I must have been only six at the time, my sister, Poppy, twoI must have wondered whyPoppy decided to look at the parked cars in the parking lotrather than walk the Stone Arch Bridge.My mom must have stayed behind with Poppy,leaving only my dad, my aunt, and myself to see it fall.We must have walked for a little while,because it happenedaround the middle of the bridge.It must have been humid that summer,because my feet must have been a little slippery, a little sweaty.I must have stepped up onthe brick wall below the handrailand rested my feet between the rail and the bricks.I must have stared up at Saint Anthony Falls in aweand must have heard an ice cream truck calling me.I must have stepped down from that ledge,felt my shoe slide off,and watched it tumble down,an orange falling into a faucet stream,the river.And I must have stretched my hand out,a “No!” from me, a sad yes lingering in my brain.I must have looked at my feet that night,rough and callused from a day without my right shoe.And someone down in Louisianamust have seen an orange Croc oat by on the Mississippi,a bucket full of mystery,and wondered.