Wake-Up Call
All of October was dark. The darkness was around me all the time. I was angry at the situation I was in. I was coming out of the fog and I was just angry—angry and reckless.
I was drinking at the bar this one night carrying on like nothing had ever happened to me just as the people around me were. Trent was on course that weekend. I went home and I don’t know why but I went back to the bar later that evening drinking some more while I was in state. I had been mixing the brown liquor with the vodka and the brown liquor first of all didn't ever agree with me. It never did; the darkness in me always made itself known and I knew better.
While I was there that night I noticed this fucking asshole sitting at the end of the bar smirking at me once again with the same ol smug look on his face he’d flash my way every time he saw me.
This fucker caused a rift between my brother and I in 2022.
My father’s son—the father that doesn’t know me and still wants nothing to do with me father. Even after I became acquainted with his son, my brother one random St Patrick’s Day at Murphy Law, a very popular, local pub in The Beaches. approximately 9 years ago. He and I were sitting at a people rotating table, and the bar was busy. Greg, my father’s son, brother. I have two brothers, Greg and the brother I grew up with, my mother’s son, Bruce. Bruce was a fucking sociopath a constant nightmare—it’s no wonder my skin got thick quick! I'm gonna save those nightmares for another day.
At this rotating table with a girl I had just met and a few other people from the hood (The Beaches) who I had also just recently met like a day before this day and there was a dude sitting across from me listening to my words, he asked my name Jaye Sherry—he asked if I go by any other name and I said yes my name is Jeannette, but you’ll end up calling me Janet or Janine or some shit so just call me Jaye. My guess—that’s when the lights went on for him that I was his sister, seeing as we have the same last name Sherry which is kind of unique.
He waited outside as I was leaving and showed me his facebook profile page—Greg Sherry and said “I’m your brother.” I was like whattt! I cried, we hugged. We knew of each other’s existence, we just didn’t know each other.
When I came back from BC, after Trent was born and Facebook was a thing—I looked them up Terry Sherry, my dad and Gregory Sherry my brother. I messaged them both! To Greg— “Could this be my little brother am I finally going to meet you?” And to Terry— “Wow! Here you are! All I’ve ever wanted was to know you. I don’t want anything from you, I just want to know you.”
A couple days later I went back to check if they had gotten my messages—well I’m gonna go with—they did because they were both gone from Facebook completely—they blocked me. I was 30, I had my last cry over him and I let it go —I had to. It had been fucking with me my entire life well since I was 11 and my mother decided to tell me and Bruce that we had different fathers—that Terry was my dad and my brother was from some other dude that was no where to be found.
When I got that information it changed me—I knew in my soul I wasn’t like these people I was raised with and that there was more to me me than just them. Looks, size, weight—basically genetics I was tall and slim and my mother’s side was obese and my mentality wasn’t the same as my mother’s or my brother’s—not at all! I knew I was different and that confirmed it. With everybody saying over the years how much I looked like Terry—I wanted him in my life I wanted to know that man, I wanted to belong.
After several attempts over the years of trying to connect with him—my mom reaching out when I had my first leg surgery and receiving zero response. She saw an ad in the paper to “send a dozen dead roses to dead-beat dads on Father’s Day” and she did. A dozen of dead roses showed up at his door. It is so funny because I was a child I barely even remember this not until Greg mentioned it years later when we met.
I did take it to my mom and she claimed that she put in the order but never paid for it—well somehow it made it to his door and he wasn’t too pleased. I guess the universe thought he should have them anyway.
I walked up to his door when I was 14 out of nowhere, I just decided to try to initiate some sort of relationship with him. I was struggling, staying with a friend. I was pretty alone, on my own and the yearning to know my father just wouldn’t go away. So I decided to go to his house. I knocked, he opened the door and said “Jeannette, come on in” He recognized me! I walked in, I brought him up to speed on where I was at in life and that I had left home and that was that. The only thing that came out of that visit was the end of his child support checks to my mother. And she was not happy about that! It was made known to me that she took that last check and bought my brother a gold chain with it—if I’m not mistaken—she told me that herself. I never wanted money from him—I wanted and needed guidance.
The next time I showed up at my dad’s door was right before I moved to BC, Kayla was 4 or so. I still wanted to know this man—I wanted him in my life. My boyfriend’s sister was over. We were having a few drinks and we got to talking about my dad and I mentioned that he lived like 3 blocks over from me less than a 5 minute walk. She was like “WHAT!” “And you don’t know your dad this is ridiculous let’s go right now!” Hahaha yup—right now, she and I walked over.
Knock, knock—Terry answered the door. “Hello Jeannette, come on in” and I did but I wasn’t alone this time. My dad’s wife who had known my mother back in the day in some capacity and they obviously had issues well before she married my dad. My mom always said she was the reason he wouldn’t see me, they separated when I was 1 and my other brother was 3. Bruce wasn’t Terry’s son biologically, but Terry met my mom when she was pregnant with Bruce and adopted him, he married my mom before Bruce was even born. My mom never seemed to understand how he was able to just walk away from us. She said he was crazy about us that he loved us so much. After watching my mother’s relationships with her boyfriends over the years, I can only imagine how their shit went down—I’m pretty sure his walking away from us had more to do with her than it did us. Regardless, I’ll never know.
So I’m in his house and I had Kathy with me, my boyfriend’s sister. Immediately when we walked in Terry’s wife grabbed a whole bunch of papers/bills and put them on the table and told me to sit down just like she did when I was 14. Kathy, who's much older and bolder than me, intervened and said “No no no—let them two go out there and talk on their own” with her hand up blocking her “I’ll sit here with you.”
Terry grabbed two beers out of the fridge and we went outside to the yard. We just talked mostly about my uncle’s, my nanny I told him he’s got a granddaughter, he showed me a tattoo he had of my mother’s name that he got covered up and that was pretty much that. He seemed kind, it seemed he liked me but that’s as far as it went. His wife always thought it was about the money—it was never about the money for me—I mean what was he paying in child support when he was anyway $200 a month for two kids. Piddly winks! It was never about money for me, it was all about a connection.
Greg told me much later on that he saw me when he was standing at the top of the stairs that night and after putting the pieces together ultimately he recognized me that St Patrick’s Day in the bar.
So Greg and I met and I cried. I had let it all go when I had Trent—the yearning for my dad. After my failed attempts and then ultimately getting blocked on facebook. I stuffed it down and made a promise to myself that I’d leave it alone
I had just started my business and I knew a lot of people, turns out so did my brother—in the very same hood. We literally lived around the corner from each other! People knew Greg, people knew me, but nobody knew or could even fathom that we were brother and sister two completely different people that grew up completely different. Greg had the house, the mom and the dad. He lived a fully sheltered life—college, university the whole bit.. I’m pretty sure he left daddy‘s house right into buying his own 3 bedroom house. Nonetheless we met and I didn’t know what this could mean for me. Was I finally gonna get to know my dad? What I stuffed down surfaced. I pondered that for months without saying a word. I wanted Greg in my life. It was weird, but I was pretty short on family members, felt like he was too so I embraced him.
Our uniting was the talk of the town for the next few months at least. Ironically a few months prior to us meeting up sometime in January there was a local singer performing at the Eaton House on the Danforth. Greg and I were at that same event, that same night. There was a picture published in the Beaches Metro News of him and I both dancing separately but to the same song on the same dance floor and we were captured in that one picture that was posted in the paper.
As time went on, it was obvious to me that Greg needed me just as much as I needed him. Greg was financially well off, I was doing well, business was booming! I kept thinking to myself what a lucky time to have met him—my life was completely settled. I had a thriving business, I was happy for the first time in my life, I was living the lifestyle I was introduced to when I was 17, but I was legit!
Greg now had a niece and a nephew and a sister and was introduced to a couple of my uncles who knew his dad. Greg was welcome in my home and came to my house for dinners all the time whether it was Easter Thanksgiving or Christmas. He was there and he was always welcome.
It took about eight months to a year before I started asking about my dad and outside people started asking like what the fuck is the problem with your dad? Greg was being taunted one night at his regular bar while I was there by a girl across the way. I could see it was getting under his skin. He slammed down his beer and said “I’m not talking about any of it right now!”
So that indicated to me that words were spoken. I didn't even know at this point if he even told his dad that we were acquainted, I kind of felt like his big dirty secret, but I never spoke about it. I didn’t want to disrupt the connection I had with Greg.
Later that night, when Greg and I were alone, it came up. He said yes I told my dad about you, but there was nothing to tell you because there was no reaction.
That shit ripped my fucking heart even after I stuffed it down. I let it go. But there I was with my brother and almost a year later it’s all back in my face again. That night I went on a tangent. I went home and started messaging him now everything that I wanted to know and ask over the last year all came out everything I wanted to say. I confronted him about blocking me on Facebook. He totally fucking denied it. It would be years later that finally he owned up to it. I started probing him and asking him shit about his mother because I had an inkling that his mother was very much the same person my mother was. He showed the same signs I had of being raised by a controlling parent. I could feel it. I went on to say what kind of a fucking mother encourages their husband to not want to see their own child. That was it—that was Greg’s breaking point. He said if I say one more word about his mother, we’re done. I basically told him he could go fuck himself that I was done playing fucking house and pretending were him we had a normal brother and sister relationship and that was our first rift. I was mad, Greg was hurt. He was sulking in the neighborhood bars, talking about my sister is mad at me. Oh and he made it known I was his sister everywhere we went since the day we met “This is my sister, this is my sister.” At one point I was joking around and told him I was going to get him a t-shirt that said “This is my sister” with an arrow pointing to me. I knew he was proud of me. Why wouldn’t he be? I crawled out from the fucking dirt up! Greg had no clue how I lived my life, what I had been through—he never asked and even when I tried to fill him in—his very white privileged self couldn’t comprehend. I carried a very vibrant energy, very much a social butterfly. I was well known and well liked. Greg was proud to be my brother.
He and I didn’t talk for a few days after that rift and I had to get my shit together in my head and I did. I came to terms with the fact that I have Greg and maybe this is all that I’m ever gonna have of my father and that I should embrace that. Fuck Terry. I got Greg, another family member. My kids had an uncle on my dad's side and they liked him. I was proud of that and I let it go and we moved on.
Greg and my son: both went to the same high school, Danforth Tech, both had the same English teacher, both were Air Cadets, in 330–the same fucking squadron!! What are the chances??? And at that age they even fucking looked alike! The synchronicities with Greg were extraordinary.
Greg is an eccentric dude. He's got his quirks but we loved each other. We both found something in each other that was missing in our lives. I felt it and I know he did too. We carried on for the next several years, eight years as brother and sister we celebrated birthdays, holidays, partys, private conversation—conversations. Greg and I had a pact–one I never had with anybody else before—he had my full trust. Growing up at home with my other brother, any and every single time I told him something about me or a secret—he would take it to my mother, with malice. Knowing damn well what the outcome would be for me. What I had with Greg was special—or at least I thought it was..
The hood we live in is very gossipy. It’s like a small town everybody knows everybody and these people just love to fucking talk. Greg being a regular at a bar just a few doors down from the bar I had been a regular at for 15 years—two different bars all the same-ish people. We’d get two different versions of the ongoings in the hood and we would very privately—very confidentially, share our stories with each other and not just gossip—we talked, real shit, deep shit, raw feelings.
In 2022, after I lost the shop I was operating my business from I was struggling mentally. The lash game had changed and the darkness was coming for me. I was in a bad place. I was 50 years old half a fucking century thinking to myself how many more fucking times can I reinvent myself? My kids were grown. I was going down a dark path and I confided some things in my brother and a scary moment. And my brother’s loose lips shared my fears with one of his friends. The wrong friend if you ask me.
One random night in October 2022, I popped into the bar after a shift at Big Bag. The bar was kind of dead, but I was very well acquainted with the bartenders there—I was always comfortable. One of my brother's friends was there and this little tart who started hanging around the hood. She was cute, she seemed fun, I wanted to get to know her better. So I created a table of three. My brother's friend was all google eyed for this chick, he was behaving in a way I had never seen before—he was flipping his hair back and forth almost like he didn’t know how to act in front a sexy girl like that—one he’d just met.
Greg‘s friend, I knew him quite well, I must say! We were actually friends at one point. He came to me for advice on a few different girl-related issues he had over the years and I would give him advice.
He was an Eeyore type guy—a sad story—always whining and crying about how he can’t keep a girl and that it’s just a matter of time before the girl he’s with leaves him too. That type of shit wah, wah, wah—always whining and well known for it. But not this day he was trying to impress the little tart who he had just met himself flickering, his long hair that had grown out from the pandemic like it was a trophy. He decided to belt out across the table in front of this tart neither one of us really knew, that I need to be nicer to Greg, that I treat Greg poorly and I need to stop blaming him for why my father doesn’t associate with me. In front of a complete fucking stranger!
He shot an arrow straight through my heart. I couldn’t keep the tears back, they came bursting out. He started shaking his head, as if to say too bad bitch you deserved it. Like he was Cool Fucking Moe Dee! I was totally embarrassed and hurt and with a face full of tears I stood up, grabbed my coat and walked out.
I went home and sent him a very profound text message telling him he was out of line and how dare he speak of my father—shit he has no fucking business speaking on interfering with my and Greg‘s relationship! Regardless of what Greg had said to him—It doesn’t fucking matter if it was in confidence. It wasn’t meant to be fucking spoken across a table in front of fucking strangers or even spoken at all! I told him that he was fucking dead to me and to never fucking speak to me even fucking look at me ever again you fucking piece of shit!
That was it. The trust I had placed in my awesome brother who by now, 8 years later had a huge place in my heart—was gone. He betrayed me! And just weeks after I was betrayed by a close friend in the salon who I had worked with for years!
The whole fucking hood was gossiping about it—it was the talk of the town! I could feel the vibes from certain individuals relishing in my humiliation. Meanwhile—truth be told—she and I were close and what she did—or didn’t do rather was for no reason other than jealousy! The shit had been building up for months, she gained 150 lbs and I lost 50.
I caught her side eyeing me more than once when I would try on something that got delivered to the shop for my next vacation. Every time I wore something baggy and sloppy she would complement it. There were even times when I would deliberately wear baggy clothes to work to make HER feel better about herself because I knew she was insecure about all the weight she gained and that she was becoming increasingly jealous. That wasn’t the first time I saw the sadness or was the subject of a Scoropio’s jealousy. I tell ya—them Scorpios, most jealous of the Zodiacs they are!
It was 2022—I was glowing, having the best year of my life—until I wasn’t! Her fiancé was sliding into my DM’s! Liking and commenting on my posts on Instagram and even went so far as to hit me up on the WhatsApp when she was out of town with all kinds of inappropriate shit, that never warranted a response from me! And I wasn’t the only one!
Some would ask, why didn’t I tell her? Because I didn’t want to humiliate her.
She knew—she had to have known, she wasn’t blind, she wasn’t fuckin’ stupid either and women know—oh yes they do—every fucking time! Instead of dealing with her fiancé, she had an opportunity to be rid of me and she rolled with it. Changes were being made with the salon that whole year we all knew it was coming to an end and we’d have to figure out where we were going to go from there. Sometime in July or August a new owner took over the lease. We were all wondering what was gonna happen next.
One convenient weekend while I was out of town, my friend and the new owner got together and had themselves an arrangement. She and the other girl were able to stay on renting out their chairs until December. What about Jaye? Nobody mentioned me or even passed on a number to me so that I may try to secure a spot for myself until Christmas. That was it—Jaye was out and had to be completely cleared the fuck out by the end of the week!
This bitch even picked me up from the airport upon my return and was so filled with guilt she blurted out her rehearsed statement about the salon to me right then and there. The bitch couldn't even drive because she knew, I knew she was full of shit! I was hurt!! Fucking hurt! I knew what had happened and I knew exactly why it happened! I didn’t give two fucks about the salon—I had stopped paying rent months ago when I was working two days a week up front for the store. I wasn’t about to start paying more than what I wasn't even paying before—I didn’t give two fucks about the shop. She deliberately betrayed me, shut me out! Out of jealousy. I was hurt—our friendship was over and that’s what she wanted.
I never told anyone in the hood or mutual friends what really went down—that her man was a deceitful piece of shit in my DM’s and that she ultimately chose to out me instead of confront and deal with her raunchy fiancé appropriately. Instead she lost a down ass friend who loved and cared for her deeply, she sold out her own soul just to hang on to the thought of getting married and having a husband. No code! I had her fucking back and I fucking swallowed that and allowed everyone to think what they wanted to think, to carry on gossiping about me.
Hope it all worked out for her!
After I shot him that text, my brother messaged me the next day, asking me if everything was OK. No, everything is not fucking OK. Why would you tell him that shit? Why would you tell him my personal business which had nothing to do with my dad by the way—It was about me wanting to end my life—if it really needs to be said.
That’s what he confided to his friend in a drunken slur. Well, that’s what he told me he told him, but now that I think about—he definitely spit out a lot more than that because how would that ignite the words he shot out that night across the table—“I need to treat Greg better…” I told Greg that’s not OK. He apologized, but it didn’t matter. I was hurt by him, betrayed, again and it was a hurt I couldn’t come back from.
After Eeyore’s attempt at being cool by ripping my heart out, every time I went to the bar and he was there which was often, he would smirk at me, stare directly at me with a smug fucking look on his face. Like he felt proud of what he did; destroying the relationship I had with my brother and hurting me to my core—kicking me while I was already down. Just like the insecure, insensitive, sadist, piece of shit he was—fueling the flame.
He continued to look at me like that, taunting me for the next year or so.
I hated him for doing what he did and for being so smug about it and thinking it was a fucking game. It was early November 2023—6 months post surgery. I was all fucked up that day—day drinking, back and forth, in and out of the bar—well into the night, mixing scotch and vodka. I was sitting at my usual table and I looked across the room and there he was! Eeyore!! With that same smug look on his face looking right at me shaking his head.
He stepped outside for a smoke—I saw him go out, and I followed right behind him. We exchanged some words—I was in a very irrational, intense state. I was mad as hell, and I let him know, up close and personal, exactly how I felt. He came to the realization real quick, that I wasn’t fucking around because the smirk on his face was gone! It was a very heated moment. I felt the push and the pull and by the grace of God I took a step back and managed to avoid things from escalating further.
I jumped on the streetcar and went home. I was beyond drunk that night—I was off! My son was away on course, thank God! And I remember being scared as fuck that the police were gonna come for me. I closed all my curtains kept the lights off, for the next three days thinking the police are gonna fucking knock on my door and I wasn’t gonna fucking answer, I was gonna hold them off as long as possible. This fucking coward, cry baby is just the fucking type to call the cops! Yeah, he was fucking scared and he had every right to be because I was not all there that night and quite frankly, capable of anything. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to live—I didn’t care.
The tables turned around quick though! I laid in bed terrified. Thinking about how all my life I’ve managed to escape the police and going to prison and now I was fucked. I felt ashamed that my son would have to witness it. I never wanted Trent to see me go to jail, or even get charged. Kayla knows my past life—she lived it with me. Trent doesn’t really know about my priors from my younger days. It’s not like I sat him down and told him about my unsavory past life, he didn’t need to know.
All I kept thinking about is I fucked up Barbados with Trent. I had it all sorted in my head—I was going to jail. They were gonna write me up, give me a promise to appear—the blue piece of paper that has a two week away court date, to go and either plead guilty or to set a date for trial which would take place in approximately 3 months. Once I had that blue piece of paper, I would be fucked—not able to travel.
I sat in fear, completely still, in my bed, curtains closed, doors locked, lights off—for the next three days. None of that happened. Eeyore didn’t end up calling the police and good for him! I never laid eyes on him again.
That was a wake-up call for me—big time! I saw my life flash before my eyes. My state of mind, my life, everything changed after that night. I put the booze to the side and calmed right the fuck down.
