A My Private Coney project Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Sunday Memories - Matthew 26:52
When I had a crush on the boy, I kicked him or at least tried to, once chasing Costas down the aisle of a rare empty auditorium at PS 110.
But when it came to punching, that was a horse of a different challenge, usually issued by Michael or Uriah or Antonio or whoever else felt it necessary to call me to a fight and I held dear to my record of never losing which was much different than always winning. I just punched back long enough for a teacher to rush out onto Cannon Street and drag me back into the school and wash off the bloody nose.
And then Junior High School 56 loomed on the horizon and we were all sat down and told of one kid being stabbed, another thrown off the roof (maybe it was the same kid) and what was a right and skill - to punch back - suddenly had much different consequences.
At 6th Grade graduation, an autograph book filled with well wishes from classmates and teachers alike, a note to myself:
"When I get into junior high school, I must act more mature, try to advoid fights and don't talk back and be quiet...""
...because "all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword," and I was told there was fun waiting for me in high school.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.