Tony Gloeggler: Down by an Old Mill Where a Big Part of Your Heart Lives

The bus driver motions you
to climb on when you read
the address of your step son’s
apartment. “Get off at the mill.
It’s a few blocks down the road.”
You’ve lived your whole life
in NYC, imagine that mills look
like factories in Springsteen songs.
You picture a big building,
red brick or gray sheet rock.
Maybe a little town built itself
around it. A whistle blows.
Bunches of hunched over men,
hands in pockets, or one arm
hanging down, carrying a battered
lunch box, walk through some gate
in a misty dusk, sucking on cigarettes,
the dots of light pulsing from their lips.
Some turn left to one of two corner bars,
others veer right, head for dinner tables.
Almost, you can hear a faint harmonica,
a soft tone from The Big Man’s sax.

You are neither going home or out
for a Friday night of beer, 8 ball,
and a bar band. No, it’s a weekend
spent visiting Jesse. If you see
your long-ago girl friend, you’ll both
act cordial. When you try, you can still
recall things you loved about her,
although you know she would never
think of trying. But you and Jesse
have a gift. You can both stop time.
He’s autistic and you love the kid,
who’s now a man. The bus driver
announces, Blainefield Mill. You walk
to the door, nod thanks. No mill,
just a large building filled with offices,
clothing shops, an organic market,
a sleek restaurant overlooking
a waterfall fed by melting snow.

The fourth floor apartment door opens
and Jesse’s support worker yells, “look
who’s here.” Jesse says ”Tony”, glances
at you sideways with a big smile. You ask
him what’s new. He’s now living on his own
in this new beautiful apartment, three
spacious rooms, stained wooden floors,
glazed windows flooding the place
with sun, central air conditioning
and this bearded, doo-ragged worker
you never met who extends his hand,
says his name is Brandon. You own
a new kidney and unlike last time,
you’re walking without a cane.
Jesse has added a few soft pounds
to his middle. You catch his eye, say
“what’s going on, man, I’ve missed you”
and Jesse who habitually answers ‘good’
to most questions, surprises you by saying
“not much” and you laugh, realize he’s right.
Nothing essential has changed. It’s just you
and Jesse, moving closer for your brief hug.

Copyright 2024 Tony Gloeggler. First published in Paterson Literary Review.

Tony Gloeggler’s books include What Kind of Man (NYQ Books, 2020). He is a life-long resident of New York City.