It doesn't matter, after deciding somewhere deep inside to never stand on her own two feet again, that Florence hasn’t walked in months. We kept all her shoes.
Maybe, just maybe one day, after all the massages and physical therapy and coaxing, just maybe a breeze will come through the window cracked open just a tiny bit, dance around her and remind her of the outside wonderfulness she used to stride through.
And maybe, just maybe she’ll put her shoes on again and return to her own two feet.
Florence used to say denial wasn't to be sniffed at.
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.