Burning Bridges
Phone rings Thursday night. It's a reporter (We'll call him Ben.) from a medium-circulation paper (We'll call it the Saint Cloud Times.) who wants to know about this woman with whom I went to college.
He asks, "Did you know her?"
"Yeah," I tell him, "I know her, but I haven't seen her in years."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." He goes on to tell me her name was among the first four of victims' released after the bridge fell, he apologizes some more, and then starts asking the sort of questions that lead me to believe he's writing a profile piece.
I interrupt him. "Hold on," I say, "is she confirmed dead? Are we one hundred percent positive?"
He tells me yes and we finish up the conversation. I make like to call a mutual friend of ours and I'm half way through his number when I remember he's been dead for years. I suddenly feel like McCoy in Encounter at Farpoint. I check all the papers' websites and, sure enough, her name is one of the four released. No other information, just her name. I make a couple more calls, but can't get through to anyone due to the hour, so I hit the ATM and proceed to go get piss drunk at the corner bar.
Next day I wake up and do what you do in these situations. I find out where the funeral is and make arrangements to go. I schedule a bit of time off from work. I keep an eye on the net as more information filters out. The nature of this news is that it changes. For example, in Julia's case, her points of origin and destination seem to change throughout the day. The ages and names of her children vary from news source to news source. There's no mention of her photography (She took that picture of me.) or her time in Saint Cloud. Something's fishy about her maiden name, and since when did she enroll in beauty school? By 6pm I've successfully found a picture of the victim and it's some other Julia. Not mine. Mine is presumably alive somewhere and, also presumably, fielding calls as to the nature of her untimely death.
The reporter's number is in my call log so I shoot him a text: I don't think that's the same Julia. Are you able to verify your source? He texts me back to inform me that yes, it's the wrong girl, and that the paper found out that morning. I am left to wonder two things:
1. When you start calling strangers to tell them their friend is dead, shouldn't you start calling them back the moment you realize you're wrong?
2. If they didn't realize until the morning, does this mean they sent an edition to press what told the sad, sad story of her tragic death?
Okay, three things... 3. You know that feeling people say they get when they hear about the death of a loved one? They sort of sit around waiting to hear that it was all a mistake? Yeah, I've never gotten that, which is really too bad, as it would have made this whole thing far more poetic.
Weird.