It is a wild stroll down her memory lane, some 30-years ago, of days that crushed her heart and left her hope in rubble.
And between laughing and crying and gnashing my teeth because HOW COME I DIDN'T WRITE THAT LINE, a light dawned in a dim brain and a memory bubbled up.
I remember a walk she took with me then.
My heart was also crushed and and my hope also in the rubble. I couldn't trust myself to be alone and safe at the same time. Leigh was someone who seemed so together and stable and strong enough to withstand the disaster I suddenly was so I asked her if I could for just a few hours visit with her.
We visited. But at some point she needed to keep an appointment. I remember us walking down Second Avenue as the light faded. I was bracing myself to get through the next couple of hours.
I don't remember the words we said. I just remember this strength and stride of Leigh's. I just remember wishing I could be her, be stronger than what ailed me, and so much did then.
It was now 30 years later. I was suddenly hearing how those days for her were just as crushing as they were for me. Only this time, in a dark theater, it was me keeping her company...
And still, I marveled at her, marveled, and even though those days were long behind both of us, I still wanted to stride as fiercely as she did.
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.