Nesting under this massive bridge in the dead of the night. I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind began to conjure random thoughts… There was nothing around me with the exception of the gorgeous night sky. Sometimes it is a big patch of quilt, with sparks of yellow dotted all across; at times the beauty gives me hope, and I tell the stars my prayers.
Sometimes.
Other times, the darkness is like a blindfold, shrouding everything within my field of vision. It makes me feel hopeless and insignificant. Tonight is one of those nights; I couldn’t see anything at all. The only signs of life are the large sewer rats pecking at my worn-out Nike shoes; they were the only lives that do not seem to mind my company, seem to enjoy hanging around me even. Whenever I move, they scurry closely at my heels.
People gawk at me but some people throw me sympathetic glances. I travel daily; I go to different places, all around San Francisco, for as long and as far as my feet can carry me each day. I look for food in garbage cans, and sometimes I’m even tempted to steal food from a bakery or a superstore - but I always dismiss the thought quickly. And every night, I find a place to sleep. This has been my life for the past five years, or at least that is how long I feel it has been.
Five years since that horrifying incident that turned my life around. I used to have a family but that was history. I’ve been to lots of places: Chinatown, the Union Square, and even the Fisherman’s Wharf. I’m always on the go, you see.
And as of now, I’m under the Golden Gate Bridge. It is merely a prestigious piece of architecture, but tonight, it is a magnificent artifact with a lonely kid and his rats living beneath it. In my head I estimate the span of time took to construct the bridge: years, perhaps even decades. The builders working through the sweltering heat under the sun and through the long, frosty winters. the amount of money invested towards purchasing, shipping and importing the hefty materials. Whose idea was this? If only I had answers… If only I were one of the workers; I would have the opportunity to fiddle with the machines, make careless mistakes once in a while, get yelled at, chat with the construction workers and make life-long friends with them. I would be able to afford paper and pencils then I can design my own bridge and make sketches of them on paper, let my employer and everyone I know how grateful to have such an important job, to feel wanted and purposeful. I would present my sketches to an adult, maybe one day they’ll build it. I’ll die when I grow old but I’m going to leave a mark on this planet. I felt my eyes light up with hope, my fingers tingle with excitement, a surge of hope mounted within me as I imagined of the infinite possibilities in life.
Then I felt a pinch on my thumb. One of the rats had made a crescent shaped wound on my skin. I sucked on the wound to stop the bleeding. Mother would have dabbed at the cut with a soft tissue, washed my wound with cold water, carefully place a bandage on top of it to ensure the wound would not be infected during its healing process. But she’s not here anymore; a fire had taken her from me five years ago.
I remember the way she pushed me out of the way to keep me safe from the crumbling roof and the raging fire. I let my thoughts wander too far again, and I realized how insignificant I am, all alone under this significant bridge. I grabbed a pebble off the ground, threw it across the lake, watching it as it skipped thrice creating small ripples on the surface, and finally disappear under the water, drowning helplessly. “Someone save that pebble!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, as if someone would come to the rescue the insignificant pebble. I continued to holler and cry for help, startling the rats. But it’s futile; no one can hear me.
Now, I’m merely an insignificant boy with a searing pain in his throat, screaming under a significant bridge.