It's a wonderful life

Snow filtered down from the black sky. Four out of the six street lamps on the bridge were broken, but under the light of the fifth a stooped figure stared down into the dark water. A rush of wind blasted along the road and wrapped the raincoat tight around the figure, staggered him. Beneath, the dark waters shifted, the swift cold currents rolling over each other like so many tonnes of muscle turning. The wind snatched up his words, turned them on themselves in brisk eddies. Nights like this made a nonesense of all things human. From a distance all that could be heard from constant repitition was this


"If only I had never been."



A second shorter figure came into the light. He stood a ways off, watching as the first figure clambered up over the safety barrier. Then he came forwards until he was close enough for his voice to carry over the wind.


"The water's awful cold this time of year, friend" The first man turned to the voice, aghast. For a second his footing faltered and he tightened his grip on the guard rail.


"Leave me be," he said, "Don't try and talk me down from here."


"I certainly don't intend to talk you down and I'm far too old for heroics. I can't stop you jumping. Only you can do that. I'm just here to help you make the right choice."


"I don't know you, friend," the first man said, "And I'm sure as hell you don't know me." The second man took a step closer and the wind seemed to die between them for a second. He held out his hand as though to shake.


"Clarence," he said, "and I'm very pleased to meet you George."

George looked at him. The harsh light of the street lamp fell across his face cutting it into haggard shards of light and dark. He looked like he'd been torn to pieces then pushed back together again, but some of the pieces were missing.


"I don't care how you know my name, or who you think you are. I'm going to do this thing. I'm going to jump."


"You're going to kill yourself, George," said Clarence, "let's not pussyfoot around on a night like this. I'm a busy man."


"Yes, I'm going to kill myself," George was searching in the shadows of Clarence's face, but beneath his brow only his nose protruded into the light. He couldn't see the expression there. "And so what if I do? This world would be a better place without me." He looked down into the blackness beneath his feet. He couldn't see anything of the world reflected there either, just the occasional sheen of light that gave the darkness depth.


"The world doesn't give two shits about you George. But you know that and you and I know that's why you're here."


"This town..." Clarence cut him short.


"Don't bullshit me George. You gave me a mouthful of that already and I can't say I liked the taste. This town..." Clarence let the word out like he was tasting it. When he did this, he tilted his head back and George got his first good look at him: nondescript, a genial old gent who wouldn't ever say no to something medicinal. "You've done a lot for this town George. I've talked to folks round here and there ain't any without a good word to say about you. But you and I know folks, George. You meet them every day in your bank. That smile they have, the one that's just for you. That's the smile the salesman wears when he sells his own grandmother the beat to hell old buick with sawdust in the gearbox. That's the smile the serpent gets when its selling apples. They say you're a fool George." George gazed at Clarence. He couldn't take his eyes off him. "What do you think George, was it worth it?"


"I don't know what you mean."


"Come on. You know exactly what I mean. Tell me George."


"I don't know."


"Tell me, or so help me I'll push you myself."


"Was what worth it? I don't understand." Clarence took a step towards George and grabbed his lapels. He shook him hard.


"You're going to kill yourself George and you don't even know why. I'm going to tell you George, before you jump." George pulled away from Clarence, hard, but his own knuckles tightened on the barrier. Clarence laughed and looked down at George, then looked down past him. "They've always got time to listen to their own story." He stepped back away from the barrier and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. A gesture of welcome as of a host bringing guests into his own warm house. But the wind went on howling, the snow went on falling.


George turned stiffly, clutching at the barrier. Now the darkness behind seemed less welcoming. It pulled at him, acting against his wishes. He swung a shaking leg over the barrier. Clarence, still half-bowed, arm out, waited.


When he was safely over the barrier, George said, "Who are you anyway?" Clarence smiled a secret smile.


"Why, I'm an angel in training George." He smiled.


"Now wait just a minute," said George, "Whaddaya mean an angel in training?"


"Oh, wings, halo, harp. That kind of thing. Only, I'm stuck half way. I gotta prove myself here on Earth before I get my wings. Now I can see by your face that you ain't the believing kind. Oh, you go to church every Sunday, but there's no real faith, so I'm going to give you a little demonstration. Look over there."


Clarence pointed upstream where the waters flowed more slowly, turned back on themselves, the deep pools where all sorts of things get caught. The water up there was frozen at this time of year and the snow over the ice glowed in the darkness. As George watched, the glow brightened. In a few seconds it was as light as day. There were children playing out on the ice, wrapped up against the cold. George could hear their voices over the water, over the wind like it was a still crisp winter day. There were children there he recognised from long ago. Some of them were dead now, others long gone.


"Say, that's me." he pointed, enthralled by the vision. Then his face fell. "I don't want to see this." He turned half away as the sled came down the hill. His brother's red coat was bright against the winter's palette of pale greys and blues.


"But you were the hero that day," said Clarence. The sled shot out across the ice between the dark coated skaters out towards where the river still flowed, just as cold as water can get. George heard the squeak of ice before it cracked the way it had in his dreams for years after. From this distance it looked as though the sled had run into a wall, but it was simply the water that stopped him, the cold slap that stopped his heart a moment later as he slid under the ice.


Young George ran out across the ice between the scattered skaters, head down and sure footed amidst the confusion. The ice shifted and tilted him towards the water. He could see his brother beneath the ice. He looked asleep then his body convulsed and belched out a shocking bubbles of air and his body slid down into the undertow.


The vision light faltered. George lurched forward across the bridge. "You can't stop there." In a second the dark was almost total after the dazzle of daylight on the snow.


"We both know what happened," said Clarence, "That was just a sop for the audience." He glanced up without squinting into the street light. "I guess I got your attention for free."


"Show me the rest," said George. He seemed torn between the vanished image of long ago and Clarence. Anger was entering the wildness.


"You think life is made up of stories with a start and an end. When did that story end, George? When you pulled Richie out? In the hospital? The second time he died, slowly and painfully? Tonight?"


"I still don't understand," said George. Clarence snorted.


"What you did that day was absolute good - selfless almost to a fault. You're a good guy George. That's your problem."


"What do you mean?"


"You never did a thing for yourself and nobody ever did a thing for you."


"Say, that's not true."


"What's your dream George?"


"To travel. I wanted to see the world."


"Wanted? What kind of a dream is that. Dreams are what we want now, not what you wanted then."


"I still want to travel. It's just.. life's complicated."


"There's always time later on. Next year's always good enough. What happened to your dreams George?"


"There was always something more important."


"There always is, but who was looking out for what you wanted George? You drowned you dreams in this city. You dreamed of getting away from this city, but it wouldn't let you."


"I loved this town."


"Then why'd you want to get a way so bad."


"I... I..."


"The world's a wonderful place George. There aren't more than ten people in this town know that and you're one of them."


"I had to stay."


"I thought this town would have been better off without you. You kept yourself here George. That's why you're here tonight. You're a hero to these people and they think you're an idiot for your troubles. You're no hero to yourself though. You know about all those struggles you lost with yourself. You've had enough of making yourself miserable, enough of the sacrifices. You can't see any way out. It's this town till you die and the sooner the better. There's no one to blame but yourself. You made these decisions George. This town can live without you just fine. But you can't live with yourself."


"I had to stay." The words spun out into the wind which swallowed them whole. The stays of the bridge whined in response. Clarence clapped him on the back.


"You've gotta take responsibility, George." He walked off a little ways into the darkness. George stood there, the wind whipped around him, the snow caught in his hair.


When Clarence was halfway down the road, he heard the church bells ringing, cut loose in the gale. A smile cracked his face. The leathery wings tore through the winter coat and carried him up on the wind.