The Bridge That Looked Right

Here is a story. As you read, ask what you would do.

Fiction, founded on truth. The people in this story are imagined; the choice they face is real.

Nora had worked on the bridge for three evenings. It was made of wooden craft sticks and wood glue, and it was for the bridge contest at co-op on Friday. Every bridge had to cross a gap the width of a ruler. Then the teacher would stack books on top, one at a time, until it gave way. The bridge that held the most books would win.

Nora’s bridge was beautiful. She had built it with tall square sides, like windows in a row, and painted the whole thing gold. When she showed a picture to her friends, they said it was the best-looking bridge they had ever seen. Her friend Ada said, “You’re going to win for sure.”

On Wednesday night her grandfather came for supper. Grandpa Walt had built barns and sheds for forty years. He looked at the bridge for a long time without saying anything. Then he put one finger on the top rail and pressed very gently, sideways.

The whole bridge leaned. The squares tipped into slanted shapes, like a row of books sliding over on a shelf. When he let go, it stood up again.

“It’s a good-looking bridge,” he said. “Can I ask you something? Why squares?”

Nora shrugged. “They look nice.”

“They do,” Grandpa said. “Squares lean. Triangles hold. If you want, I can show you after supper. You’d have to take some of it apart, though.”

Nora looked at the bridge. Three evenings. The gold paint was not even dry on one side. If she took it apart, it might not be pretty anymore. She might not finish the paint before Friday.