The rope bridge was hardly steady, but we crossed it anyway. I remember the planks were too far apart and the ropes looked frayed and worn. Michelle was afraid, so I went ahead of her. The winds from the channel shook us back and forth and she clung on to the sides so that I could hear the rope chafing against her hands as she stepped across. I don’t know if I heard the plank crack or her scream first. It cut off into a yelp and I dove after her. I grabbed at her hair and she whipped to the side like she was on a bungee cord. The other half of her hair tore out when she bounced. Her hands were stretched above her but too far for me to grasp. I called out her name. Michelle. Her eyes, I remember, were wide with panic. A moment turned into an eternity as our eyes met and she slipped away into the fog below. We knew at that moment that she was going to die, but neither of us could ever have known how quickly we would have to part ways. If it weren’t for my own fear of dying, I would have stayed there an hour longer. I slowly unclenched my hand and let the hairs float away in the wind.