They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. Mine didn't. The only thing that was on my mind as I stood on the bridge was the last three years. The constant pain and humiliation.
My name is Sarah and I am eighteen years old. I was supposed to be a success story. My parents had told me so since I was old enough to hold a textbook. "Be better than us, Sarah. Get into an Ivy League. Don't be a failure."
Ever since I had been old enough to understand the concept of failure, I have been so scared of it.
My older brother, James, has been the golden child. He went through life on scholarships and sport offers. He was the life of our family. He was the one they talked about at dinner parties. I was the one they introduced quickly then changed the subject. I was the one who studied until 3 AM and still only managed A-minuses which in our house was the same as a D.
The pressure wasn't just from the schoolwork though. That was the least of it. It was the unfair bullying. It started online as a joke by my loser ex-boyfriend and his jerk friends. They capitalized on things like my anxiety, my tendency to stutter when nervous and my insecurity over my plain face. They made memes out of my school ID picture. They started a hashtag that trended through the whole region for a full week. They called me "The Ghost of the Library."
My parents didn't even help when I told them. They said, "Just turn off your phone, Sarah. Focus on your future. This is what weakness looks like." They never asked if I was okay. They never saw the dark circles under my eyes. They just saw someone who was unnecessarily sentitive, not a daughter who needed saving.
The final straw came last night. I had spent two weeks working on a research paper which was on a complex analysis of socio-economic disparity in modern cities. I poured everything I had into it. I needed an A+. I was desperate for it and I prayed to whichever God would care to listen. In the end, I got a B+. When I showed it to my father, he didn't even read the teacher's comments. All he saw was the B.
"B+?" he'd asked, his voice flat, devoid of anger, which was somehow worse than shouting. "James got an A+ on his first paper. This is not good enough, Sarah. You are wasting the opportunity we gave you."
My mother on the other hand had just sighed, turning back to the sink. "Your father is right. Try harder."
How hard do I have to try for them to realize that it was my hardest? When will the stop comparing me to my brother?
That was it. That was the end of the line. There was just an empty space where hope used to be. Nothing would ever change. I couldn't keep going like this. I walked out of the house. No one noticed. They were watching a documentary about financial markets.
I drove until I got to the river then I parked my old Honda near the pedestrian bridge. The air was cold, damp and smelled like smoke from vehicle exhausts. The water below was black and looked scary but it looked like salvation.
I walked to the middle of the bridge. The city lights were pretty and shiny. They distracted me from the water beneath the bridge. I stood there for maybe 5 hours. It should be about 2 AM currently. Do my parents know I am not back home yet? Would anybody miss me if I died? I needed someone to save me but help was not forthcoming. I was utterly alone.
I thought about texting James, but what would I say? I'm sorry I wasn't as smart as you? No. He would just say "do better".
Fuck them all.
I pulled out my phone and deleted all my social media accounts. It was a small act of rebellion but it was the most peace I had felt in years. I dropped the phone on the side walk and climbed the railing.
Could I really do this? Was it really worth it?
Yes.
The metal was icy beneath my fingers. A car zoomed past, its headlights briefly blinding me. It didn't care to stop. No one cared. I didn't hesitate this time. I leaned forward and jumped, letting gravity take over.
The feeling of falling was fast. It was a rush of cold air and blurring lights. There was a terrifying moment when I felt a brief spike of regret. I realized that I had made the wrong choice. I actually wanted to live. Badly.
Then came the impact. It was a hard collision that felt like I fell from a skyscraper to the concrete ground. The world went white. Pain. Intense, crushing pain everywhere.
And then silence.
I waited for the end, the cold water was dragging me down, the oxygen leaving my lungs. But the end didn't come.
Instead, I woke up gasping.
It wasn't in a hospital. It was in a bed softer than any I had ever slept in.
What the hell? Is this the afterlife? Sucks. I was hoping for oblivion when I contemplated suicide.
The room had windows covered in heavy, dark fabrics that were blocking the light. The air smelled different and fresh. What was happening?
My head pounded but the pain of the fall was gone. I slowly sat up, my limbs feeling alien. I looked down at my hands. They were smaller, finer and the skin was perfectly smooth without the paper cuts I usually had from endless studying. The scars from the self-inflicted cuts on my wrists were also gone.
I ran to the wall-length mirror in the corner.
I didn't recognize the person staring back.
She wasn't me. Her hair was a rich dark brown, not my ugly blonde. Her eyes were green, large and wide with shock. Her body was slender, almost fragile-looking. Does she even eat?
I touched my face. The nose was thinner, the cheekbones higher. It was a pretty face despite the look of fear etched on it. This face would clearly never have been called "The Ghost of the Library."
Where was I? Who was this?
My memories were all there. The school, the bridge, the fall. But the body was someone else's. My mind was screaming in confusion. I opened my mouth to speak but the voice that came out was higher and thinner than mine.
"Where..." I started, but stopped. The word felt somehow on my tongue.
The it dawned on me. I hadn't died. Or maybe I had and this was some twisted second chance. But I wasn't Sarah anymore. I was inside a different life, a different body.
There was a name in the back of my consciousness that I knew must belong to the original owner of this body even though I had no real memory of her life.
Lena Hale.