at the edge.
Is it too late
to reach for the railing
and pull myself to safety?
Falling. Falling.
Then thereâs the terrible moment when she realizes that she has just made an awful mistake. A mistake thatâs too late to fix.
I hold my breath and wait, wait, wait for the impact. Rosie slams into the water.
The bones in my feet shatter
ribs crack
my screams drown
in the sirenâs wail.
She delivers the final lines in a sweet, tender voice.
To be alive is to live with pain
knowing this, Iâll never jump again.
When she comes back to the table I wrap her in a fierce hug. She doesnât pull away. We both burst into tears. All the hurt and grief and fury sobs out. She understands. I understand.
The organizer calls for a ten-minute break. Itâs just long enough for us to splash some cold water on our faces in the washroom.
âReady?â I ask before we head back out into the bistro.
âReady,â Rosie says.
I have never cared less about the outcome of a slam. Rosie wins, which comes as no surprise to any of us. When I congratulate her, I mean it.
Orca soundings
For more information on all the books
in the Orca Soundings series, please visit
www.orcabook.com .
Lacey Silks
Victoria Richards
Mary Balogh
L.A. Kelley
Sydney Addae
JF Holland
Pat Flynn
Margo Anne Rhea
Denise Golinowski
Grace Burrowes