They've cleaned up the brick and I hear they even have computers in the classrooms. In fact, one time a couple of years ago I met a little girl who was somehow related to one of my old classmates from the other side of the bridge and she sounded really smart which was definitely not the case when we were going there.
Today, walking down Cannon Street what I remembered was this spot by the side entrance. Where M.P., who I thought was my boyfriend, threw the first punch and I don't remember much except a teacher pulling us apart and then dragging me to the janitor sink to rinse off my bloody nose.
What I also don't remember is what happened after. If I was scared to go home or scared to go to school or if my heart was just broken.
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.