More to Giles
Anyhow, as I recall matters, Hythloday said the bridge over the Anyder at Amaurot was five hundred yards long; but my John says that is two hundred yards too much – that in fact the river is not more than three hundred yards wide there. So I beg you consult your memory. If your recollection agrees with his, I’ll yield and confess myself mistaken. But if you don’t recall the point, I’ll follow my own memory and keep my present figure. For, as I’ve taken particular pains to avoid having anything false in the book, so, if anything is in doubt, I’d rather say something untrue than tell a lie. In short, I’d rather be honest than clever. -Thomas More, Utopia
The bridge is an image I associate with my childhood. It is both a real and a figurative symbol; from something I used to often cross to something I can only recall in my mind. And the recollection of the real thing requires crossing the bridge of my present to my past.
Like in Thomas More’s Utopia, distance is irrelevant because Utopia is a fiction. Although my childhood bridge isn’t untrue, I feel I’d be lying if I were to give the exact measures of it.
My grandfather and I used to cross the bridge often, usually, on bicycle. You crossed the bridge to get to the next town. Once, in first grade my friends and I decided to journey across the bridge ourselves. You could see our house if you stood at a particular point on the bridge and I remember distinctly looking over my shoulder, fearful that my grandparents might see me as we crossed. I confess we did this to have a bowl of soup.
Recollecting the image of the bridge, I find its dimension changeable. It could be long, short, narrow or wide. Its paint, wrinkled and cracked like crumpled paper. The water below is still brown, opaque and possibly shallower now. In this new year, I hope you find a bridge moment; a place, an impossibility to cross over to.
Tags: More to Giles, Thomas More, Utopia