Thirty-six years later, conversation still bubbled forth, not one corner of the universe that didn't invite colliding curiosity. So, like explorers launching into uncharted territories, we launched into ideas and thoughts, experiences and questions.
Yet, out of nowhere... it wasn't a constellation. It was more like billions of threads weaving together a tapestry from long ago, and in between words and private thoughts those days reappeared. Our conversation was the only thing we had left of the L&M diner on the corner of 10th and Second...
...the one where they took their then itty-bitty daughter every Sunday, so much so that when her aunt took her once, the daughter knew exactly what and how to order...
...the one where I, with a 17 year old's knowledge of cooking and the sudden care of an adult life, new to this apartment, that painting on that wall then, retreated daily to the diner's counter and ordered lunch and then again later in the day dinner specials, asking for family and home served in a plate and watching the owner and cook's strong burly arms place food down before me, his faded blue number tattoo dancing before me as we both sought solace.
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.