hold your breath

Before crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, when going through the Robin Williams Memorial Tunnel, you must hold your breath, close your eyes, and make a wish.

For Sam

“Almost there?”
“Another half hour.”
“I always forget how much more there is to drive after the bridge,” my sister said, her voice static through the speakerphone.
“I haven’t hit the bridge yet,” I said, my hands tight on the wheel, ten and two. I followed the curves of the road up the lush green hillside. Fog rolled over the hills like a weightless avalanche onto the road. I turned on my headlights. 
“Feeling nervous?” My sister asked.
“I might pull over and barf.”
“Ha, very funny.” 
“Not kidding.”
“You aren’t gonna barf. You’ve been on dates before. And you’ve already met the guy.”

True. We’d had our first date a week ago. It was perfect. Ice cream cones. Bookstore. Held hands. No kiss. He’d driven the 56 miles for date number one, it was only fair that it was my turn to drive for date number two. At twenty-four years old, I’d never driven in San Fransisco before, and whenever my parents did it was a long-lasting round of the Quiet Game. Now I had the nerves of date number two and driving in the city for the first time. And having to drive myself back home after. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Char,” my sister said. “Getting close to the tunnel at least?”
At the top of the incline before the Golden Gate Bridge on Highway 101 is the Robin Williams tunnel, painted with a rainbow across the archway. When we were little, it was near superstition to make a wish going through the tunnel. Hold your breath, close your eyes, and make a wish. You had to do all three for the wish to come true, no peeking. It started as just the rainbow tunnel, but later became all tunnels, even long ones, with my sister and I getting red in the face hoping our wishes would come true. My cousin tried to start another, that you need to lift your feet off the bottom of the car when crossing the bridge so your feet don’t get wet but it didn’t catch on the way the tunnel wishes did. 
I made a wish every time I went through the tunnel. But this was my first time driving it myself. So I couldn’t close my eyes. 

“It’s coming up ahead,” I said, “It’s so foggy, what if I crash before I even get there?”
“Oh my god, I’m gonna hang up.”
“No! Don’t hang up!” I was too nervous for music, and silence was even worse. 
“What are you gonna wish for?”
“You know I can’t make a wish, I can’t close my eyes.”
“You’re impossible.”
“What?”
“Charley, make a goddamn wish.”
The tunnel was up ahead, I could see it just beyond a few more turns of the steep road.
“What do I even wish for?”
“A pony? Chocolate cake? I don’t care. I have to go soon, FYI, Lucia is picking me up any minute.”
In the evening spring fog, the tunnel cast a curious yellow glow from the lights inside. 
	
What should I wish for? It felt so silly, the moments before approaching the tunnel. Wishes past included pet unicorns or befriending princesses, advanced readers copies of the new Percy Jackson books, or meeting Taylor Swift. When I got older, my wishes were less fantastical, for my crush to text me back, for my friends to start including me, to not cry before school started, for clearer skin, to go down a pant size. Most recently I’d wished for everything to be okay. I held my breath and I hadn’t peeked. 

Because I’d needed it to come true.

The stretch of road in the tunnel is straight, a four-lane highway leading to downhill to the bay. I bet I can close my eyes for a moment, so it comes true. 
A bright light through the tunnel pulled me through. 

I took a deep breath in and held it.
I took a long blink.
Please, let him be the one.
I opened my eyes, the sigh of my breath dropping my shoulders as I saw the view before me.

On this side of the mountain, the sky was clear. The rolling fog and dark tunnel were behind me. The evening sun cast a golden light over the bridge, the ocean full of glittering blue waves below. 

To this day, it is the most beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge I’ve ever seen.

“Hello? Char? Did you hear me? Lucia’s here, I gotta go.”
“I made my wish.”
“Great, have some chocolate cake for me when it comes true. Love ya, be safe.”
“You too, Syd.”

Crossing the bridge, I looked to my right over the bay, completely unaware of how many times I’d look at the very same view over the next two years. Unaware of how comfortable the drive would feel in a matter of months, that very soon I’d be able to listen to music while navigating the streets of the city without a GPS. Unaware of how the bridge would become a star to me, a physical marker of connection, connecting me to him 56 miles apart. Over the glittering Pacific Ocean, I was completely unaware of how two of my tunnel wishes were so close to coming true. 

That night, after more bookstores and pizza and hot chocolate, we found ourselves in Park Presidio. The fog from the other side of the mountain had come in. He apologized for the bad view and said it was typical San Fransisco weather. I told him how beautiful the bridge was on my drive in. He went to open the car door for me.
“Before we go,” I said boldly. 
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
Hold your breath. 
Close your eyes. 
Make a wish. 

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