Deathbridge Rd.

Before I posted about the coffee, I wrote this story ... the first that i've written in a decent amount of time. here's to furthering my awakening.

Deathbridge Rd.

One would think that living on a windy stretch of asphalt named Deathbridge Rd. would lead to some excellent stories, some eerie shit. To think that would be wrong but presumptuous enough to not want to travel said road.

You live on Deathbridge Road?

Yes, yes I do.

Sounds dangerous. I’ll find someone to take you home.

There’s not even a bridge.

I’ve heard things…

There isn’t even a body of water – nothing to bridge.

Pauses…. No bridge.

When you live on Pumpkin Patch Ln. you have no problem finishing the bowl of punch, the rise krispie squares that your mom has put out.

When you call Oakmont Ave. home you don’t have to see that “I’m processing the name of your scary road” look that glasses over people when you ask them for a ride.

Growing up on ol’ Deathbridge Rd. has its frustrations. Who knew that the name of the road you live on would hinder your social development as a child. Less parties, fewer friends, more connotations that somehow lead people to believe your name might as well be Deathbridge Rd. Little Megan Deathbridge.

Maybe this is why “ironic” doesn’t jump to the forefront of your brain, rather “satisfaction” shines, lighting your insides forcing you to swallow your smile … when a chunk of the road inexplicably opened up and swallowed that school bus. Ironic satisfaction? Satisfying irony.

Tragedy. Awful. Horrific. Freak accident. Engineering blunder. God’s wrath. All words that were found in the headlines, on the ticker, out of Katie Couric’s mouth.

It was ruled a Level 7 Pebble Wash – the only one ever documented. The road had been built, by the county, in 1953 across an expanse of land to connect Highway 31 and Bartles Blvd. 3 winding miles that hosted 6 houses, 4 of which were occupied. Built like any other road, during that era it was a road not too unlike roads that are, somewhere, being built right now.

Clear some dirt, level the surface and lay some asphalt. No special instructions – the land had been assessed, surveyed and classified fit for a road. What the engineers didn’t find, what they couldn’t have found (without necessary equipment and millions to fund such a dig and geological study) was the fact that the 100 yard chunk of the road sat 300 feet atop a geological anomaly – a pit of limestone sand that over millions of years gradually ate the soil above and around it creating a pit that was deep enough to hide a 4 story building. A pit that gobbled what was left between it and the sky – Deathbridge Rd. with a lightening quick culmination of eons of isolated progress. A pit that became the final resting place of 23 children aged 7-14 and Carrie the busdriver.

The bodies were eventually recovered. The geologist did their multi-million dollar study. The cameras went away.

And Horton Bridge was built to connect the separate sides of Deathbridge Rd.