Written for OLWG#95
When I moved to New York, I had it in my head that I needed to live in that neighbourhood because… well because I was a big fan of David Peel and The Lower East Side Band. I used to go outside and walk the streets communing with the ghosts of all the famous people who had grown up there. The neighbourhood is ripe with spirits. People like The Marx Brothers, Eddie Cantor, Al Jolson, The Gershwins, and Jimmy Durante; to name a few.
My mother had been born somewhere below Delancey, and I saw her once. It was late on a spring afternoon, right before dinner time. I was walking near the corner of Broome and Orchard. Mom was younger than she had ever been when I knew her; she was maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. She was smoking. I don’t know for sure that she saw me, but I think she must have.
She did a double take, reddened, and flipped her cigarette into the street with a practised hand then looked into my eyes and mouthed my name, “TN?”
I greeted her politely then watched as her smile turned over and her eyes glaze. She shook her head, glanced up and down the street a few times, perplexed; then she too vanished in the dusky, fading light. I’ve gone back a few times but I’ve never seen her again.
This week’s prompts were:
- just ice
- Hi, Mom