Lisa's Fan Fiction

"THE BRIDGE" written by Lisa Ulrich

Peter watched her walk away. He smiled as he thought of the look that had lit up her face as he'd never seen it before. He could still feel her small hands in his. He could hear the rush of water as the river roared behind him. The river that was just as it was when he had arrived in the small town. Just as it had been for centuries. But, at this moment, nothing was to Peter as it had been before. He felt his past fall from beneath him. And he let it fall. Pushed it, in fact. Odd, for a priest to feel "born again", but that was just how he felt. At that moment. Then the moment passed. As Assumpta faded into the distance, the feeling of dread inside of Peter grew. He felt as if he had to have her within his sight. Where he could protect her? Perhaps, but Assumpta had always been the stronger one. Having been raised as a Catholic, he was accustomed to guilt. It was part of him. But, this was not guilt. He had no doubts about his decision, no question that this was right. Why then, did he have this odd feeling that was gnawing away at his bliss? Bliss. Had he ever felt true bliss before? His first reaction to this was that, of course he had. When he prayed, he felt a peace unlike anything else. Peace, but not bliss. This was new, he thought. Grasping for a reason behind this feeling, he rationalised that this must be a part of being truly happy and that he should rejoice at finally being able to give up "the game". As the old judge had so astutely observed (what seemed like so long ago), he never was very good at it. He wished that the judge was there right now. There to talk to and to impart his wisdom. Wisdom that came from experience and from knowing, not from seminary classes and theology. He wished that he had a friend to sort through all of this with. But, priests don't have that kind of friends. But, he thought, what am I now? Officially a priest, yes. But, in reality, he hadn't been a real priest since he had taken refuge from the rain in a blue van, in a different life. A life that had changed when the bus stopped on that road. When he chose to walk. When it started to rain. As he walked he had felt that the decision to send him to Ballykissangel had been a wise one. He believed, of course, that his involvement with Jenny had been innocent enough. He made himself believe this. Here, far away from her, he thought that he could continue to deny the truth, even to himself. The truth that he did have feelings for her. That he COULD have feelings for a woman. Here, he would be "safe". What could make him face reality in a tiny little town in Ireland? Here, he could go about his duties, say Mass, hear confessions, say the words. Here, he thought, I can focus. I can make my mother proud. I can be a priest. Then, it had started to rain. Peter blinked as the raindrops hit his eyelashes. Deep in thought, he hadn't heard the rumble of thunder. Shaking off the dark thoughts running through his mind, he again felt the happiness that his decision had brought him. He pushed aside any thoughts that clouded that happiness. He started to walk back to town. It was nearing dark now and the rain was falling steadily. He stopped on the bridge, where he had often stood deep in thought. Pulling a coin from his pocket, he threw it into the river. For luck, he told himself. In a way, the bridge was taking him from one life to another. He turned and looked at Fitzgerald's there on the other side. Had the paint always been that bright shade of blue? Had the pansies in the flower boxes always been so beautiful? Smiling to himself at the giddiness he felt, he stepped into the road to cross to Fitzgerald's. It was time for the food fair. It seemed to Peter that he had blinked and there he was, walking up the hill from the lake. Assumpta's ashes had scattered from his hands over the lake, blown away gently by the spring breeze. What had transpired over the past couple of days, he could barely recall with any clarity. But, he at last had a home for that gnawing feeling of dread. It was now at home in his soul. What had happened to that bliss, he thought. Had it ever been real? No. This was reality. This empty, lonely feeling. He had prepared for this his whole life, he realised now. As he reached the top of the hill, he was made aware, again, that while his grief was unique in a way, it was not alone. He allowed himself to be comforted and to comfort in return, thankful that he did have friends like these, after all. Over stories and wine, and Chinese food, Assumpta's friends laughed and cried and remembered. What would she think, indeed. And where would they go when the day had ended? Facing this together was one thing, but to go home and face it alone was quite another. So, they stayed. They stayed until dusk had fallen and the stars rose in the sky. Peter watched his friends intently, trying to imprint their faces in his mind, knowing that these special people were becoming a part of his past even as he sat there with them. Peter looked at the town in which he had lived a lifetime in 3 years. He looked at St. Joseph's. It was still beautiful, it was he who had changed. His eyes moved down to Fitzgerald's and held, the tears welling up in his eyes. Fionn's barking snapped him out of this gaze and back to reality. He made himself turn his back to the little village and put every ounce of strength that he had into putting one foot in front of the other and walking away from that world. He didn't know where he was going until he arrived a few days later. Knocking on the familiar door, he was startled when a young child answered . Of course, he thought, this is Marie, Jenny's daughter. So, that's how much time has passed, he realised. When Jenny appeared from the next room, Peter could not hide the look of surprise on his face. She was obviously pregnant. Peter stammered that he could not stay, had just stopped by while in town to visit his mother. Jenny would have none of it and insisted that he stay. Over the next couple of hours, they talked over tea. Jenny told Peter about her husband of 1 1/2 years. She told him that had it not been for Peter's caring about her enough to be honest with her, she could never have let go of her feelings for him and could never have allowed herself to love someone else. She had Peter to thank, she insisted, for the tremendous happiness in her life now. Walking to his mother's house, Peter felt grateful for Jenny's happiness. That was one area of his past that he could now put to rest without the guilt that had been gnawing at him. Speaking of guilt, here he was at his mother's door. She would be so disappointed in him, he knew. His mother had not expected to see Peter so soon after his last visit. It seemed to Peter his mother was feeling particularly well, considering the condition she had been in when he had seen her last. But, his memory of the events of the past few weeks were still hazy. As a matter of fact, he still felt as though he were going through his days in a fog. His mother held his hand as Peter related the whole story of his life in Ballykissangel and of his love for Assumpta and of what had happened in one terrifying instant. Peter cried for Assumpta and for what he felt was his mother's disappointment in him for leaving the church. His mother, however, was not disappointed in him. She was proud of him, she said. He had been a good priest, but, he could not deny his heart. That she knew. She only wanted for him to be happy. He did the right thing by allowing his feelings for Assumpta to take precedence, she said. Your feelings for her are honest and true, she said and I know that she feels the same way. I can see it when you're together. Peter was listening to his mother and a wave of relief washed over him. For months he had worried about how it would affect his mother if he left the church. Now he knew. He could not disappoint her, or God, if he was being true to himself and to his feelings. As this realisation struck him, he heard his mother's words, "I can see it when you're together." But, his mother had never met Assumpta, had never been to Ballykissangel, had never seen them together. Setting up the tables for the food fair, Assumpta had looked out the window just in time to see Peter step off of the curb. Apparently deep in thought, or blinded by the rain, he had never seen the car that hit him. The red flashing lights of the ambulance outside of Fitzgerald's blended with the rain for an eerie light show. Dr. Ryan put a coat around Assumpta's shoulders and insisted that she ride in the ambulance with Peter to the hospital. Assumpta stepped up into the ambulance just as Peter was coming to. He blinked at the bright light inside of the vehicle and blinked again when his eyes focused on Assumpta's. He again felt her small hand in his and suddenly realised that the feeling of dread he had had earlier was, in fact, guilt. He also realised that the feeling was now gone. Assumpta gripped Peter's hand and realised that, despite the minor scrapes and bruises, he had a look of true happiness in his eyes. He started to speak and she leaned down to hear him. "I love you", he said. "Would you take that thing off when you say that", she said, smirking at his collar. He reached up, took off the collar and handed it to Assumpta. Before the driver closed the back door of the ambulance, she stepped out and threw it into the river.

Seven years. Seven years had passed since Peter had first been down this country road leading to the little town. As he drove down the windy, bumpy road, it seemed like yesterday. Today, however, he was blessed with forty shades of green, not grey. He smiled at the memory. He was a different person then, living a different life. Would he still be living that life now, he wondered, had Assumpta Fitzgerald not entered it? He smiled to himself, recalling their first meeting, on this very road. His feigned innocence and her suddenly antagonistic demeanour. They were at odds from the start. Or were they? No, he thought, we were soulmates from the first. Such an act we put on, only for ourselves as it turned out. He felt himself blush as he recalled the games they each had played and the times that the games almost went too far. Each of them determined to stick to the script that society had laid out before them, yet editing all the while to suit their feelings. Fooling no one in the end. Not even themselves. And so much wasted time. As the road dipped down to the village, the car approached the bridge. Ah, my old friend, Peter thought. The bridge looking down over the river which had held his thoughts over so many restless hours. He drove over the bridge and tapped the brakes in front of Fitzgerald's. He was glad that Niamh had kept the name. It was, in a way, a testament to how much Assumpta had meant to everyone in the town, although if she had been told that all of those years ago, she would have laughed it off. Not one for being sentimental, that woman. Or, more accurately, not one for admitting to it. Parking the car in front of the post office, Peter looked across the street to Hendley's. Should he? No, he didn't need to deal with that right now. He walked up the road toward St. Joseph's. Still a beautiful church, he thought. But, now, it was more a building to him than what it was when he had first seen it, when it was his whole life. But, Peter had remained a Catholic, even after leaving the priesthood. He had been lucky enough to have the strength to leave, before his whole life had passed him by and he was left alone to wonder, what if? As a youth counsellor in Manchester, he had found his true calling, he realised. No longer just saying the words, he saw the results of his work. He saw troubled teenagers turn their lives around and become productive members of the community. And he didn't have to give up his own life in order to do God's work. Peter gripped the iron gate surrounding the church and sighed. Many are called, he thought. Turning, he made his way back down to Fitzgerald's. So many memories came flooding back to him as his walked the familiar path. Not sure of how he would be greeted, he tentatively turned the knob and walked into the pub. Time had stopped. There, sitting at one end of the bar, were Siobhan, Padraig and Brendan. Deep in a discussion, or argument, they did not notice Peter when he walked in. The place was almost filled to capacity and that allowed Peter time to take in the atmosphere of his old haunt before anyone noticed him. Ambrose was behind the bar pouring drinks and pulling pints. Just then, the door to the kitchen was pushed open by a dark haired woman, coming through the entrance backwards, carrying a tray of sandwiches. Peter's heart skipped a beat. He half expected to see Assumpta's face when she turned. But, time had indeed gone on. It was Niamh. Niamh looked up and right into Peter's eyes. Her face lit up and she nudged Ambrose, motioning to Peter. The looks on their faces immediately put Peter at ease and he was again a part of this community, as if no time had passed at all. Niamh came around the bar and threw her arms around Peter. "Where's your wife?", she asked. Before Peter could answer, Ambrose came up and thrust out his hand, then suddenly gave in to the emotion of the moment and gave Peter a big hug. Still deep in conversation, but suddenly noticing that their pints were empty, the three at the other end of the bar looked up to see what the commotion was all about. In an instant, Peter was surrounded by old friends. He felt silly and embarrassed by his previous apprehension about entering the pub. Hands gripped his, arms encircled him. He suddenly wondered why on earth he had left Ballykissangel. Because sometimes you need a clean slate, he reminded himself. Sometimes you need to put distance between yourself and your past, if you are to have a future. The next morning Peter stood at the baptismal altar in St. Joseph's, gently cradling the baby's head. The sun filtered through the stained glass windows, giving an iridescence to the water being poured over his first born. He and his wife had felt that this was the right place for their child to be baptised. This place that meant so much to both of them. Peter looked up at Father Mac as he baptised his daughter, who had already shown so much of her mother's spirited nature, and thought of the irony of it all. Placing the baby in Assumpta's arms, he felt Father Mac's eyes on them. Turning to his former superior, Peter smiled. The smile that was returned was tinged with sadness, but not disapproval. They understood each other now. Fitzgerald's was packed with old friends, there to celebrate the Christening, as well as the return of two much loved members of their community. As he watched his wife, Peter realised that none of their time in this town had been wasted. It was all necessary to bring them to where they were right at this moment. And he felt total joy when he looked at Assumpta, holding their Ryanne. They had named their daughter after the doctor who had saved her mother's life on that rainy evening, in this very pub, not so long ago.

His father had taught him to drive on this road. He remembered how he had clumsily shifted the gears of the old car, stalling at almost every turn. Patiently, his father would explain for the tenth time how he should slowly take his foot off of the clutch. He tried to make him feel less self-conscious with tales of his own efforts at first learning to drive, but that was hard to imagine. His father was a smart man. A good man. If he could be half as wise and half as loved, he would be content. But, contentment was not what he felt at this moment. What would his father think, he wondered, if he were here now. How he wished that he could just ring him up and ask his advice. He always knew what to say and how to say it, to make you come to the conclusion that was right in front of you all along. But, what would he say about this? Reaching the field, he dropped the ball and started kicking it around. Another skill he had learned from his father, and one that he was quite good at. Good enough, if fact, to earn him a scholarship to the University. His father was quite insistent that he attend college, urging him to explore the world and all of the options available to him. Deep in thought, he hardly noticed the clouds that gradually covered the sky. A brisk wind blew up. "It's a blustery day, Pooh", he said to himself with a smile. He couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of his father, a grown man, getting more enjoyment out of the A. A. Milne classics than his young son did. The multi- faceted character that my father was, he thought, his heart suddenly heavy. He missed him so. Walking into his mother's house, he soaked in the love that was so evident in the home. Even now, when his older sisters had moved out and two years after his father had passed on, there was no emptiness to the rooms, no sad aura. He found his mother in her study, hard at work on her latest fund raising effort for the local women's shelter. She did not hear him come in, did not notice him standing there, as she intently wrote notes and stuffed envelopes. As he watched her, he thought of all that she had been through in her 65 years on this earth, what a life she had led. She certainly had taken a turn or two in her own road. Would she be disappointed in him? She had been so enthusiastic during his college years, encouraging him all along in, what everyone assumed, was soon to be his profession. His father encouraged him, but his enthusiasm was a bit more restrained, almost as if he knew that this was not the right path. But, now he would never know what his father would say, or what he would think. Hoping to finally get this weight off of his shoulders, he walked up to his mother and tapped her on the shoulder. She started, then sighed, a bright smile lighting up her face. Before he knew it, he was sitting comfortably in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea and pouring his heart out to his mother. He explained to her that all of his years of training and preparation only convinced him more that the route he was on was not the right one. He knew in his soul that it wasn't. He also knew what the right path was. Holding his breath, he stood up and walked over to where his mother was sitting. He took her hand and said, "I have a calling to the priesthood. I know this and I am ready to do whatever it takes to make it work." He expressed his deep concern that he not disappoint her or his father. "But", he said, "I do know that the life of a professional football player is not for me. I know that this is what I've trained for and what everyone sees when they think of me and of my future. But, it just isn't the right thing for me. I've tried to make it work, but, my heart just isn't in it. I just go through the motions. I only ask that you understand that I need to be who I am, and what I am is someone who has a genuine vocation. I pray that you will and I hope that dad would have understood as well. But, of that I can never be sure." But, she knew exactly what her husband would have thought about their son's dilemma, about his struggle to do right by those he loved, yet follow his own heart. Assumpta looked up into her son's green eyes. She smiled and said, "Have you heard the polar bear joke?".