Rainy days and Mondays lend themselves to glancing back at other times. Although not necessarily better. Or worse. Just a reminder of the original home
Originally posted July 5, 2009
Monty's Mom asked what everyone in the courtchyard asked. "What are you doing with your mother's apartment?"
(actually it was more like "whatcha gonna do wit ya motha's apartment?" note: the "t" is silent)
I gave the usual answer about renting and the piano.
"You still play?"
No. I had put my foot down at 13 and refused to play anymore. If I was going to be forced to study music, go to music school and attend the music department at the School for the Performing Arts for violin, I wasn't also going to study the piano. In a rare nod to my individualization, Florence agreed.
I never liked it, I told Monty's Mom.
"Well," she said, "You were a rebellious one."
I was? I had played with Monty when we were little little but like most of the neighbors in the courtchyard it never really felt like anyone knew me, just of me as I ran past in a game of tag.
"Oh yeah. You were power to the people. I mean it was the 60's. But yeah, you were. You were little, too. Yeah. Power to the people."
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