Sitting alone on the bench in Golden Gate park, Everett Walsh thought to himself about all that had happened to him in the last month; how he went from a modest life living in Massachusetts with his mother and father, to now, 3,000 miles away from his hometown, living in San Francisco with his older brother Wyatt. His parents, growing tired of his sitting aloof at home, not doing anything with his life, decided it was best to ship him off to some boarding school, but hearing this, his solicitous brother offered to have him live under his roof and promised to keep him out of trouble. Wyatt was the complete opposite of Everett: he graduated high school in the top of his class, and attended Harvard Law where he studied hard and worked toward his long awaited goal of becoming a defense attorney with his own office in the great state of California.

Everett, now 19, born 9 years after his brother, seemed like he was heading on a similar path. He looked up to Wyatt, admiring his thirst for justice and desire to make something of himself. Everett worked hard in high school as well, even surpassing his brother in his studies, but never boasting to his family about his accomplishments. He saw his intelligence not as something to be awarded, but something to be expected of him following in Wyatt’s footsteps. Eventually though, when Wyatt first moved out to San Francisco to be an apprentice defense attorney for a successful firm in the Marin Headlands, Everett began to dwindle in his studies. He stopped achieving these high marks, or even striving for them, and simply floated through his last year of high school, not caring about assignments or college or what he wanted to do with his life. He often stayed at home, locked alone in his room in the dark, sitting on his computer or reading books. His brother leaving tore a massive rift into his heart and mind.

On his 19th birthday, sitting alone as per usual in his room decorated with Harvard memorabilia and the many bookshelves lining his walls, he heard a soft knock on his bedroom door. It was his mother, who seemed more cheerful than usual.

“Come in,” he called back, and his mother peaked her head around the doorframe.

“Ev, there’s someone who wants to see you downstairs, “she said mysteriously.

“Who could possibly be downstairs waiting for me,” he wondered aloud. Just then he heard it, the familiar tone of laughter coming from downstairs. He knew without even having to look that it was Wyatt. He quickly got up and bounded down the stairs, like he had when they were little and would often play tag inside. When he entered the living room, he saw his brother standing there, and immediately ran and hugged him. Wyatt kept the embrace short and professional however, much to Everetts surprise, and pulled away quickly saying “Come on Ev, pack your bags. We’re leaving for the airport in 20 minutes.”

A rush of emotions swelled over Everett, but none so much as confusion, which held him in a state of perplexity as he stood motionless in the hallway, not knowing what to do.

“What?” Everett said.

“We’re leaving in 20 minutes,” Wyatt replied.

“To where?”

“The airport dumbass, didn’t you hear me?”

“No, I mean why are we going to the airport.”

“So we can get on a plane and go home to San Francisco,” Wyatt said nonchalantly, his calmness throwing Everett off, “I’ve talked it over with Mom and Dad, they agreed to let you come live with me in my apartment in San Fran, considering you sit here and do nothing all day. Figured the change of scenery would be good for you.” Wyatt explained to Everett that he couldn’t just waste his life away, and that it’d be better for him to have a fresh start in California where he could grow as a person. His parents were fine with it, considering it was his brother taking him and he had a modest life set up on the west coast. After some more talking, Everett quickly ran upstairs, packing his whole closet (a measly 4 outfits), his laptop, and his favorite books. His parents promised he would have all of his other possessions shipped to him in the coming weeks, and him and Wyatt were off with one final kiss on the cheek goodbye from their parents.

That brings us back to now, Everett walking his black Schwinn Sanctuary down the asphalt paths of Golden Gate park, admiring the trees that seemed to climb into the heavens. The park was one of his favorite places in the city, and he often came early in the morning to ride his bike and admire the scenery while most people were still asleep or at work. On this particular day, the sun had just begun to peak its head over the horizon, and fresh dew still lined the grass. After walking for a short distance he gave a small trot and hopped onto the soft leather seat, beginning to pedal faster and faster as the wind whipped through his hair. He rode past the San Francisco Botanical Garden, by the Robin Williams meadow, and exited the park by the Conservatory of Flowers, riding onto Fulton Street, starting the trek back to him and his brother’s apartment on 1475 Fillmore St.

Their apartment was on the ground floor of the Fillmore Center, which made it easy for Everett to simply walk in with his bike, not having to worry about lugging it all the way up countless flights of stairs. It was a modest home, with two floors, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two brothers inhabiting it. Upon walking in, Everett took his black slip on Vans off at the door, and dropped his keys on the living room table. His room was on the first floor, in the back past the kitchen, and he went in, taking off his sweatshirt and setting his bike against the wall. His throat was dry from the constant breathing in of cool Californian air, so he made his way to the fridge in hope of finding a bottle of water to quench his thirst, but before opening it his eyes fell over a note left on the counter. It read as follows:

“Hey Ev, another late night at the office today. Won’t be back until around 2 A.M. Here’s twenty bucks, get yourself something. I’ll go shopping Sunday.

-Wyatt.”

Everett sighed. It seemed like his brother always worked late these days, but at least he loved what he was doing. Everett shrugged this off, grabbed a Poland Spring from the fridge, and went back to his room to take a nap.

His stomach woke him up hours later, dying to be fed. He checked his bedside clock, “6:11” flashing in bright red. He sat up and stretched his arms with a deep yawn. Getting up, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth again, and came back into his room, changing into a black longsleeve and Adidas pants. He checked the weather on his phone, a cool 63 and partly cloudy, and luckily for him, no rain in sight. He grabbed his bike again, swooped up the twenty dollars, and made his way out the door. Living just blocks away from Japantown had its benefits, and he decided upon Ramen Yamadaya for lunch, one of his favorite spots in the city, probably because he never goes anywhere else. He pedaled there, parked his bike outside, and walked in, being greeted by the owners who have established him as a sort of regular. They sat him at his favorite table in the far corner, and he ordered the usual premium Shio ramen bowl. As he waited, he noticed a large party of college students all sitting at the middle table, laughing and enjoying themselves. He thought about going up and talking to them, recognizing some of them from a previous visit, but decided against it and instead pulled out his phone to search the internet.

He left the restaurant at 8:15, ordering a bowl for his brother with his own money so that he would have something when he got home. He tied the bag around his handlebars, put in his headphones, and began the short ride back, taking in the beautiful scenery of the city as it passed him by. When he got home, he placed the bowl in the fridge and made his way back to his room, throwing himself on his bed. He navigated to Netflix, and turned on “The Office” for the millionth time in his life, flipping open his laptop where he could browse Tumblr and binge the show. It was a usual routine in his life, and he enjoyed it every time, finding peace in the soft glow of his computer screen and in the quotes of Michael Scott. A few hours later, his eyes began to feel heavy, and he ended up falling asleep once again, the T.V still on and his computer open.

Everett was sound asleep when he heard three loud knocks on his front door, causing him to jump up and blood to rush to his head. He was groggy and confused, looking at the time.

“3:59,” he muttered to himself, “did Wyatt forget his keys again?” He made his way to the front door, seeing red and blue flashing lights from outside, and opening it, found two officers standing there, looking grim and tired in the darkness.

“Everett Walsh?” The big one on the right asked.

“Y-yes, that’s me,” Everett stuttered, very confused about what was happening at this hour.

“We’re with the San Francisco Police Department, your brother Wyatt was involved in a car crash earlier this morning and he’s in critical condition. We need you to come to the hospital at once. Your parents have been notified and are coming tomorrow, so please, gather what you need and get in the car.”

Everett was hit by a storm of emotions: shock, fear, confusion, tiredness. He stumbled back to his room, grabbed his phone and his wallet, slipped on his shoes and was out the door, into the waiting patrol car. Everett was filled in on the way there. A drunk driver had drove into him after he left his office in the Marin Headlands, and Wyatt’s car was totaled. The injuries were severe, and they rushed him to the hospital in critical condition, and were performing operations at that moment.

The emergency room at Saint Francis Memorial Hospital was quiet, unlike what Everett was used to from watching so many T.V dramas. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion: nurses walked briskly in and out of doors, doctors were reading clipboards, and a group of officers was huddled in a corner of the room. Everett sat down far in the corner, rocking himself back and forth, trying not to cry. He looked around nervously in hope of seeing a smiling doctor waltzing in to tell him “Everything is fine, your brother just had a few scrapes and bruises and can go home with you now!” But that never happened. Instead he waited there for 45 minutes, a nurse only coming up to him to get him to sign a form and tell him what he already knew. He was ready to jump out of his skin with anxiety by the time a doctor came through the large wooden doors by the reception desk, and Everett jumped up, a wave of nausea washing over him. The doctor spoke quickly with a nurse, who put her hand over her mouth, and he turned to look at Everett, a frown on his face. Everett’s stomach dropped. He was a smart kid. He knew the truth. He knew his brother didn’t survive the crash. And as the doctor made his way towards him, he turned and ran out the door, past the nurses, the cops, and other doctors, time still moving in slow motion.

He ran for about an hour on that cold, foggy morning in San Francisco. In contrast to the morning just the day before, today was bitter, frigid, and dark. It was overcast this morning, expected to rain at about eight. Everett didn’t know where his feet were taking him. His heart pounded and his brain was dark, running on autopilot. He wasn’t thinking clearly now. Tears were streaming down his face but he didn’t even notice. Even though he could feel his heartbeat, his chest felt empty, and that messed up brain kept feeding him terrible thoughts. He stopped running, gasping for breath in between sobs, and looked up at the figure of the Golden Gate Bridge, a symbol for hope that now seemed menacing in the gloom. It was now that Everett’s brain had given him the worst ideal of all. He had no one. He was alone and his life meant nothing. His only true friend in the world, the one who understood him best, the one who cared for him when no one else would, was dead. Everett’s feet moved on their own. He had heard it was painful. The worst pain in the world to hit the water 220 feet below the bridge. He knew those who did often didn’t survive. But Everett was okay with this. He thought to himself, “It’s okay. I can be free now. I’ll see Wyatt again. It will all be over.” He was stepping over the protective railing now. He was on the cord now, the 32 inches of steel left between him, and the water below. He heard cars honking, seagulls cawing, and a familiar sound of sirens, seemingly getting closer. He closed his eyes, and everything faded away from around him. He took a step forward, spread his arms, and fell forward. It was a strange feeling for Everett, that short moment where you lose all balance and chance of saving yourself. That split second where all he thought was nothing turned into a different feeling. As he fell down, he thought of two things. His brother, and his mother and father’s faces. His life didn’t flash before his eyes like in the movies. Instead, he saw himself and his family, sitting at the table on Christmas morning 5 years ago, talking happily. And in that moment. As he fell to his death. Everett soon only felt one thing. Regret.

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8 Years Later

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Everett Walsh was sitting on a bench in Golden Gate Park, his cane resting on his leg, reading the “The Old Man and The Sea”. He had a coffee seated on the bench to his right, and a half eaten bagel lying next to it. He checked his watch. “9:30,” he muttered to himself. “Mom and Dad land at 11.” He rolled up the paper and wrapped his bagel, stuffing them inside his bag, and grabbed his coffee and cane. He began the walk out of the park, past the San Francisco Botanical Garden, the Robin Williams meadow, and the Conservatory of flowers. As he got onto Fulton Street, he pulled out his phone and ordered an Uber to his home near Presidio. He lived with three other roomates, all people he grew close with the last 8 years. One of them even frequented Ramen Yamadaya as he did.

As he rode to his home, he looked out of his window at the Golden Gate Bridge, it’s towers standing tall over the trees and houses of Presidio. He thought back to that night many years ago, when he attempted suicide on that bridge. He didn’t remember hitting the water, just darkness engulfing him. He never felt the arms of the Coast Guard member pull his limp body into the boat. The boat that was alerted by the police that there was a jumper on the bridge that day. The police were notified by a woman who drove by claiming to have seen a boy crying as he walked down the sidewalk on the Golden Gate Bridge. Everett never met that woman, but if he did, he knew he’d thank her with all his heart. He regretted his decision the moment he fell. He knew it was a stupid idea, but he also knew people do stupid things when faced with tough times. Surviving the fall changed Everett, both physically and mentally. His left leg was injured badly when he hit the water, and he now has to use a cane wherever he goes. He attends physical therapy in hopes of being able to ride his bike again, now collecting dust in his old home back in Massachusetts. His journey after the fall taught him many things. He no longer wanted to sit around at home all day. He wanted to do something with his life, follow in Wyatt’s footsteps. So he enrolled in the USF School of Law. He didn't want to be alone everyday anymore, so he reached out and made friends, started dating, and visited his mother and father. Everett wanted to grow, to be his own person and learn from his past, because he knew that’s what would make Wyatt proud of him. He missed Wyatt like hell, but he knew that he couldn’t just sit around more and get down on himself. He had a new lease on life and embraced it with open arms.

As he stepped out of the Uber in front of his house, he took the necklace his mother had given him a long time ago out from under his shirt. It was a simple thing, a gold chain with a black triangle on the end of it. The necklace was Wyatt’s before he died, his favorite piece of jewelry that he had hoped to pass on to his children. Everett rubbed the triangle, knowing that Wyatt was with him. He muttered something then, something no one could hear if they stood right next to him. But he knew Wyatt would hear it. He looked back at the Golden Gate Bridge one last time, it’s red towers standing gloriously in the sun. He turned again and went inside, shutting the large wooden door slowly. He was finally home.