The Bridge

            (SAM is standing on a bridge.  AMY approaches him.)

AMY:  Don’t jump.

(She startles him so much he almost jumps off the bridge he wasn’t intending to jump off.)

SAM:  What the hell is wrong with you?

AMY:  I thought you were going to—

SAM:  I’m just standing on a bridge!

AMY:  That’s weird!

SAM:  That’s not weird!  Some people stand on bridges!

AMY:  Nobody does that!

SAM:  Then what are you doing?

AMY:  In case you hadn’t noticed, everybody just abandoned all their cars on this stupid bridge so they could try running to safety before the comet comes down like there’s anywhere to go.  So my car is trapped here and because I’m not just going to leave it, I’ve been sitting in it for the past six hours listening to every podcast I ever said I was going to listen to but never thought I would.  Then I saw you and I thought—Is your car here too?

SAM:  No, I really do just like bridges.  They make me feel nice.

AMY:  They make me feel nice?  Who taught you to speak?

SAM:  Can you just walk away now?  You’re not pleasant.

AMY:  I’m sorry.  I’ve been listening to NPR for six hours.  I’m indignant and neurotic and I think I developed a speech impediment.

SAM:  Do you want to sit down?

AMY:  Where would I sit?

SAM:  Gee, I don’t know.  In one of  the many, many parked cars?

AMY:  Do you think everything’s just going to stay this way?

SAM:  What way?

AMY:  Stopped.  Like this.  Everything just—suspended?

SAM:  Does it upset you?

AMY:  I can’t move my car.

SAM:  Does it go any deeper than your car?

AMY:  I’d like to not die either.

SAM:  We’re not talking about death.  We’re talking about what comes before death.  This—this comes before death.

AMY:  Are you not…worried?

SAM:  I’m in denial.

AMY:  I didn’t know you could be aware of denial.

SAM:  Please, I practically summoned the denial.  I put it on like a hat this morning.  Oh?  We’re all going to die.  Great.  Let me just get my denial and I’ll be all set.  Then I started walking.  I walked here.  I don’t have a car.

AMY:  I’m Amy.

SAM:  I’m Sam.

AMY:  I feel like I know you.

SAM:  That’s because we’ve been talking for a few minutes before we thought to introduce ourselves.  Nobody wants to waste time with stupid stuff like introductions now that time is—running away from us.

AMY:  So you really like bridges?

SAM:  I really do.

AMY:  Do you ever think—I wonder if I could make it.  Like, if I jumped, could I survive it?  Could I beat the odds?  I mean, I wonder if anybody who killed themselves wasn’t really trying to kill themselves or even really wanted to kill themselves but really just wanted to see if they could tempt fate and cheat death and they just—lost.  You know?

SAM:  You’re very pretty.

AMY:  Are you drunk?

SAM:  I tried getting drunk, but it didn’t work.  You can’t drink away the end of the world.

AMY:  Is that why you seem sad?

SAM:  I’m sad because you seem exactly like the kind of girl I really wanted to meet sometime before I thought I had no time left to meet her.  God that doesn’t even make sense.

AMY:  Oh my God, you’re right.  It’s true.  You’re my type.  You’re totally my type and we’re meeting here in this fortuitous way, on a bridge, which is so cinematic, and it’s tragic because we’re going to die.  God, we should just jump.

SAM:  Stop talking about jumping.  Nobody’s jumping.

AMY:  And you’re practical.  You’re practical and logical and not dramatic.  You’re probably my soulmate.  This sucks.

SAM:  Maybe it’s helpful.  I mean, if I met you in any other kind of situation you might have just walked right by me.  I mean, nothing about me screams ‘special’ upon immediate inspection.

AMY:  Listen to you talk.  This is killing me.

SAM:  At least we know, right?  We know who our ‘one’ is.  You’re my one.  I love you, Amy.

AMY:  Okay, let’s not go crazy.

SAM:  I think we need to go crazy.  We could have hours left.  You want to find a minister and make this official?

AMY:  Sam—

SAM:  Or we could go sky-diving?

AMY:  Never mind.  You’re not practical or logical and you’re definitely dramatic, even though it’s sweet.  It’s sweet, but it would also, ultimately, not work for me, because I need somebody to complement me not be just like me.  Opposites attract.  I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work.

SAM:  But we’re soulmates.

AMY:  I don’t think that anymore.  I mean, I know I did, like, four seconds ago, but that was in the heat of the moment when I thought you were a lost soul and I was your salvation and then I thought I was this hyper random girl with great comic timing and you were my straight man and now you’re the wacky one and I’d have to be the Dean Martin and I’m not really feeling that.  I’m going back to my car.  You can come too if you want, but it has to be platonic.  I mean, we can make out if you want, but that’s it, nothing more, okay?

            (A beat.)

SAM:  That was the best relationship I’ve ever had.

AMY:  Me too.  And I was married once.

SAM:  You were?

AMY:  Yeah, crazy-right-out-of-high-school kind of thing.  I wasn’t pregnant.  I thought I was, but I wasn’t.  C’mon, I’ll tell you all about it in the car.

SAM:  Maybe we’ll get to know each other and fall in love again.

AMY:  Let’s not rush it, okay?  That’s the mistake we made the first time.

SAM:  You mean five minutes ago?

AMY:  God, it seems like years.  Years and years and—

            (They walk off together.)