There is a place where a bridge in the beach town crosses the main road to our town. The road is four lanes wide. The bridge is only two lanes wide but it has nice wide sidewalks on each side. I like to walk to the center of the bridge on the sidewalk and watch the cars on the highway come and go. Ricky and I stand and watch. There are always plenty of cars.
“If the people going that way could do the things the people going the other way want to do the people going that way could stay where they were and the other people could stay where they were,” I think about this a lot. Ricky just looks at me and says nothing. “You know why I like to come up here?” I ask Ricky, I’ve decided he should know just in case I need help.
“Well, I read this story once about this kid,” I pause and make sure Ricky is listening. “A truck got stuck because it was too tall for a bridge. It got jammed real tight.”
“Did the driver die?” Ricky asks with his eyes real wide.
“I don’t know,” I had never thought about the poor truck driver before. “I don’t think so.”
“Trucks do about sixty miles an hour through here, “ Ricky looks at me to see if I understand. “The truck would come to a complete stop in about ten feet, sixty to zero in about ten feet!”
“I never thought of that before. The driver would shoot out the window and land about a mile up the road,” I really had never thought of that before and it kind of took the fun out of my whole idea.
Ricky waited for me to finish my story a few seconds and then asked, “so the truck got stuck?”
‘“It got stuck and no one could figure how to get it out from under the bridge. After all the engineers and adults gave up trying to figure it out this kid just walks up and says, “let some air out of the tires.” I wanted to be that kid when a truck gets stuck under this bridge but I’ve changed my mind now.”’ All I can think about is that poor truck driver flying though the air. I’m glad Ricky straightened me out but I’m pretty sure I’ll spend less time on the bridge.