Recovery Through Writing

The Jump

The Jump

As Lyn stood in the middle of the crowd, she pondered if this was how her life was meant to be. Packed like sardines, someone stepped on her feet, elbowed her hip, the smell of stale sweat wafted by. She knew there had to be another way. She inched her way closer to the platform, the train whistle blared from somewhere behind her. “Should I jump?’ she wondered.

Another woman joined her. A look of recognition passed between them, not in a physical sense — something way deeper. They both wanted to jump, but as the train moved closer they unconsciously joined hands. “What’s your name?” she asked Lyn. Lyn was afraid to talk because her tears might betray her. “I’m Sara” the woman said. “I come here every day at this time and I’ve prayed every day for a month for God to give me the strength to jump or to send someone to stop me. No one has ever come. But here you are.” Lyn felt she had to say something. “Do you drink coffee?” she asked.