Still Alive

 
We took the same
positions 20 years ago
after the hospital called
to tell us my father
didn’t have much time
left. This time, mom
is still alive. Donna
and Jaime, at the top
of the bed again.
She’s stroking mom’s
forehead, running fingers
through her hair. He’s talking
through tears about love,
how well she took care
of us. Me and John, down
by her knees, quiet, on each
side. He’s watching her face,
lines stitching into his cheeks.
My mouth’s making choking
sounds and whimpering,
my face ready to break.

One month later, mom’s back
in her apartment, bed ridden
in the basement of my sister’s
house, oxygen machines, nebulizer
treatments she routinely resists,
two doses of morphine a day,
groaning in pain when anyone
shifts her position, begging us,
help me, cover me, I’m cold
as we roll her on her side,
wipe her ass, spread cream
on her cheeks. Her face
relaxes when anyone visits,
her grandkids call. She smiles
when we joke, tease each
other, her. Making sense
maybe half the time,
she keeps asking for food,
a Carvel sundae with walnuts,
ham and cheese omelets,
olives, green and black, beef
soup her grandson Bobby
made, good as mine, she nods.
then forgetting what she ate
a few minutes after her mouth
is cleaned, blanket straightened.
She always asks me to stay.
I wait until she slips
into sleep before I leave.
I kiss her forehead, never
sure I’m hoping she wakes up.

*

A Place In The World

 
When Jesse opens the door
for my monthly weekend visit,
he’ll say Hi Tony how are you
like a telemarketer accelerating
his pace, ready to begin a special
Medicaid pitch for my area only.
He’ll never ask me what’s new,
how was my flight and I never know
what he’s thinking, when he bends
down to pick up broken rubber bands
in the middle of the street when a car
stops and the driver waves us on
or when Jesse closes his bedroom
door, makes happy humming sounds
as he rips books, magazines to shreds
and all I can think about is being 13,
jerking off as often as possible. No
matter how careful my observations
may be, how long I’ve known him,
I know I’m only making semi-educated
guesses while he’ll never offer anything
beyond name, rank, serial number and
I doubt he wonders about me when
I’m back home in Queens, not sure
he understands there’s a world
beyond what his eyes can see,
the spaces he moves through
as he tries to arrange his future,
constantly confirming the dates,
activities and the staff members
who will accompany him weeks,
months, years ahead in his brain.

I am one of those people, the only
unpaid person besides his mom,
appearing on his schedule, her once
upon a long time ago, live-in, ex-
boyfriend. I grew attached to Jesse
and won’t, can’t let go of him. I know
he’s autistic, know what to expect,
except he surprises, fascinates me
regularly and I routinely accept
that yes he comes first, second
and last, that he maintains a safe
distance between him and everyone
else. He’s connected more to patterns,
routines he views as cast-iron rituals.
It’s his world and I am only in it to serve,
help make his days smoother, figure out
ways for him to fit in, when, where and how
he has to adapt, and help him recognize
the times when the world needs to make
way, step aside and take Jesse as he is.

These days, I’ll ask for a hug, open
my arms. He’ll move closer with no
sign of resistance, give me the slightest
squeeze, hold on, linger maybe ten
seconds longer than when I first
knew him. He’s super helpful, goes
down to the basement, grabs blankets,
pillows and tosses them on the couch
where I sleep. He charges my phone
every evening, without me asking
and reminds me to carry it along
with our bus passes, the day’s schedule
we wrote out first thing in the morning
while sitting at the kitchen table,
and a blue, no never a black pen,
to cross off whenever we finish
an activity, insert any change
of plan or write out more information
please whenever he’s confused
or upset, every time we step
out the door, into the community.

Last visit, sitting on the shady porch,
suitcase at my feet, waiting for his mom
to drop me off at the airport 1:00 sharp
when Jimmy pulled up in his car to start
his shift at exactly the same time. Mom
said oh shit and asked Jesse airport,
say goodbye to Tony or Maple Street
pool with Jimmy. When Jesse paused,
said wait Jimmy here please, I felt worth
a little more than I ever thought I was.

***

(Featured image from Pexels)