Annotated Images: BREAK →
BREAK
Last semester, in my frequent moments of weakness, I wished I were back in New York,where it seemed I had never lacked for pictures.
Going home, I was unnerved to discover how thoroughly the rhythm of my old life had dissipated, and with it, the pictures that would constantly, magically take shape all around me. At least that was how I remembered it. In any case, they were gone.
I try to focus on light and form – use the camera, keep the muscles active – but it feels hollow.
***
My former students have new teachers and allegiances – they are delighted to see me, but basically disinterested. It shouldn’t be surprising – what kind of long-term relationship can you hope to have with a child who is not yours?
***
I take the F all the way down to Coney Island – for some reason I half expect that when the doors open at Stillwell Avenue it will be summer: gusts of hot humidity rushing into the subway car, beams of strawberry-blond light streaking the platform.
On the deserted beach, a man in a neon orange jacket screams at me when I get too close to the hundreds of seagulls clustered around him.
“This is a bird feeding area, not for you! You don’t bring them bread! Shame on you!”
I end up taking pictures of a wall.
***
The day before I leave to go back to Chicago, I run into a girl I taught last year. She once wrote an achingly brilliant poem about a mother coming to terms with her teenage son growing up. One day at the park, I scraped a massive clod of dog shit off of her sneaker. She’s now queen of the fourth grade. When I explain what I’ve been up to this year, she gives me some frank advice.
“I think you should stay in Chicago forever. Any place is better than here, with all the litter and the bad trees.”
***
On Monday the principal shows me the room where I’ll be working after school. Momentarily distracted from their work, the fifth graders look up – silently they examine the stranger at their door. I wonder which ones I will get to know.
— Ani Katz
