ADYNATON

 A young, jolly woman jogged across the bridge. The setting sun shone brightly inthe clear sky. Hundreds of cars zoomed past her, honking at each other every few seconds. She could smell the mild stench of gasoline, a smell she had gotten used to the past month since she started jogging. She could feel the wind swoosh past her, blowing her long, radiant brown hair in her eyes. She had a bright smile on her lips. She'd never felt so happy. She would wave at passing adults and children, but there always was one person who would never wave back at her. One who would stand still by the railing of the red bridge. The name of the person was Old Man Harold. The woman didn't chose the name; other people did. Old Man Harold stood there every day, all afternoon, with the same clothes, the same smell, and the same look. That tiresome look, which had been carved into her mind like the route she took to jog. People told her that he had never been the same since the accident, but no one ever dared to tell her about it.

 

 Every day she saw him, always at the same time, and always standing in the same spot. He would always wear the same clothes: a blue coat with grey dress pants, a golfer's hat that would cover his bald head, and a pair of thick, circle shaped glasses. He looked to be in his mid seventies, with his wrinkly skin. He stood near the middle of the right side of the bridge, hanging on to a railing that had been replaced a few months back.

 

 As she approached the old man, it came to her attention that her shoe lace was untied. She calmly crouched down next to the old man, which was the closest and longest she'd ever been to the old man. She could smell the minty scent coming off the old man, which surprised her, for she thought he would smell like piss.

 

 The old man didn't notice her presence, and continued to glare at the waters below him. His wrinkly hands were gripped tightly onto the railing, with his head peeking out to see below.

 

"Long way down, ain't it?" the woman said as she tied her shoes. The old man ignored her, but let out a long, sad sigh. She stayed quiet, and went on with tying her shoes.

 

 As she finished, she stood back up, and turned away from the old man. She was about to start running again, but she stopped to get one last look at the old man before she left for home. She got a bit closer to him so she could see one side of his face. Tears were falling from his eyes and down to the waving water. His body trembled with pain, but he tried to stay strong by gripping the railing.

 

"You can let go, Harold," she told him.

 

Suddenly, Harold stopped. His tears disappeared, and his trembling faded. He looked like he realized something as he turned to her. He smiled a weak smile before turning back to the water. He got one last look and nodded to the water. He slowly let go, as if he were taking his first baby steps. The farther his hand retracted, the faster it moved away. He let out a wavering breath as he smiled brightly with his toothless mouth. He turned to the woman and nodded gratefully. She simply nodded in return, not understanding what he meant.

 

The old man turned away, and steadily walked away.

 

That was the last time the woman ever saw him on the bridge. To this day, she never knew what she did to get him to move, or what he was so sad about. But she could tell by the way he walked, that he was going to be a happy man.