Free Invisible by Pete Hautman

ribs hurt, my palms are scraped and sore, my stitched-up ear itches, and I have a headache that won’t go away—but it hurts just as much to do nothing at all. I’ve completed the towers, the anchors, and all the bridge deck segments. I’ve strung the main cables. I’ve dyed the thread I’m using for the suspender cables, or stringers. Now I’m hanging the bridge deck from the 162 pairs of vertical stringers. Each pair of stringers takes about fifteen minutes. On the actual Golden Gate Bridge the stringers had to be adjusted toa fraction of an inch. On my bridge, the leeway is hundredths of an inch. The work is intricate and precise.
    Late Thursday afternoon I am installing stringer pair number thirty-seven when the doorbell rings. I hear my mother, then another woman’s voice, then double footsteps. I hear my mother saying, “I’m so sorry! With Douglas injured, and everything else going on, we simply forgot to call you.”
    â€œThat’s quite all right.” I recognize the voice now. It’s Dr. Ahlstrom. “I’ve been meaning to drop by in any case. Douglas has been talking so much about the little bridge he’s working on.”
    â€œLittle?” My mother laughs. They are at the top of the stairs now, and she calls down, “Douglas, you have company, dear.”
    I don’t say anything right away. I hate being interrupted when I am doing precision work.
    â€œDouglas?”
    â€œI hear you.”
    â€œMay we come down?”
    â€œOkay. I guess.”
    I watch their feet coming down the basement steps, one through thirteen, and then I see my mother’s face and then I see Dr. Ahlstrom’s face.
    â€œGood afternoon, Douglas,” she says. And then she sees the bridge and her chin drops and she says, “Good Lord. Douglas. Oh my God.”
    â€œI told you,” I said.
    â€œDouglas, I had no idea.” Dr. Ahlstrom is only the fifth living person ever to see my bridge. Me, Andy, and my parents are the four others.
    â€œIt’s … it’s beautiful,” Dr. Ahlstrom says, and I feel my blood bubbling with oxygen.
    â€œIt’s not done yet,” I say.
    â€œYes, but, my goodness, Douglas.” She approaches the bridge and looks at the details, at each carefully shaped and fitted matchstick, at the perfect joints and precise alignment of the parts. For a moment I see it through her eyes. It seems impossible that anything made by hand could be so precise and flawless.
    She reaches out a hand to touch it.
    â€œDon’t!” I slap her hand back.
    â€œDouglas!” my mother says.
    Dr. Ahlstrom clutches her slapped hand and looks at me with wide eyes.
    â€œI’m in the middle of hanging the suspender cables,” I say. “Nothing can move.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” says Dr. Ahlstrom. She gives me her professional smile. “It’s a remarkable model, Douglas. What inspired you to build it?”
    â€œBridges are important. They connect things. You need them to get from one side to the other.”
    â€œThat’s very interesting.”
    That’s what she says when she’s trying to get me to talk. I am not in the mood.
    I say, “Are you going to charge my parents for coming here today?”
    â€œDouglas!” my mother says, horrified. Anything to do with money embarrasses my parents. I don’t know why.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Dr. Ahlstrom says to my mother. “Douglas and I are often quite honest and direct witheach other.” She turns back to me. “As you know, I bill 50 percent of my consultation fee for missed appointments, Douglas. I’m not charging any additional fee for my visit here, as it was something I decided to do on my own.”
    â€œOkay then,” I say.
    Nobody says anything for three or four seconds.
    â€œI have to get back to work,” I say.

25
RESCHEDULED
    W hen I go back to school on Monday,