Some words about the town of #Canon.
You could be forgiven, after driving through the center of this small New England village, for thinking all is well;
Kids ride their bikes to summer ball games, families walk the tree-lined streets, pink-clad #freekarenread supporters treat the local bar where #johnokeefe spent his last moments (before #karenread hit John with her car, while drunk, and left John to die) like some kind of tormented tourist attraction, homeowners have police cars parked outside their properties to ward off the gawking public who want to see the crime scene in the #KarenReadTrial, and so on and so forth (run of the mill stuff).
But, underneath that humdrum of daily life, there is real pain here.
One senses it in the gas stations, the liquor stores, the family owned pizza shops, and even on the streets.
The glances are quick, but telling;
"Who are you? Are you one of them? Please don't have anything pink on..." every face seems to say.
But then, once the looks fade into smiles of recognition, so, too, comes the heartache.
These are strong New England folks, though, and they would never be so cavalier as to betray their agony with even so much as a quivered voice.
Instead, one finds conversations that reflect pure disassociative dismay as to what has happened to their friends, family and, fundamentally, their way of life - seemingly for no reason, and, increasingly, at the cost of an incredible emotional toll on anyone able to read social media or the newspaper.
The topic of the case is almost always referred to as "the thing" or "this shit," but every person, at every table, knows what the weak allusions mean.
It's an unspoken, palpable (albeit tacit) agreement, amoung those who live here - as if to say that words, long ago, ceased to do justice to what is happening to them.
And maybe, for this writer, that is the source of my own, personal, agony.
A story, like a town or a city, is not a facade, constructed from bricks laid neatly together, regimented to the best laid plans of mice and architects.
No, stories --like the cities of the world, big and small-- are dynamic, if not ever-nuanced, manifestations of the people whose lives they reflect and embrace.
How can one tell a story that has impacted countless lives?
How can one find truth in a sea of self-interest?
How can one look just enough behind the curtain to find what things are, rather than what they seem to be?
For me, the start of that journey to answer those questions began months ago, and today it led me down a small road, somewhere about a mile outside of Canton center.
One doesn't find any pro-Karen Read signs in town.
But, down that isolated back road, around the corner from where John O'Keefe lived a life of service, raising two double-orphaned family members as if they were his own children, you'll start to find it.
The beating heart of the town of Canton, crying out with only the words;
"Remember, it's about #JusticeForJohnOkeefe."
Training, Learning and People Development Specialist in Adult Social Care, Hospitality and Catering
4 个月So team Sara Southey on this one. It's a game! Well said.