It is one of those normal afternoons. I was walking home from the market, my bag of vegetables and other food stuffs on my right hand, when I noticed the crowd gathering at the corner by a barbershop around our area.
At first, I thought it was the usual noise that erupted from the neighborhood and how they normally like to make arguments about football, gossip about politics, or something of those sorts. But then I heard the tone and it wasn't sounding like any of these. It was different this time around.
Curiosity made me stepped closer, and made my way through the crowd. On reaching to the front, behold, it was Dennis, a boy I had known since I was little. He wasn't more than twenty now. He was standing at the edge of a narrow pedestrian bridge that crossed the river. He had a very serious look on his face, as he looked intermittently at the crowd and the river below. He was sweating profusely like he had just ran up a hill.
I could hear murmurings from the crowd like, "Is he mad? What does he think he's doing?"
"Climb down, boy!" another voice shouted from behind me.
I knew Dennis. He was always quick to laugh, surrounded by friends, the one who cracked jokes even when he didn't have a dime in his pockets. But today, none of that reflected on his face. All I could see on his face was pain.
"Dennis!" I called out with a loud voice. People turned towards me for a second, and then turned back at him. He looked at my direction. He recognized me.
"Sir, don't come closer," he shouted at me.
"Talk to me," I said. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don't need to do this."
He shook his head. "You don't understand. In short, nobody understands. I've tried. I've failed. I can't stop disappointing everyone. Maybe... maybe it's better I end it here."
The murmurings continued. Someone behind me began to mutter a prayer. Another man blaming the government, blaming poverty, blaming anything but the boy that stood at the edge of the bridge.
I took a slow step forward.
"Dennis, listen to me. You are not alone. You think you are, but look at all of us here. Look at me. I understand how you feel. I've been there too. Maybe not exactly in the position you are right now, but I do know it can crush you down if you choose to carry it all alone."
His hands were tightly gripped to the metal bar on the bridge.
"I'm tired," he said with an exhausted voice.
"I know," I said. "I know. But tiredness passes. Pain passes. Even shame passes. What doesn't pass is this—" I gestured at the people, at the children who had gathered with their mothers, at the women covering their mouths, at the men who folded their hands. "If you leave like this, you don't just end your pain. You pass it to everyone of us. To your mother. To your little sister. To me."
He closed his eyes, letting out a drop of tear.
Just then, a woman push through the crowd. It was his mother. She rushed with her arms spread apart, nearing undoing her wrapper.
"Dennis my son, don't this. Please!" she cried out to him. "If I have wronged you, forgive me. If life has wronged you, let's face it together. Don't leave me. Don't leave your sister. You're all I have."
The whole crowd was deeply moved. Some even turned away because they just couldn't watch, while some were crying. Dennis wasn't trying to look tough this time around. I could see the childlike aspect in him.
I stretched out my arm to him slowly. "Come down, bro. One step. That's all. One step."
At first, he still remained where he was. Then slowly, he lowered one foot, then the other. I caught him the moment he collapsed into me. His mother fell to her knees besides us, holding him tightly and crying.
The crowd were now relieved. Some clapped, some prayed, some just walked away. I held Dennis's shoulder as he leaned his head on my chest. He whispered, "I'm sorry."
"No," I replied. "You're alive. That's what matters right now."
We led him away. His mother on one side, me on the other. Soon, there was no one left in crowd.
That night, I sat in my room thinking about what had happened that afternoon. How Dennis stood at the edge of the bridge while his mother cried and people around where shouting up and down. Dennis's kind of story definitely wasn't the first. It told the story of so many who smiled in open but we're dieing in silence.
