It was in that moment when the bridge known for its “string of pearls” suddenly turned dark. The glimpse of sorrow and sadness as he looked at me just before an everlasting decision changed my summer on the island forever. The immediate pressure in my chest, the sudden loss of breath and the instantaneous numbness in my body would soon be the last feeling I remembered experiencing that summer. Long Beach Island, New Jersey, a barrier island just two hours and fifteen minutes from home was a summer colony for the Richards and the Mills families. With ten members amongst two families, we shared a beach house; a summer tradition aging back to the summer of '98. A tradition that lasts a mere two weeks out of the year. Fourteen whole days of unscheduled, unplanned, disillusioned merriment. With every good intention to reconnect and bond; as a family we re-solidify and gain new memories to live and relive throughout the coming year. Over the course of those two weeks, LBI's population significantly swelled. As the Atlantic Ocean washed up the Jersey shore at its warmest temperatures, numerous surfers, fishermen, shoppers, and tourists crossed over the bridge, linking the mainland to the island which connected two completely different environments; Separating an industrialized environment driven by the workforce from a family oriented, relaxed, beach lovers paradise. However, shortly after they arrive on the island everyone quickly disperses back over the bridge returning to the mainland just as quickly as they left it. However, over my vacation I lived the ideal life of a beach bum. I would sit on the beach all day reading, writing, swimming, or playing mindless games with my family. Once the breeze coming off the ocean turned into gusts of wind, and the sand grains began stinging our legs as it blew across the beaches, my family and I would call it a day. Rushing off the beach, we regrouped. Gathering back at the house as quickly as possible, we conglomerated on the porch. Once evening plans were finalized the race for the showers begins. Each evening after a day on the beach two showers amongst ten members becomes high in demand. In the process of dueling for a shower nonsensical fights break out and unnecessary injuries would occur. However, in every attempt to avoid this I volunteer myself to go for a run.
I began running the length between our beach house and the sole access point of the island, the bridge. As I made my way down the graveled sidewalks, stretching miles long down the beaches, I finally approached the bridge. Breathing deeper and deeper I pushed the throbbing pain in my shins to the back of my head and pushed forward. As I pushed ahead, keeping my eyes locked on the bridge I spot something projecting above the bridge railing. Mindlessly running, I think nothing of it and continue on. A few feet away from the entrance of the bridge, I finally become visually enabled to depict what was actually protruding from the top of the bridge. It wasn’t an inanimate object, it appeared to be a middle aged man. As I stopped to catch my breath, standing just before the pearly bridge, I stared from afar. As I walked closer with my hands over head, I can see the blank, paralyzed expression on this man's face, as he gawked at the