The San Francisco – Oakland Bay Bridge became an adult in 1936 and her lover, the Golden Gate Bridge did so too, in 1937.
They grew close to one another as well, in the cold, harsh waters of the San Francisco bay. They withstood those strange land shakes or as the humans called them: earthquakes. They survived the occasional nasty gusts of wind that swept the Western California land.
Sometimes, in the midst of all these unforeseeable natural phenomena, they would wave at each other, lovingly. It was almost as they were showing each other they had made it through.
The cars would race over them like it was no important business. But for these bridges, and in comparison to other happenings, it was like a tickle in their bellies.
The Oakland Bay Bridge admired the Golden Gate from afar. That wonderful brick red shade shone from the west and the greyish bridge felt her suspension become shaky. Or maybe that was just a land shake.
The Golden Gate Bridge would also look over to the east for the ashy apple of his eye. Sure, the Oakland Bay Bridge was not majestic, but the gigantic red bridge didn’t even consider it. For him, that frail-looking piece of architecture was as resilient as he could be.
The bridges eventually understood what connected them was love and not only the roads surrounding them. And they tied their suspension cables as soon as they did.
One day the Oakland Bay Bridge birthed a new bridge. One as tiny as her but as the Golden Gate it had a reddish, eye-catching hue.
The bridge was taken halfway into the world, to Portugal. It was placed in a way to unite the southern margin of the Tagus river with Lisbon. A baby later named 25th of April Bridge, as a reminder of the Portuguese people’s fight for freedom.
All these bridges had one simple thing in common, they had risen amongst their countries’ undying wish for liberty. And although separated by an entire country and a immense ocean, they stood proudly with only one word to describe their feeling: