Forever in 1967

Was she to blame? As Blossom watched the ships preparing to leave for Vietnam, the familiar thought surfaced, not for the first time. Bathed in moonlight, the bay glimmered with an ethereal glow, its magic touching the imposing, mysterious bridge. For a moment, it appeared orange, then morphed into a radiant golden shine. Its construction and the lives lost in the process had always held a fascination for her. During the peak of the Depression, men would have welcomed any opportunity for employment. With no thought for safety, they took their chances. She recalled from her school days that the impressive structure had taken four years to complete. Back then, she never imagined she would go to San Francisco, let alone stand upon the bridge.

Foghorns blared across the harbour as a few cars passed her by. Several ships anchored down stood like soldiers on parade waiting for the young lads who would soon board them. How many would make it home? Her father had been killed in Korea, a war that ended in a stalemate. What was the sense in it? A familiar voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“Hey dreamer, one last kiss.”

With a sigh, she turned to Pete. He was eighteen, and in another hour, he would board one ship heading to fight in a foreign land, a war that many said no one could win. In San Francisco, you could lose yourself, evade the draft; that was why so many flocked there.

“Come on, man, it was cool until Maya did what she did. What happened to peace and love? Now you wanna fight in some crazy war.”

Sadness in his eyes, lines like claw marks down his face as he shook his head in response.

“Yeah, well, we can’t be kids forever; look at the Haight now, full of runaways who are being exploited. Sumat will give in the end.”

“It’s madness. All this crap: if you enlist, you get a better deal than being drafted. You will be killed. It’s not too late. We can disappear; they won’t find us,” she said.

Was that an attempt at a laugh as he ran his fingers down her bare arm?

“Who knows? All I know is we can’t carry on like nothing has happened.

Freedom, so they said, but wasn’t that what they had together? Now the dream had ended, its images fading like an old photograph. It hadn’t been so long ago; they had set out on a journey for freedom, hitchhiking across the country toward San Francisco. They moved into a run-down building along with other kids like them. Pete, guitar slung over his left shoulder, busked in the park to earn some dosh. In common with most, they indulged in drugs and free love. Everything was fine until Maya died. That day, the summer of love died for them.

The bridge served as the launch point for fourteen-year-old Maya’s dive two weeks earlier. Just another flower child searching for a place to stay. Kids came to escape, to find themselves. A few stayed, and some went back home, with no one asking any questions. Blossom didn’t pay her much attention until that fateful day.

Her body shook; in her pocket was a tab of LSD, the same one she had given Maya. Who could have known Maya was fourteen? Maya’s cries echoed in her head, the words tumbling out about being caught in 1967 by swirling, psychedelic spirals of yellow and pink. It had been impossible to foresee Maya jumping off this bridge. The news of her death, delivered by the authorities, struck them all with profound shock. How long had the kid lain on a sterile, cold slab in a mortuary? Did they ever trace her parents?

Pete squeezed her hand.

“Blossom, you aren't to blame! I need to get away for a bit. Catch yer on the flip side, yeah?”

She wished she had his confidence.

Drop in, drop out, no questions asked that was the way they lived in the squat. Maybe they should have asked, but it was too late now. With Pete, she thought she had a future, she had thought she was like a flower waiting to bloom, then the fine threads of the web wound around her. The spider was coming closer; she couldn’t escape the swirling purple spirals holding her fast. She couldn't go home, she had no one to turn to. Maya was right. Forever stuck in 1967, there was no path forward or way to return.

The ships glided out of the harbour. Blossom’s gaze followed until they vanished into the shimmering horizon. Trapped in 1967, it was her fault Maya had died How could she live knowing she had been responsible? She made her way onto the bridge, a place she had visited several times since Maya died.

Her fingers gripped the railings; a cold, numb sensation spread through her as the mist settled. Her mind was consumed with picturing Maya’s last moments. What would she have felt as she hit the icy water?

She could taste the sharp salt on her lips, her insides twisting with an ache that mirrored the vast, unforgiving expanse before her. She was left with no alternative, knowing she was the one responsible for the young girl’s tragic end. A shout came through the mist as she jumped.