34 Thats Just The Truth Gemma (1/2)

Two days before Christmas it was too cold for the convertible, but the top of Brooke's car was down anyway. Brooke insisted. Gemma wore jeans, boots, and a warm wool sweater. Her backpack was in the trunk, and in it were her wallet, a second sweater and a clean T-shirt, a wide-mouth water bottle, a packet of baby wipes, a black garbage bag, and the lion statue.

Brooke took a half-empty bottle of vodka out of her shoulder bag but didn't actually drink from it. She went to sleep almost immediately.

Gemma drove up through the city. By the time they got to the Golden Gate Bridge, she was antsy. The quiet drive was unnerving. She nudged Brooke awake. ”The bridge,” she said. ”Look.” It loomed above them, orange and majestic.

”People love to kill themselves on this bridge,” said Brooke thickly.

”What?”

”It's the second most popular suicide bridge in the world,” said Brooke. ”I read it somewhere.”

”What's the first?”

”A bridge on the Yangtze River. I forget the name. I read up on stuff like that,” said Brooke. ”People think it's poetic, to jump off a bridge. That's why they do it. Whereas, let's say, killing yourself by bleeding out in a bathtub, that's just messy. What are you supposed to wear to bleed out in a bathtub?”

”You don't wear anything.”

”How do you know?”

”I just know.” Gemma wished she hadn't engaged Brooke on this topic.

”I don't want people to see me naked when I'm dead!” yelled Brooke into the air beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. ”But I don't want to wear clothes in the bathtub, either! It's very awkward!”

Gemma ignored her.

”Anyway, they're building a barrier now, so people can't jump,” Brooke went on. ”Here on the Golden Gate.”

They drove off the bridge in silence and turned toward the park.