my brain still playing all kinds of tricks on me. calm and sleepy one moment then manic and restless the next. confident and clear one moment then edgy and foggy the next. what does this mean? what is the sign? what is my purpose? what is my purpose? what is my purpose???
I woke up on the floor of Tom’s condo after a night of drinking and casting and reading and auditioning. taking life into my hands one slow and long day after another. what is my purpose? what is my purpose? what is my purpose? lacking confidence one day. fiery and focused the next.
I woke up on the floor and went down to the steam room with Tom. sweating out the booze from the night before. sweating away the toxins and doubt. steam room. hot tub. swim. coffee. breakfast sandwich. then drove over to Bloor St to buy a Brahm’s cd. I walked out of the Bloor St store and realized that I was at Brunswick Ave. I turned right and walked north on Brunswick. I walked to Jean Sibellius Park. thirty six years ago a young girl was taken from this park and raped and murdered a block away at 482 Brunswick Ave. She was nine years old. her name was Sharin Morningstar Keenan. I was sixteen. her body was stuffed into a small fridge where the killer had lived. he disappeared. his name was and is Dennis Melvyn Howe. he was never found although there has been many sightings. how does one disappear? no sign. no clues. no nothing. sad. one of the detectives working on the case committed suicide a few months after the young girl’s body was found. so tragic. so unnecessary. terrifying. within a five year span in the early eighties there were several tragic cases. Alison Parrot was raped and murdered after answering a phone call at her midtown home where the killer pretended to be a photographer and lured the young girl down to Varsity Stadium for a supposed photoshoot. she phoned her Mother at work to ask if she could go and her Mom said “yes” and that was it. her Mom never saw her again. sad. terrifying. unnecessary. tragic. traumatizing. her killer, Francis Roy, was eventually caught and sentenced to jail. Nicole Morin disappeared from her Etobicoke apartment in 1985. she was eight years old. she asked her Mom if she could go swimming with her friend and her Mom said “yes.” she walked down the hallway and took the elevator down to meet her friend. she never made it down to the lobby. she vanished without a trace. no signs. no clues. she has still not been found. her Mom died of cancer shortly after Nicole’s disappearance. her Dad still holds out hope that she is alive and well somewhere. no answers. no resolution. no hope. her Dad is alone. sad. tragic. unnecessary.
all of these tragic stories happened about eight years after my initial loss of innocence. that happened in 1977 when a young eleven year boy from Portugal who shined shoes for extra money for his family was lured away from Yonge Street and was brutally raped and murdered by three savages. all three are now in jail. maybe one of the guys has died. not sure. The Shoeshine Boy, as Emmanuel Jaques was nicknamed, lost his life in fear. torture. alone. his family devastated as were the families of all the other young victims. sad. tragic. unnecessary.
I left Jean Sibellius Park and walked over to 428 Brunswick. the spot where Sharin Morningstar Keenan was viciously raped and murdered. the wind was howling. it was dark. grey. the street was weirdly empty. I heard chimes off in the distance. I stood outside the rundown house and began to cry. what a horrific way for a young girl to die. terrified. alone. in pain. how could anyone do such a horrific act? how could anyone harm such an innocent child? why does this happen? where was god? where were the neighbours? how did this sick man lure the innocent girl? nobody saw? how is this man NOT behind bars??? does nobody know where he is? what happens to the families of these innocent victims? do they ever move on? life. loss. why?
I walked away from 482 and walked south. tears streaming down my face. snow began to fall. I was cold. sad. thoughtful. lost. confused. purpose? purpose? purpose? TELL POWERFUL STORIES THAT MAKE PEOPLE FEEL. WE HAVE TOO MUCH FLUFF IN THIS WORLD. TOO MUCH PHONINESS. NOT ENOUGH AUTHENTICITY. PURPOSE. WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER COMEDY? WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER COMIC BOOK? WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER SUPER HERO? WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER DUMB SHOW WITH BRITISH ACCENTS AND HORSES OR KINGS AND QUEENS. POWERFUL STORIES THAT MAKE PEOPLE FEEL. love. loss. sorrow. hope. sadness. happiness. real. family.
childhood trauma.
lots of childhood trauma.
still a child in many ways.
didn’t have a childhood in many other ways.
family torn apart at a young age.
trauma.
traumatic.
1970’s.
1980’s.
tragic.
loss.
love.
missing children.
sadness.
love.
I want to love.
restless and real.
make people feel.
feelings.
no more fluff.
no more HATE.
no more PHONINESS.
real.
loss.
LOVE.
LOVE.
LOVE.
THE SHOESHINE BOY.
SHARIN MORNINGSTAR KEENAN.
ALISON PARROT.
NICOE MORIN.
MY DAD.
1970’s.
1980’s.
childhood memories.
notanotherphony. 