I Spy

I've been on both sides backed in traffic when the bridge raises. Tankers, tugs and dredgers still pass through the Newtown Creek. Usually I'm stuck too far away to catch a glimpse of what is passing through, too blocked by the trucks in front of me to note if the boat is heading up creek or down creek.

Only a few times I've been close enough to hear the clanging bells signaling the gates going down and see a tower of a boat float through.

This the most modern drawbridge in Blissville, built originally in 1929 but overhauled in 1987. I used to think it was automated, propelled by a secret signal from whomever needed access.

But I've starting watching the cabin at the summit of the bridge. Sometimes the light is on, and sometimes it's not. On lonely Sundays I've seen the quick shift, from one person to another. I've even seen cars pull up to deliver what must surely be food. They keep to themselves. None of this sates my curiosity.

I am my mother's daughter, I think. She loved to drive by people's houses at dusk and gaze into their windows, imagining other lives, anything but her own.