After posting that poem. I just thought of Shennan.
Shennan was a twisted soul, maybe that’s why.
Last year he killed himself on the train tracks. It was in the next town over but I woke up in the middle of the night, (actually it was the early morning) by the sound of the train. I jumped. It was so loud it startled me out of my sleep. I walked around the house listening to it blowing, and blowing it’s whistle. It was not like a normal train sound, it was eerie and constant. It woke up some of my kids, my daughter – the one with a tendency for psychic predictions, asked me what happened. I didn’t know, I think I said it was probably a moose on the tracks. It went on for at least 20 minutes.
And in the morning I found out, Shennan was dead.
The train whistle in the middle of the night will forever remind me of that night.
We did not have that close of a relationship. At least not as adults. As kids our mothers were friends, they were both hippies they got high together, sitting in a circle, passing a joint we played around them without a clue.
We used to go to their house, because my father would not let my mother smoke, so she hid it. They had a potbelly pig, a garden, and they lived in the middle of nowhere.
And Shennan and his sister were totally cool, they had awesome names, Brie and Shennan, Brie was older, pretty had big boobs and was not interested in being bothered by me whatsoever, she would hang out with my older sister. And he had this long black hair and posters all over his bedroom door, it was like his sanctuary, loud music playing, those posters and a crazy-hyper energy. I have no idea how old we were, but we were young.
Of course I had a crush on him. How couldn’t I? He swore at his mom, we both ate tofu, and lived in the middle of the woods; Our mothers were crazy.
But as time passed we didn’t see each other anymore (which after his death, my mother explained to me was because of the way that his mother was raising them.)
I grew up, had kids or maybe had kids, then grew up – and totally forgot that Shennan Stevens ever existed. Until one day I saw him and found out that he was actually friends with a lot of the people that I was close too – my best friend, my sister in law. I was introduced. I was introduced, and we just looked at each other, and he hugged me and we said, “yes we do know each other.”
Um. Shennan….Really? This could not be Shennan. This was not the same cute boy with the blue eyes and jet black long hair…. This was a skinny old dude, shorter than me, with no hair and he was clearly obnoxious (that part at least remained.)
Over the next few years we saw eachother hear and there. We were friends on Facebook, then I had to delete him off facebook a few times because of his insane out there posts which sometimes made me question what realm he was living in. His posts could at any point reference fucking his mother, or being molested by his dead dog, postmortem molestation or something inappropriate about a child. That’s where I draw the line though.
His mind was wild and insane.
I was not really close to him, but we shared a common bond and when he hugged me after all those years I could feel it in his hug; we both came from the same place of crazy.
His mother, my mother.
They hurt us in a way that only crazy poems and random posts on Facebook can explain.
Shennan took the easy way out. Medicating himself with liquor, drugs and then ultimately the final jump onto the train tracks at the perfect moment, the ultimate high.
My mom told me that his mother was the ultimate extreme un-parent-er. She taught them to defy everything, to listen to noone, that clothes were optional, and basically let them fend for their selves. Of course this is just third party hear-say, I don’t know if it was true and I was too little to really know back then but when Shennan and I did have a conversation about our childhood and I asked how his mother was, he told me he hated the bitch and didn’t talk to her.
So back into my life, then out a brief whistle.. Shennan is gone. I on the other hand, am still here, fighting the fight, fighting the battle. Listening to crazy when it pops up every now and then.
Fuck you Shennan; for giving up the battle, for spitting in our faces, for making the train whistle remind me of death, of silence and of childhood.