BIG I, SMALL f.

Why didn’t I stop?

What emotion on her angelic face assured me that she was okay? What if I had stopped? Would it really have changed anything? Or was her mind made up?

Would she have told me to “mind my own business”? Or would she have reluctantly accepted a kind ear from a helpful stranger?

And now, because of my selfish inactions, a fourteen year old girl called Eve, killed herself. She was lying on a cold metal table in a sanitary morgue while I sat in my own kitchen, clutching a mug of hot coffee. I wondered why I didn’t take five simple seconds, for a truly troubled teenager.

My indecisiveness pricks my conscience, asking the same questions over and over again. Like a woodpecker chipping away at a tree – my own self-worth is eroding hour by hour.   

Years of training, clinical practice and common sense were absent when needed most. I saw the hopelessness in her face, gait and eyes. But I ignored it, consumed with my own issues.

In that brief moment when I glimpsed Eve’s tearful face, I should have stopped.

I know that now.

Her young enchanting eyes told a tale of desperation. Hers was a story of lost hope and of those who let her down. Her head hung, heavy from the weight of continual disappointment.

It is hard to describe, how you let someone down that you really never met or spoke to. A glance was all I got, but I saw the fear, apprehension and anxiety in her face. And I did nothing about it until it was too late.

I stopped working immediately after informing the Police. I couldn’t face patients or the smarmy idiots I work with. While they said all the right words, I knew they meant none of it. They said they understand my situation and condescendingly state the phrase “we’re all human.”

But I know that some of them may have acted differently. But they weren’t in my position. Self-righteousness oozes from their pores, reveling in my torment.

I know that some of them are now forming papers in their head, about my situation. How can they possibly profit from this sad scenario? Apart from my boss, most of my workmates are vultures. They bicker about everything and would clamber over each other just to get ahead.

The hateful cynicism I have towards them courses through me. They are not worried about Eve’s parents or the mental wellbeing of the idiot who passed the poor fourteen year old – just before she jumped from a bridge to her death.

Our lives are short. That’s one thing that I will take away from this mess. The biggest thing I have learned is to always trust your gut. If it screams that something isn’t right, you should listen to it – no matter how silly the situation seems or how proud you are.

Turn around and ask the question.

“Are you okay?”

Those three words can mean more to someone in despair, than the other three words famously depicted in movies. It gives a lifeline to those that are literally, teetering on the edge. It gives them hope that someone somewhere, is looking out for them.

That’s why my ignorance in those few brief seconds, now makes me doubt myself.

Who will trust my professional or educated opinion, if I barely trust myself?

Two days ago, I ignored my instincts. In that moment, my life as I know it, changed.

I had just completed an eleven hour day, dealing with the needs of others. I returned home to a mountain of housework, dinner to make for the two boys and a wicker basket full of clothes to wash. Doing everything on my own this past year or so was beginning to take its toll.

Just after 8pm, I went for a jog to wean out the days’ stresses. By pounding the pavement, I would drain the negativity of the day out through the balls of my feet.

My body was only warming up in the first half mile when I saw Eve.

It was her seated position that first piqued my interest. Why would someone sit on the grass, facing a small, boring, concrete wall? You could tell from behind that she was a teenager, due to the slumped shape of the shoulders and thin physique.

I initially guessed that she was listening to music, under the mop of thick black hair, escaping the world’s loud droning soundtrack. Her tousled hair poured over her shoulders and lay upon a red and black lumberjack shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a dark t-shirt of some kind.

My squeaky, spongy trainers announced my approach toward her. I had gone running in the rain two days previous and not all the water had drained from the soles. Even through the gaps in the narrow railings, I could see the desperation etched all over her face as she turned to meet my gaze.

Those piercing, ice-cold blue eyes penetrated my core. And yet when I think back, how could I have ignored them? The bewitching brightness of her misty eyes contrasted sharply with the dullness of the grey concrete wall that lay behind her.

It took mere moments to take in such vivid detail. But I continued on, forcibly silencing my gut to turn around. Why I did that, I may never know.

I ran down the hill, over the bridge and past the football pitch. I ran for the next two and a half miles, wondering about the emotive face of a troubled teenager

I ran a loop just so I could check back on her. But she was gone.

In more ways than one.

I returned home and thought no more about it. I put the kids to bed and ignored the flashing light on the answering machine. It was probably my soon to be, ex-wife.

The following day I checked in for work as per usual. As I pulled my car into the underground car park, the news report over the radio glued me firmly into the drivers’ seat. I felt a cold unnerving chill rake down my spine, despite the heat of the summer morning.

“Police are appealing for information on the whereabouts of fourteen year old girl Eve Taylor. Eve was last spotted in the…”

I knew straight away.

I just knew it was her. The pained expression on her face. The sense that no one listened or cared. I had a chance to try and prevent it, but my own problems came first. This is what stung most.

Was the empathy within me gone?

My legs felt heavy climbing the one flight of stairs to the ground floor of our offices. I was out of breath too, but quickly realized I was hyperventilating. Luckily for me, my boss Shirley spotted me struggling. She hooked me from under the crook of my armpit and led me into her office.

I told her about what I thought I had seen. I trusted Shirley’s judgment implicitly. She was always calm and assessed everything rationally. She advised that the best course of action would be talking to the Police.

She simply stated that my information might not be pertinent to their investigations into the young lady’s disappearance. I might have seen someone else entirely. I was jumping very quickly to a sudden conclusion, she said.

But I knew my gut was right.

Half an hour later I was sitting in a communal grey office of the local Police station. I talked to the Sergeant in charge of the case. He didn’t say much, but I could tell by his body language that he didn’t approve of me. No matter how many times he said there was nothing I could have done, I knew deep down inside, there was.

Put yourself in the Policeman’s shoes for a moment. How do think it would look when a Clinical Psychologist doesn’t stop to help a young lady – who is clearly in emotional dire straits? And then this person feels the need to explain himself the following day?

I could see his analytical brain ticking over. I knew questions like “Did he know the girl prior to the incident?’ and “What had he to gain by not stopping?” were running through his head.

I knew guilt was written all over my face and that’s why he was suspicious of me. As he asked more questions of me, I drove myself further into trouble.

As I fell further afoul of myself, his radar picked up. His probing instincts told him to delve deeper. As I spoke, I wondered if he would start investigating me after I left the station. What criminal record of mine would surface that I didn’t know about? I knew I wasn’t guilty of anything, but what would they dig up on me?

Would he investigate my motives for coming to the station? Why would I ignore a teen in despair?  I knew he was judging me. But my own self-judgment was far more important. Self-loathing was now atop my conscience.

An hour later I left my office for the day. My boss, despite her deep concern for my mental state, told me to take as much time off as I needed. I wasn’t sure how I would cope with this. I had the haunting image of Eve behind my eyes. I had to start coping with it and didn’t know where to start.

So yesterday evening, I reluctantly walked down to the bridge where I thought Eve may have abandoned hope. The old stone wall had gritty jagged edges on top, but enough space to wedge a shoe into. I couldn’t bring myself to look over the edge to the fast flowing water below, but its deafening rumble was enough to know that the current was strong and forceful.

This morning, after a restless night without sleep, the news on the radio reported that Police divers had located a body. It reported that it was that of a young female. I knew once again it was Eve. She was somehow speaking to me, from beyond the despair.

The body had been found downstream, close to the mouth of the river that washes into the sea. It wasn’t confirmed yet whether it was her, but basic geography told me that her river washed toward the sea.

If they hadn’t found her, she might have been swept out to the ocean, never to be seen again. Her parents will see a bloated version of their beautiful daughter - but it will still be their daughter.

At least I am grateful that at least her parents will have a body to bury. Not having that closure can be excruciating.

I’m don’t know whether I should attend the funeral. But I need closure too. Or am I being selfish? And do I mainly want to apologize to young Eve?

I wonder if the Sergeant told the family that they had a witness to her last moments. Were they told that I could have intervened? And my actions could have or might have saved her?

How do I move on?

How can I function as a father?

How can I EVER trust my own judgment again?