(This was originally written online on a Toronto writers' computer bulletin board called Powderkeg. Some days later, I was the master of ceremonies for a Parkdale community memorial service for Suzanne, held at the Tennessee Restaurant in Parkdale.)
From: Patrick
To: All
Msg #1, May-17-94 01:55:48
Subject: tonight
she was a waitress. in my regular bar, across the street from where i work, down the street from where i live. she had longish brown hair, very straight and shiny, she was pretty and well-mannered, she had style and reserve, she wore clothes that looked like she shopped carefully and took care of them, she... she could be really kind, within the reserve young pretty ladies soon learn to wear, in a rough neighbourhood and a sometimes-rough bar.
she's dead.
goodbye, suzanne. goodbye.
i hate guns. i hate hate hate hate guns, it makes me so fucking
angry, and it feels so wrong, when grief is her due, when
mourning alone for the loss of her, is the proud true thing to wear -- to
feel so angry inside, at the waste of metal and skill, when
used to make a precision stick of death.
she was 24 years old. she could have done and been so much. not now.
not. now.
goodbye, suzanne, goodbye.
goodbye
somewhere in the night
walk within the light
find the peace
beyond
and walk the light
goodnight, suzanne
good night