Losing Peter

Sept. 21, 2008

Still recovering from the memorial to Peter, which was rather like a wake, a celebration of his life, which is fine and good. I had felt drained all morning, knew I had to get my ass in gear and go shopping for some items to bring. Finally, I left the hotel, picked up Jhim Pattison on the way. Jhim, Byron Baker, Peter and I go way back, all the way back to 1980 when Byron approached me at the Hong Kong Cafe to say hello because he has a thing for redheads. The three of them had been hanging out together quite a lot lately, Peter sending me news.

Well Jhim and I went to the supermarket to buy flowers, candles, wine, cake and some salmon for the grill. I said, “Hey Jhim, this is something we have never done before, isn’t it?” Trippy.

Driving the hills of Echo Park was hairy; the GPS giving us convoluted directions and sending us down steep hills nose first. I couldn’t see over the hood at one point. We unloaded and I prowled around in search of a space big enough to park the monster. It looks like a gangster mobile-low, tinted windows, fat tires. Gracious host Amanda Sherren’s place was the quintessential and lovely Echo Park house that reminded me of past gatherings, past lives. I asked for a vase for the lilies and told her I used to live in the neighbourhood, in an apartment above a shoe store at the corner of Sunset and Alvarado. I had roof access, hosted tar beach parties where we watched the fireworks from Dodger Stadium on the fourth of July each year.

There were many people in attendance including dear friends SA Griffin and Doug Knott and some I hadn’t seen in years like Byron and Michael Mollet. I embraced the new friends as well, people I have been corresponding with online about Peter, Tyler Waxman, Bob Moss and Gina Lamb, though I’m pretty sure I met Gina long ago as she is a friend of his from Baltimore. Peter and I visited that city more than once and it was always a wild time. I was pleased to meet cool peeps from different periods of his life-Zuade Kaufman for one-and there were a few other art-school-Baltimore friends there too including the charming Susan MacAdams. It’s amazing actually, thinking back, on how much traveling Peter and I did together despite a dearth of cash. We made a trip to Canada once too, to visit my parents. My mom liked him a lot, his height, bearing and humour reminded her of her brothers Doug and Reggie.

Peter’s son came with his mother. He was tall but I saw little resemblence. He was very quiet, told one of Peter’s friend’s, “I didn’t know my father.” Poor kid. I imagine he must be grappling with conflicted feelings.

People shared stories, photos and memories of course. I related how Peter and I met, in San Francisco, how I used to see him at punk rock shows. I think it was at a Dead Kennedy gig that he came over and started talking to me. He wanted us to play music together, kept bugging me for my phone number. I resisted. I was very alienated, depressed, wanted nothing to do with anyone, especially men. One night after a party we shared a cab back to my place and against what I thought was my better judgement, I invited him in and that was when it all started between us. A few weeks later, around Christmas, I was ruminating in my tiny, rented room when he called, again, and wanted to come over. I hate Christmas, was trying to pretend it wasn’t Christmas but I said, “Okay, come over.” I was miserable. He was working in a restaurant and when he walked in, sat down and dumped out a backpack of goodies that he’d swiped-chocolate cake (oh yeah, he zeroed in on my weaknesses) oranges, nuts, turkey breasts and then he pulled out a tiny, potted Christmas tree replete with decorations! So endearing. A few incidents like that and he was in, won my heart. We were inseparable for the next three or four years, moving to NYC and then Los Angeles where we played in a band together with Jon Huck, wrote screenplays and published and edited Rattler, our poetry and art zine. We would hang out now and then after we broke up until I moved back to Canada in 1992. I would call him up once in a while when I could track him down for he moved around a lot. About a year and a half ago he got a Myspace account and we had been corresponding on a regular basis.

Bad Day was screened, the short film he acted in, directed by Excene Cervenka and Modi Frank. The rampant gun play was too much for me, the irony. I had to stop watching, walked away. I couldn’t eat, have felt sick ever since hearing this awful news. People speculated about what happened. I overheard one person say that he died the way he lived, or something to that effect. Pissed me off. He was a restless soul, yes, but he wasn’t doomed, or destined to die this way. Nobody is. He was NOT born to lose and I don’t buy into that superstitious bullshit. There are too many guns in this country-handguns-and even the most disturbed people can own them. That might provide an explanation but there is certainly no comfort in it. There are so many rumours floating about, still, how there must have been drugs involved, paranoia, certainly, how Peter was invited back to the loft to work things out. I heard NO new facts, commiserated and stewed with friends in anger. Felt like forming a posse, for at the very least, that’s what his killer is, a vigilante.

Sept. 20, 2008

Smooth flight yesterday, arrived in LA around 3:30 in the afternoon. Ah, palm trees, eucalyptus, hot asphalt. LA always smells and feels the same and I am always hit by a wave of nostalgia each time I visit. I get on the freeway and feel like I’ve never left, it is all so familiar. My old stomping grounds. I drive by places recalling parties, art openings, mishaps and what-have you. Missing Peter so badly, my heart broken knowing I am never to see him again. Every once in a while that reality hits me, hard, and I break down again. Only through this finality, losing him this way have I realized how much he meant to me and for that I am ashamed, that I took him and our bond for granted. I certainly should know better by now, with the other losses I have suffered in my life.

Got in the Dodge Charger we rented with the notion that Josef would drive. He insists on a full size care so he can fit his tall frame into it, otherwise he suffers. Being solo, I got a GPS unit and it worked brilliantly. A few years ago I rented one and it was cumbersome and not very user-friendly. They have evolved thank Christ. Arrived at the hotel, checked in after much confusion. I made the reservation but it was in Josef’s name and they wanted verification. I hadn’t had time to print out the confirmation so opened up my MacBook and showed them my name. My dear friend Teresa and my god child Ava met me at the hotel and we went up to my room together. Ava was very excited, got over her initial shyness pretty quickly and tore about the room, spinning in the swivel chair. I can see the ocean from here but wish I could have stayed in Hollywood, but with everything was booked for Emmys weekend. I was lucky to find a room at all.

The three of us went down to the restaurant. I hadn’t had a real meal all day, just snacking on the run. Ava kept repeating, “Mommy, my stomach hurts.” We got seated, settled in, chatting away when suddenly Ava erupts, the poor thing vomiting all over herself. The wait staff were very nice, moved us to another table while Teresa took Ava to the bathroom and cleaned her up. When she returned, I said, “Now you will feel better I bet.” She nodded yes and we proceeded to have a lovely time. Teresa and I looked at each other and she said, “Why did I think spinning in that chair was a good idea?” We had to laugh about it. We talked too about how we were instructed as children to “clean your plate” when in fact children should be told the opposite, to quit eating when they feel full.

I came upstairs later, settled in, tried to catch up on emails and get in touch with people regarding the memorial. I spoke with Bob Moss about putting together a shrine for Peter and a slide show. I have brought photos and the Rattlers we edited and published. Doug says he can bring a copy of Bad Day, the short film Peter was in. I’ve never seen it and it also features Dave Alvin and Kevin Costner. Peter had such a striking appearance and was very photogenic. We touched on the controversy surrounding his death, how things might get weird. I am determined to attend despite my apprehensions. So, I better get going, want to find a new hat, having forgotten my Audrey-Hepburn-in-Breakfast at Tiffany’s special and there is a Macy’s right across the street. As I walk along all these thoughts run through my mind; Cruel shock. Everything seemed so bloody normal. He was torn about returning to LA, felt drawn to it but was “waiting for the fires to burn out.” He seemed to be doing well though. Jhim said Peter was happy, excited and working to get some projects off the ground. Jhim also told me Peter was bragging about my latest work, that he was proud of me. Made me smile. The rumours. Jhim’s neighbour overhearing Peter talking with Bruce on the phone. He said Bruce told him to come over so they could work things out. He tried to talk Peter out of going back. And it’s all heresay. This guy needs to call the cops and tell THEM his story.

Sept. 18, 2008

Sitting here on the plane next to Josef’s empty seat, totally bummed. I’m dreading the next few days; actually, sounds like tomorrow’s gathering will be most interesting. The host put out a message saying she knew facts about the case “that some people are not going to want to hear.” A warning I guess. Lovely. Weeping, flying south over Mt. Rainier listening to Rebel, Rebel. Man it IS a volcano from up here. Each death makes me more determined to LIVE. A la vida! Duh. Why does everything take so long? Window seat, yeah! Need to back up, use my memory stick.

Well our house sitter bailed on us at the last minute and Josef can’t come with me now, we have no one to take care of Junior and the dogs. Told me this morning so I have no time to find someone else anyway. I really need some emotional support too, feeling very vulnerable and physically run down, generally icky. She’s so cavalier about, no apology or anything. I’m scrambling now to try to find someone to give the ticket to so it doesn’t go to waste.
So the latest twist in Peter’s murder is that Bruce is getting off scott free! He will be charged with nothing, nada, spent a total of four days in jail. Everyone is appalled, in shock really. It’s bad enough that we’re losing him but for there to be no justice for Peter just adds to the heartbreak. Life really is cheap in LA. I don’t buy his story. Peter was unarmed. He wasn’t stupid enough to attack Bruce if he knew he was armed. I think consciously or subconsciously, Bruce wanted to kill him. Why didn’t he call the police if he felt his life was in danger, if Peter was threatening him? Well, he’s got the reputation to match his dark shades now.

2 thoughts on “Losing Peter

  1. I spoke to a friend of mine who claims to be psychic….she said, “My feeling is that it was an accident”, to which I (silently) replied “Better keep your day job.”

    And if what Bruce said is true, all I have to say to him is this:

    “In my personal experience, you call the cops BEFORE you shoot someone….asshole.”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *