Emily Articulated: Cafe Window

By Emily Erickson
Reader Staff

Author’s note: This article contains descriptions of a mental health crisis. Please take care while reading. If you or someone you know is struggling, support is available — consider reaching out to a mental health professional or local crisis service. The North Idaho Crisis Center can be reached at 208-946-5595, or call or text 988 to access 24-hour crisis assistance statewide.

If I had to guess, the man was dressed for a day of sightseeing. He wore comfortable shoes, burnt-orange pants and a bright yellow rain jacket. A small backpack was slung over his shoulders, and he walked with his head up — the way you do when you don’t actually care how quickly you arrive at your destination. A tourist, with no qualms about trying to blend in. His steps were bouncy as he crested the highest point of the walking bridge.

The woman blended in with everyone around her. She wore black pants and a crisp white shirt, and walked with her eyes down — a purposeful cadence to her dress-shoe-clad feet. 

She might have just finished a long night at a hotel front desk or was heading into another day at the office (somewhere, maybe, with a cubicle). 

Emily Erickson. Courtesy photo.

She walked in the opposite direction of the man, their paths poised to cross. Until her stride slowed — and she stopped entirely.

I watched from a Starbucks window on the bank of a shallow river running under the bridge. A poppy Japanese tune played in the sunlit café. My brain felt foggy from an early morning, but with nothing on our itinerary for the day, I reveled in the sleepiness. I watched the water trickle over rocks, the sunlight glinting off the metal bridge 200 feet away. I saw the man in orange pants and the woman in a white top walking toward each other, and sipped my latte behind the glass.

Maybe the man had always dreamed of coming to Japan — a bucket list trip he was finally crossing off. Maybe he had mapped out the most iconic temples, plotted his route in a small notebook tucked into his pocket. Or maybe he booked the trip on a whim — an Expedia flight deal or an Instagram post filling his screen at the exact moment he felt a little reckless.

Maybe the woman was born in the city, with friends and family close by — people who had known her all her life. Or maybe she moved there, chasing a fresh start, hoping to discover a new version of herself in a new place. Either way, she was alone — painfully so — when she turned toward the bridge’s rail and started to climb.

My brain felt like it had a three-second delay as the scene unfolded — a livestream with bad Wi-Fi, buffering between moments as it tried to catch up. I saw her climb the railing but couldn’t process why. I saw the man notice, and understand, a heartbeat later. His reaction was instantaneous, switching from bouncing tourist to action hero — as though that’s exactly what he’d come to Japan to do.

A bright yellow jacket sleeve connected with a crisp white one, as he pulled her off the ledge. I saw his mouth round into the shape of a shouted, “No!” and watched him wrap his arms around her from the safety of the sidewalk. Her whole body trembled violently enough to be seen from behind the glass of the café in which I sat — my brain skittering to understanding as the man flagged down a passerby to call for help. 

She crumpled to the ground and he crouched beside her, his body a shield between her and the weight of what she’d just tried to do. The police arrived in a group of four and gently coaxed her toward their car. Eventually, she followed, her hair falling forward as her head bowed. 

We think we know how the day will go when we step out the door. We grasp for control, make lists, write itineraries — as though that might shape our experience. But we never know the impact we’ll have, or what will leave a mark on us. 

The exact right man — someone who could see and act in an instant — stepped out of his hotel at the exact right time to cross a specific bridge and save a life. This was not what he thought he came to do, but his trip and all of the choices that led to it now had profound meaning.

When I planned for this article, I thought I’d write about the million little things I observed in my travels in Japan — the seamless public transportation, trashless streets, the mountain views, but everything paled in comparison to watching the ways compassion extended across language barriers, across places in life and moments in time. The way two lives can converge on one bridge, forever changing the course of both.

I’ll never know how their stories end. But I saw the man walk off the bridge and wipe his sleeve over the tears streaming down his cheeks. I saw the woman being escorted to the help she so desperately needed. And I can only hope everything will be OK — taking with me the inspiration to boldly extend a hand, whenever and however I see someone reaching out for one.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.