Hello, my name is Brooklyn...

... and that's about all I've got so far. My character is constant improvisation. I have a million miles under my heels but feel no closer to the answers. How can I fix the wrong I've done? How can I forgive the wrong that has been committed against me? I close my eyes and I see the Narrows Bridge. Not the way I see it now, 5,400 ft of concrete and beams between  home and work, subtracting another mile from my gas tank, subtracting another dollar from my pocket. When I close my eyes I see the Narrows Bridge the way I saw it as a child. When daddy was driving his white Geo Metro I could imagine that all of the other cars were gone. It was just us and the bridge. I would look down through the vents, the water was green and dangerous, over the rail it was foggy; or at least that's how I remember it. It is in these memories that I embody the vision of my journey through life. Daddy's Geo Metro is gone and so is daddy. It's just me, alone, walking across the bridge, looking down through the vents. I can see clearly through every slot now, rather than just a stripe of sea-green down the middle of the road as my speed has dropped from 60 mph to walking pace. I walk so painfully slow. I walk slow enough to where I am still not to the other end of the bridge at the age now of 17. All along though, ever since I've been creating this journey of psyche, I have been able to see the end. I can see all the way across the bridge to the new beginning of highway 16 that empties off into a white vignette. The other "end" however, when I imagine it, seems more like the beginning. It just feels that way. It's as if I am caught up in the preamble of my own life. I just need to cross the bridge and  begin. So what's holding me back? Am I going to miss the asphalt beneath my toes? Am I going to miss the hue, the mist? What if I never see the fog again? Fog is my worst fear and that is one of the few things I've known my whole life. Maybe I'm afraid of letting go of what I know. Maybe I just really need daddy and his Geo Metro to get me across; to get me through this. Maybe I just really need my dad. 

I fear though, that my dad is crossing a bridge of his own. I wonder what he sees when he closes his eyes. I wonder if he goes into these psychological scenarios like I do. I wonder if maybe we're on the same bridge but we're just too blind and too stubborn to realize that the other is there...that the other is still there and always has been.