Let’s Run Away

Peter is putting on a show. He’s a bit stressed. In the show, he will read from a manuscript. It’s a large manuscript, but don’t worry, he’s only going to read the parts about him, and there aren’t many. It’s a memoir written by someone who abandoned him twice—once as a baby and once when he was a young man of thirteen. This person has figured prominently in Peter’s life for over fifty years now, but judging by the memoir, he has not figured so much in theirs. So perhaps it’s going to be a very short show? Again, don’t worry, Peter has other skills which he will share. And if Peter can keep his cool, and if the people who work at the theatre can help him set everything up, and if the audience can just give him a little bit of their time and their attention and their silence, maybe he can tell everyone something about who we really are and who we are to others and who we might be to ourselves when we’re alone. And maybe that can make it all a little bit easier.

AUTHOR

Daniel MacIvor

Daniel Brooks is one of Canada’s most accomplished theatre makers. As a writer, director, and performer, he has collaborated with some of the country’s finest talents in producing a body of daring and original work. He has created shows with Don McKellar, Tracy Wright, Daniel MacIvor, Guillermo Verdecchia, John Mighton, and Michael Ondaatje, among others. His many achievements include a series of monologues created with Daniel MacIvor, direction of work by John Mighton, Beckett, Chekhov, Ibsen, Sophocles, Borges, and Goethe, and the musical The Drowsy Chaperone.His published work includes Insomnia, The Noam Chomsky Lectures, The Eco Show, The Good Life, Bigger Than Jesus, and The Full Light of Day. He was co-artistic director of the Augusta Company, artistic director of Necessary Angel from 2003 to 2012. He was also a playwright-in-residence at the Tarragon Theatre for seven years and the Barker Fairley Distinguished Visitor at the University of Toronto. His many theatre awards include the Siminovitch Prize in Theatre. Daniel’s work has toured across Canada and around the world.

Reviews

“Profoundly unnerving, intriguing and affecting.”

“Equally amusing and disturbing.”

Awards

There are no awards found for this book.

He stomps: Light shift.
He goes back to the manuscript.

Two years ago he sent me a message on his birthday.
It was long and rambling and I imagined written drunk or high.

At first it was all about how he followed me on social media long before I followed him back—

That’s true.

—and then it was about leftist concerns of the day, something called “police at pride” and something about Israel, and then it was about the end of the world, and then it was about an essay he once wrote about the kitchen table from Virginia Woolf , which he said was attached to the email, though it wasn’t. And then it went nonsensically sideways and landed firmly in what looked like its point:
He was getting rid of the four books I’d sent,
the four books that he’d held on to for all these years.

And I thought.
Was it only four books? I checked my notes. Yes just four. I considered those difficult books. “Anatomy of Criticism”? I hadn’t even read the Northrop Frye myself, I’d only included him because I’d met him a party that Fran Lebowitz held for James Brown at Florent’s place in the meat packing district.

What the fuck does that even mean.

And written here is…

He shows us.

“Check with Fran.”

I noted that the Woolf I sent him was an early edition.
So I wired Candace some money to make sure Peter got a good price for it.

That’s the only time my name is written.

Though we never met again, I continue to monitor him and secretly support him from a trust, paying for his motel room, generally keeping him out of trouble.

In any event it is my hope that he will live out his days more comfortably than he began them.

Though that is entirely up to him.

And if all is lost, Sid Vicious’ bass guitar must be worth a fortune by now.

That’s all there is of me.
Everything’s not in the manuscript though.
Two visits.
That she wrote me a seven word letter.
That she made me six cassette tapes.
Maybe because she thought those things were private. Were just for us.
She left me Sid Vicious’ bass guitar.
And this. (the manuscript)
And one day this will get published, and then everyone will see that I’m not just some crazy old faggot with dirty fingernails, and all those fuckers can kiss my ass then.

No. I don’t care.
(off fingernails)
Oh they really are dirty.

I was allowed to take three personal items. I took this ring—it belonged to her grandfather, her denim jacket, and her amber necklace.

He puts on the necklace.

It’s real.

And I took her cane. I stole that. But only because I thought I’m probably going to need it. Because my knee is fucked.

He goes to the window, walking with the cane.

(to booth)
Okay go.

Light shift.