35W

Temperatures in the upper 50's, rain and drizzle--it seemed appropriate for a visit to the bridge. I found that my morning stopover at a friend's in the northern suburbs could lead to the U of M campus on my way to a reunion with relatives in St. Paul yesterday. It's one of those things. You don't announce that you're going there; you just quietly study a map, drive, get lost, find a road you remember from the map, and take it. You find yourself at a road that's closed, and while waiting at a light, look over to your right. A bridge. The bridge? Bridge-builders don't use that sort of angle. That's got to be the one.

You wonder if you can stop somewhere to look from afar. You try to take the first right turn and note the sign saying the road is closed to thru traffic. Fine. You won't go through. You'll just go a little way in. But the road is blocked at the street, with enough space to park two cars, but not enough to get in at all. You try to merge back onto the now-busy street, but cars whiz along. Suddenly, you notice they're stopping and your light is turning green. So much for being inconspicuous in your idiotic, gawking attempt--you are the only car that triggered the light.

You whiz away, embarrassed, but still have the clarity to note a parking lot on your right. You turn in and follow the lot as it winds behind a building. A stone wall, with no buildings on the other side. Could it be the river over there? You park, conscious of all the windows behind you, and wondering if some helpful person will call the police about another trespasser who's being insensitive to Minnesota's tragedy.

A quick hop out of the car and snap of the flash. No bridge in sight, but then, it's fallen, hasn't it?

Your parking lot is connected to that of the next building, which is a little farther to your west--where you tried to go a few moments earlier. You follow it, find yourself atop a hill, and park. Crime scene tape is to your left. This is close enough; you'll get out and walk.

All of a sudden, you notice another car approaching yours. You're trespassing, and you are, essentially, a tourist. You should not be here. You get back in your car and fiddle with your phone--only a temporary stop, officer--I wasn't going anywhere...

Two men get out and position themselves under a tree near your car. No one else is around. They don't seem threatening...but you don't know them. You don't know anyone near here. Then a young lady exits, and you feel a bit better. More "tourists."

Suddenly, a man's face is at your window. With your multipurpose tool in your right pocket and your cell phone in your left, you open the door.

"Excuse me, but I am wondering--is it okay if we park here? I saw you pull up and thought you would know."

An earnest smile and a delightful Indian accent. You laugh, tell him you're probably illegal, but should be okay if you go quickly.

You walk down the hill, and they each introduce themselves and shake hands with you. Small talk and introductions until you see concrete at angles that look like broken legs on X-rays. A train car that looks like the last man standing at a demolition derby.

You stop as you notice a dark car facing you just opposite the crime scene tape. It seems alive, waiting. Finger to your lips, you realize this is as close as you need to get, anyway.

The Indian family doesn't catch on, and they continue their pace until they're touching the tape.

"Do not come any closer!" comes a sudden voice on a bullhorn. "Step back from the scene!" He sounds tense. You're torn between wanting to help these people with communication and cultural barriers, and wanting the law enforcement officer to know that if they do anything wrong, you're not with them... Thankfully, you're saved, because they step back a few feet and join you.

There's not much to see, but you're there. You picture the chaos from the news reports; you filter out the drizzle and insert the people. You wonder about the ones who missed supper that night...and every other night. You wonder about those who loved them.

And you also remember the stories of the good parts--the paralyzed man stuck in his van. Instead of fleeing, others were going vehicle to vehicle and telling others to get out and get off the bridge. This particular man yelled, "I can't! I can't walk!" Another man jerked open his door, slung the man over his shoulder, and carried him to safety. This is the Midwest. This is why I love my people.

The Indian family is ready to go; sweatshirt hood up, you accompany them through the rain.