l i f e
the grand fall
I noticed the cracks in the pavement sweating tar as soon as I came around the corner leading up to the millhouse. I parked in the shade of a Dutch elm and jumped the small brick wall into waist high brush. Down the steep grade in front of me I could see the window to the turbine room. Two panes of glass were out, one more than last time, both near the base and left of the window. As I grew closer I could tell someone had removed the wood as well providing greater access.
I got stopped at the base of the embankment, by the foundation, and opened my bag.
Pliers, wire-cutters, screwdrivers (flat and philips), flashlight, journal, two pens, a pencil, my Nikon FG, a Vivitar 29mm wide-angle lens, a Nikon 52mm lens, a small Bogen tripod, one roll of Kodak DX1000, and a couple Ilford 400's I had left in the fridge. Deeper down in the back flap, my pocket knife, a Snickers bar and a warm Guinness.
I shoulder the bag and climb through the window. The Florida green turbine whines loudly and I always pause to look at the bolts (big as my fist) holding the thing together. From the window it's a quick drop down onto the rusted iron grating that runs over the water rushing below. This puts the window arms reach above my head. I've got to pull myself out, but this is still the best way into the bowels of the millhouse.
I smell the musty odor of old things and I hear the voice of an ex who said I always smelled like them. I breathe deep. Yeah. I kinda think I favor gasoline and oil myself, but hey, they're both great smells.
Three steps up and through the bottom half of a wood door. Out with the flashlight and move to the right. The left side is weak and I don't want to end up in the Haw river, yet...
She never held on long enough. Always let go right when things started to burn with the pain that was going to be so productive. I can never forgive her for that, but thankfully I don't have to. I kissed that need goodbye over a few beers the last Love & Rockets show. Only problem is, even though I don't feel the need for forgiveness, I feel, and ain't that a bitch.
A new hole in the floor above catches my eye and I pull out the Nikon, load the DX1000 and manuver for the best angle on things. I settle where I can just see the branches of something coming over the roof line two stories up. Snap. A little to the right. Snap. Close down a couple stops and...snap...one last time.
I mean what do I really care what goes on with her life. Why does my heart leap when I she a gray '86 Siracco. She doesn't even drive it anymore. Hasn't for years. Hell, I remember telling her the timing belt was shit in that thing and she'd better change it 'cause VW made one of those engines that fly apart when the belt goes, but she didn't listen. I guess maybe that's it. She didn't listen to me ever. Not when I said, "I don't love you." Not at my "Hmph" when she hissed, "I hate you." into my ears at that show.
Just down the hall is the office, the old one. It's empty now, but all the paper work is still around. Some bottles, a couple ink wells (don't know why) and old typewriter with rusted keys. Anything of value is long gone, but you never can tell so I look one more time anyway. One more time for the goods.
And I guess that's part of it too. Everything of value is gone. It was the minute she began to hit on the other guy in front of me. The same guy she'd shoved aside a few moments before. The same guy she ultimately left with that last night. To spite me. She told me that much, "If I can't have things the way I want them...I'm giving him to myself." She pointed through the smoke at the unsuspecting fellow. I knew she'd do it. Wasn't that how she got me all those years ago, a present to herself? "I hate you," she hissed...yeah. A broken toy.
After the office there is a long storage room filled with more garbage. Water damaged lamp bases and old molds for toys that I guess they stamped out next door.
I found the bobby there, just before the break out onto the second floor landing where one wall has completely fallen away. The shadows bend inward in a trick of the light and I sit heavy on the broken floor. It creaks under my weight, flexing a little, and gives a terrific view of the Haw rushing by. I pull out my journal and begin to write away the afternoon...
goodnight 9.10.98