Visiting B.C (short story) 3/3 by Leanne Dyck

(In case you missed them or want to re-read them, parts one, two)

Floyd's parents were waiting for us on the other side. "Congratulations. You crossed the bridge. We didn't know if you were going to be able to make it."

"Neither did I," I told them and they laughed.

"Lyndi, come with me. I want to talk with you." Floyd sounded so serious.

So this is it. This is when he tells me that it's been fun but he's dumping me. We left his parents on the other side of that lookout tower and walked over to the other side. Well, I'm not going to cry. Oh, who am I kidding. I love him; I'm going to bawl like a baby. 

He cupped my hands in both of his. "Lyndi, we've known each other for several months now."

"But I just don't love you," I imagined him saying. My mind was so full of worry that I barely heard him.

"Things seem to be going okay," he told me.

My world began to spin. All I could do was nod. I guess he took that as I sign that I was understanding him because he continued, "I love you with my whole heart and."

What is he saying? What does he mean? I don't understand.

"I want to marry you."

He wants to... What?

"Lyndi, what I'm trying to say... What I want to ask you is, will you marry me?"

Then his words slowly started to make sense. He...wants...to...marry...me. The heavens opened, angels sang, doves flew, the entire world rejoiced--but I think that was all in my head. I wanted to dance. I wanted to jump around wildly. But then I remembered where I was and kept my feet firmly planted on that piece of lumber that was balanced on a few tiny boards a million miles in the air. The most I could do was lean over to him and give him a tight squeeze. "Can I think it over." I said because I wanted to make him laugh.

It worked. He laughed. We kissed. And then I said, "Of course, are you kidding. You don't have to ask me twice."

He dug into his jacket pocket. "You know." He pulled out a box. "This is the reason the security guards stopped me." He opened the box. "This is the reason we almost didn't make it out of the airport." A diamond caught a ray of sun.

"But we did," I said, between giggles. "And we made it across that bridge. And now... And now we're..."

We said the word together. "Engaged."

"But I only have one question," I said. "With our heads in the clouds, how are we going to be able to make it back across that bridge?"

"Together," he told me--and we did. And we still are...

Visiting B.C.(short story) 2/3 by Leanne Dyck

(Capilano Suspension Bridge)

If you missed or would like to re-read the first installment, here's the link.

Visiting B.C. 

The rain stopped, the sun shone but I was glad I hadn't packed flip-flops or shorts. There was a chill in the air. B.C. was definitely part of Canada. One of the best parts, I began to think.

Floyd's parents took pride in showing us their province. There was so much to see and do. We took a water taxi to Granville Island, a sky train to the Science World, and visited the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Floyd and I were still gawking at the scenery when his parents crossed the bridge. I followed him onto the bridge. This is such a beautiful place. I took another step. Look at that blue sky; it sure is a beautiful day. I took a few more steps. Just look at how tall those trees are. I was halfway across that bridge. Look at that river. Gulp. That raging river. The bridge started to sway more and more. I could fall. What will stop me? I wrapped my hand tighter around the rope rail. This flimsy thing? Um, no. Not. I tried to take another step, but I just couldn't. I was blocked by a clear image of my death. There I was—a leg bent unnaturally one way, an arm bent unnaturally the other, and a boulder-sized dent in my skull. Oh, why did I leave Manitoba? It's so beautiful there. And the snow is so soft. I shut my eyes really tight, but when I opened them, I was still in B.C.; I was still on that bridge.

"Hey, Lyndi, what's the matter?" I guess he'd noticed that I was no longer following him.

Oh, nothing. Just my sure death, I wanted to tell him but all I managed to say was, "I can't—"

"You can't what?"

"This bridge. I want to get off this bridge."

"Don't be silly. You  have to walk—"

"I'm not being silly. And I'm not going to take one step more."

He took a step toward me—the bridge swayed wildly with each step. 

"Don't do that," I roared.

He stopped. "Okay, but you can't stay there. Other people want to cross."

"I really don't care what—"

"Just look at me. Walk to me." He kept encouraging me with so much patience, so much love.

I love you so much, for you—only for you. I took one step and another and another. 

"That's right, very good. See, you can do this."

I didn't cross that bridge. I walked to Floyd, and together we made it safely to the other side.

A horrendous thing happened to us on the other side of that bridge? I will reveal all...

Visiting B.C. 3/3

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Visiting B.C (short story) 1/3 by Leanne Dyck

This short story was inspired by a trip I took with a boyfriend to BC. While there (here) we visited Capilano Suspension Bridge  I returned to Manitoba with a ring on my finger.

Photo:  circa 1950s my grandparents--with (possibly) your uncle photo bombing in the background and (possibly) your dog's great grandpa photo bombing in the foreground--on the Capilano Suspension Bridge. 

Visiting B.C. 1/3

The bus jerked to a stop, threw me out and I landed in a snow bank. Winter's icy fingers pinched my flesh—through, it didn't care how many, layers of clothes. My boots couldn't gain traction and so I skated from streetlight to streetlight until I slid into my apartment.

“Cold out?” my boyfriend, Floyd, greeted me with a kiss.

“Too.”

I slowly began to thaw as we watched T.V.

He waited for a commercial and then asked, “Would you like to go to--”

I would have gone anywhere with him.

“B.C.?”

I visualized green grass and heard Hawaiian music. “When?”

“You don't even have to think about it, eh?” Floyd smiled. “We'll spend Christmas with my folks.”

Days, hours, minutes dragged but finally it was time to pack.

“No, Lyndi, it'll be too cold for flip-flops and shorts. B.C. is still part of Canada. It's still winter.”

But I didn't pack my long underwear.

We left our city of snowflakes, flew over Saskatchewan and caught turbulence over Alberta. It felt like shooting rapids as one air current bounced us up and then another slammed us down. I loved every minute of it.

Side-by-side and hand-in-hand, Floyd and I walked from the corridor to the airport. The metal detector didn't kick up a fuss about me. But the same couldn't be said about Floyd. He unthreaded his belt from his pants. But the machine still wasn't pleased. He emptied his pockets--dimes, nickels, pennies. No change. The security guards surrounded him and I began to panic. How well did I know him? Was he a serial killer? Did he carry a gun? I bowed my head and offered a silent prayer for protection.

Laughter. One of the guards slapped Floyd on the back. And he was free.

"Have a romantic holiday," the guard called to me.

I thought that was a rather personal thing to call but just smiled. 

Floyd lead me away from the security area. "Where you worried?"

"Who? Me? Oh, no--not at all," I lied.

There was a woman with glasses and curly brunette hair standing beside the luggage carousel. Floyd steered us right toward her. "Hi, Mom." Floyd gave her a hug. "This is Lyndi."

"Welcome, Lyndi." She greeted me with a smile. "Have you been to B.C. before?"

"Yes, once when I was twelve, but never in the winter."

"Oh, well, you better bundle up. It's minus ten and raining."

"Mom, we just left minus thirty-five and snow. We'll be fine." Floyd's jacket remained folded over his arm.

As we walked through the parking lot, I felt a raindrop on my shoulder. What felt like five minutes later, one landed on an eyelash. 

"Liquid sunshine," Floyd said as we piled into the car. "At least I don't have to shovel it."

Visiting B.C. 2/3

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