Push(53)

It is that way every time. Except for last night. Last night when I said I love you, he said “I know. And we need to talk about that.” So, here we sit, on the bridge, presumably to “talk about that.”
We pass a joint between us. With each inhale, more and more mellow light shines on the pair of us, and I see more good in this world. I see David growing bigger and brighter and happier. I want to scream out that I love him, but I don’t. Instead I ask him why he always says that I shouldn’t love him.
“Because I am incapable of loving you back,” he says, “and you deserve more than that. You deserve better than me. You deserve to be happy.”
“But, David, I am happy. I’m happy whether or not you love me back. I mean, yes, it would be amazing if you loved me, but just because you don’t doesn’t mean I shouldn’t love you. And it doesn’t mean you are incapable of loving me. You are capable of love. Everyone is. Everyone deserves to love. Maybe you just need more time. Hell, maybe I’m not the one you are meant to love. Maybe there is someone else out there you are meant to love.”
He is staring at me now, holding the joint between his thumb and forefinger. He moves it up to his lips and sucks, scrunching his eyes up as if he’s thinking hard about what I just said. He holds his breath for a long time before exhaling.
“My mother always said that loving someone means that you would die for them,” he says quietly and thoughtfully. His eyes move away from mine and look out over the water. “I am too selfish for that. I don’t ever see myself feeling so much for someone that I would give my life up for them. Love is selfless, Jenny. And that is not me.” David is quiet for a long time. He passes the joint to me and puts his hands down in his lap. I inhale and then place my hand on his.
“Would you die for me, Jenny?” he asks. “Is that the kind of love you feel?”
“Yes, but that’s metaphorical. People say they would die for someone, David, but they don’t really ever expect it to happen. Just because you wouldn’t jump in front of a bus to save me doesn’t mean you don’t love me.”
David takes the joint from my hand. He inhales again, and I am pretty sure I see tears in his eyes. What is this? Is he crying? Why? Maybe he isn’t crying. Maybe it’s the wind. Or the smoke.
“But what if it weren’t? What if it weren’t hypothetical?” he says. “What if, right now, I jumped off this bridge and you could reach out and pull me back up, but it meant that you would fall instead. It meant that you would drown, and I would live. Would you do it?” I don’t know how to answer. I think about it for a long time, motioning for him to pass me the joint again. My inhale is deep and wide. It feels bottomless.
“It is metaphorical, David. People don’t do that kind of stuff. People don’t throw themselves off a bridge to test someone’s love for them. They don’t ask for the sacrifice. It is made for them voluntarily, Out of love. Not to prove something.”
David stands up, holding on to the bridge truss. He leans forward and looks over the edge.
“What are you doing?” I ask him. “David, cut it out. Sit down. Let’s talk about something else. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“But it does,” he says. “It does matter.” Now he is climbing to the truss above us. I stand up, too, trying to figure out what he is doing. Once he is balanced on the upper truss, he bends down and grabs my hand, pulling me up next to him. We are standing here together, and he is holding my hand.
“Don’t you see, Jenny? It does matter. It matters because I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that you would sacrifice yourself so that I would live. I don’t believe that you love me that much. But I want to find out. I want to know if it is real. I want to know if you really do love me like you say you do.” We are both looking out over the water, and I’m starting to get a little paranoid that David might try to jump or something. That he might actually want me to prove that I will die so that he can live. For a second, I wonder if the weed we’ve been smoking is bad. If it is, three dozen of my buyers are probably out there perched on some other bridge, having the exact same f*cked-up conversation. But before I can think too much about it, David extends his leg out in front of him. He balances on his other leg, still holding my hand. His body wavers back and forth, trying to remain steady. It isn’t like him to take that kind of a chance.
“David. Stop it!” I say. “Stop it right now. This is stupid.” And it is. I don’t know what else to say to make him stop.
He puts his leg back down and looks at me. His face suddenly seems electrified, power-soaked. He says softly, “I will believe that you love me if you let me do this.”
“Let you do what?” My head is spinning. I am so confused.
“If you let me watch you fall. Because if you don’t jump, then I will.”
What? What the hell does that mean? And then it strikes me. He wants me to choose his life over mine. In his mind, that is how I am going to show him that I love him. That is how I am going to prove that I feel that kind of love. The kind his mother told him about. The kind that you would die for.
“I don’t know how to say this any more clearly. When someone says they would die for you, it is metaphorical, David. It isn’t real,” I say again. I am beginning to wish there was a shrink up here with us.
“Jump,” he says, “or I will.” A long moment of silence passes between us, and he flicks the stub of the joint off the bridge.