People packed the City Officials’ meeting rooms in Brooklyn and Staten Island. Although the meetings were separate, the questions were the same. How did a five-year-old girl get onto the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge? And how in the hell did she run down the middle of it?
“She could’ve been killed!”
“Someone needs to be held accountable!”
“What the hell is wrong with her parents?”
“The kid should be removed from the parents’ custody.”
The city official running the meeting in Brooklyn waited for the crowd to quiet down. Then she asked a simple question. “Who watched the child disappear?” No one spoke. Even though every motorist in the room claimed to have stopped their vehicle for the little girl. “No one wants to say they saw her vanish. Because that’s in the reports we’ve gotten.”
One man in the back stood. “My name is Randall Clay. The father of the little girl on the bridge.” People turned and looked at him. “Her name is Jessie. She’s been dead for ten years. Today’s her birthday. She has always been a mischievous kid.” He wiped his eyes with his hand. “Every birthday she runs across the bridge. She’s not trying to scare you. She just likes the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. Because it was named after one of her great ancestors, Giovanni da Verrazzano.”
Everyone was quiet.
If you enjoyed the story, send it to a friend and join my newsletter. I’m almost out with my new book. I’ll keep you posted. And if you want to read my novella, click on MATTIE. You’ll love this little girl. She’ll scare you, but try it. Be safe out there and watch the ghosts.
Joan Harbor