But on a walk home, looking up at the lone kitchen light in a quiet dark building...
... the sorrow and the pity...
Our house silenced by late hours and defeat, the lone florescent light would be left on in the kitchen, just in case someone needed to get up in the middle of the night and, surrounded by kitchen appliances, stand there, wondering if it was worth trying again when the sun came up.
We weren't the only ones who had those lights. Everyone had them. They were plentiful, affordable and functional and came with the apartments we all lived in. Apartments that were plentiful, affordable and functional.
Those lights and the apartments they used to be in have all but disappeared.
But, here or there, on a dark street, look up. What once always was, might still remain. An empty night kitchen with cold blue light beckoning another leap of faith.
Perhaps all those old lights in those old kitchens so many years ago was the sorrow. And perhaps their disappearance is the pity.
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.