A shared past and old memories

Yesterday afternoon I decided to take an extra shift to fill in for a sick coworker this afternoon with a client I had never met before. I  was doing some housework and errands for the man and we got to talking, as is often the case. He told me all about his career working for an airline and all of the various famous people he had made contact with over the years. This in of itself was very interesting to hear about, but what really got me was the fact that he lived not far from where I grew up. We talked for some time about the area and places that are no longer there, like the old dance hall that was not far from grandparents’ home. He even knew about the street I grew up on, and the places where I used to ride my bike as a kid. He was familiar with the liquor store and convenience stores that were next to my great aunt’s house. As well as the bar that was on the corner of one of the main roads that passed the town.

But what really floored me was when the subject turned to West Virginia. He said his wife was from the center of the state, to which I replied that my husband likewise was from West Virginia. I said that we had taken a trip earlier this summer and we passed thru that area, including the newly minted New River Gorge national park. And then he mentioned it. Yes, that bridge. The New River Gorge Bridge. He said he remembered seeing the bridge being built. It seems so few have ever heard of that monstrous steel span that lurks hidden deep within the Appalachian mountains. But here was someone who was familiar with one of the state’s biggest secrets. And then he let slip his reaction to said structure. He recounted barely being able to drive across it, as he is terrified of heights. He said in order to make it across, he had to look straight ahead.

And then, came the ultimate recollection. This time, the subject of the memory he shared with me was none other than that which I will face on foot in a couple of weeks. The infamous Chesapeake Bay Bridge. The story he told was of it claiming yet another victim in its notorious grip of terror, forever consigning him to a lifetime of suffering from gephyrophobia. Which, as I’ve mentioned before, is the acute fear of crossing bridges. It was a dark night many years ago, and he and his wife were heading somewhere. He was in his early 70’s, and had been across the Bay Bridge an almost infinite number of times for his job. As he drove onto the bridge and headed for the main span, he suddenly felt a crushing, horrible sensation of pure panic and dread. His wife could not understand what came over him, and she offered to drive if he was able to stop the car. He said there was no way he was going to get out and walk around on the deck of that monster to change drivers. So on he drove on, ensnared in the darkest terror, white knuckled hands clenching the wheel. Only once he began the descent from the highest point did he feel a sense of relief coming on.