My nephew treaded water in the Charles River.
Twenty feet beneath me.
Standing on the railroad bridge jumping is not meaningless.
Not jumping is meaningless.
My nephew shouts from the river, “Jump. It’s a good thing.”
Matt was right and I jump off the bridge.
And I fall like a stone through the air without ever reaching maximum speed.
I pass through twenty feet of air in a heart beat.
Splash.
Meaninglessness is good and the Charles River is warm on a sunny day.
