Donna
I met Donna when she was still going by the name of Dave.
She was the official Charlie Chaplin impersonator of Switzerland and she performed on a concrete phone-switch on Bärenplatz in Bern. Sometimes there'd be a market in the background - sometimes just people.
I watched her several times, left some money in the hat - because Charlie was good. She was excellent as Charlie.
One evening I (and Sarah) stayed until the end of the show. And we spoke to David/Donna while she was changing. Later we all watch Shiva - a streetperformer friend of hers - doing his show.
Later again we are drinking tea in the little Chinese place and then we all walk to the station together.
In the following month I often walk through the city in the hope of seeing her again. I sometimes buy her strawberries or flowers from the market. Sometimes other, more nourishing foods. Then she takes a break and we eat and chat.
She talks about dreams (becoming a rock star) and about worries (no money, her daughter, her partner...)
I try and get a gig organized for her - to perform as Charlie for my grandmother's 80th birthday. Things go wrong and she never shows up.
There is another gig - for the town of Brig. They are showing a Chaplin movie in the Stockalpercastle - and play life music. She is to walk around town all day long and "be" Charlie. Which she does. Very well indeed. I hang out with her that day and we talk. She spends the night at our place.
Sometime before then in one of her shows she introduces me to Day-Z. Later Day-Z becomes Day-Z Daze. I hear one of her first versions of "Sellin' dat Stuff".
When she stays at our place in Brig - the day after, I give her one of my beach-skirts. It suits her a lot better than me. And I dye her hair with Henna. We take pictures.
I bring her to the station the next day and we hug good bye and she tells me that this is the first time she is out on the road without her dark curly haired Day-Z wig.
We lose touch a bit. I visit her a few times in Lausanne. I meet AmiLou again. We talk, she shows me her clothes. She tells me how nice it is to be called "Madame" on the street even though she is wearing jean and a jumper and no make up. She tells me more about the hormones.
Her musical career seems to be taking off. She performs for me. Talks to me about her artwork. Shows me older stuff, things she wrote, drew, made.
I sleep over at her place a few times when I can't make it home after a flight from Britain where my former boyfriend lived.
On our last meeting in Lausanne when she is still healthy - or still knows nothing about her cancer. There is an audition near Geneva, but she has no money to go there. Before I leave I hand her the twenty she needs for the trip there.
She gets the job. And performs. I never see the performance because for some unknown reasons the show i meant to go to is cancelled.
I am not sure about the time line here because we are only losely in touch. Sometime then she learns about her cancer and barely survives it. She also decides to go through with her SRS and has the full support of all her doctors. And her career as a musicion takes full flight.
Then there is the story with the Beastie Boys money. A fairy tale story - but if one person deserves such a fairy tale twist to happen it is her.
At some stage my former boyfriend and I meet up with her and Amilou and she signs some of her CDs and gives them to me. I show them around to all my friends, and tell them the fairy tale story. We smile a lot when I tell the story.
As these things happen, we drift out of touch - there is the occasional email, the occasional phonecall. I hear that things are going well with her career. I promise to visit again, but tell her to also come and visit me in Bern.
This summer I go travelling in the states. On a hunch I send her an email asking how she is.
This is when I hear that she is the happiest girl on earth. She's been through her surgery and everything is grand, except - her cancer is back.
We exchange a few emails, I ask her what she would like from the states. She asks for juicyfruit gum, jujifruit candy and some others. I buy her the candy and bring it back to Switzerland. At some stage I don't hear back from her, but I don't worry too much. She wants to fight, she's a fighter, and she's the happiest girl in the world.
Back in Switzerland when I finally return to my Bern flat I get a phone call from her telling me she is back in hospital. I can hear she is not doing well - but I want to hope for the best.
I call her and promise I will visit her the next day. Which I do. She's a beautiful girl. We talk, a little. It tires her. We do the "hospital-in-a-wheelchair-racing" thing. We go outside and sit in the sun. We talk, about dying and living and about her not dying but fighting to live. Not now, she is not dying, she doesn't feel like she is dying, she wants to live.
Later, she dictates me a note to Calpernia which I will send in the evening. She is tired. So we sit in silence and I hold her hand. She is not dying.
When I have to leave I tell her that I love her and I kiss her. And I tell her to be strong and I tell her I will visit again.
That is the last time I've seen her.
I call a few times. Not often enough. I am scared of the phone calls because she is often too weak to say much but tells me that hearing my voice is good enough, knowing that I call is good. Later a week ago maybe, I finally put those candy in a box and prepare to send them. First I try to call her though, and I learn that she's been moved.
After some phonecalls I find out where she is now - I write the new address on the parcel and I call her there. I get the front desk where they tell me she is tired and I should call another day.
I do. I call her on her birthday. September 17th. This is the last time I hear her voice. She is too weak to hold the receiver. She is not dying. I wish her a good birthday. I tell her that I love her. I tell her to hang on. I tell her I will see her again.
Today - a week later - I call again. Nobody picks up and I am referred to the front desk where I ask to speak "avec Madame Donna Lee Parsons". I am about to add her old name, David, because in the other hospital they never knew who I was talking about. The nurse asks me if I'm family, I say no, I am a friend. She tells me to hold on.
I assume that she will go ask Donna if she wants to talk to me. Instead another nurse returns and tells me that she's passed away.
Yesterday, midafternoon.
Her service had been today. She doesn't know where she will be buried.
I ask if she'd been alone when she died. The nurse doesn't know. But she tells me that her last hours had been peaceful. I still wish I had been there, or someone had been there, to hold her hand. To let her know she was not alone. And that no, she was not dying.
Written on September 24, 2003.
I apologize for the bad quality of the scans. Whenever I have access to a scanner I shall try and improve things.