8. Make a list of all persons we have harmed, and become willing to make amends to them all.
9. Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
- Steps 8 and 9 for recovering alcoholics (12 Step Recovery Program)
This happened 1997 when I moved from a small town in Nova Scotia to Calgary, Alberta, looking for a better life. I was born in one of those Eastern European countries that appeared on the map just recently. I was ten when my parents and I immigrated to Canada. Since nobody could ever pronounce my name right I changed it to Ian, I liked the sound of it.
By almost everybody's standards I was what one would call a 'loser'. I dropped out of school in the ninth grade and bummed around a lot. Working 'McJobs' and living in my parents' basement. In my spare time I would watch all kinds of movies and porno flicks while drinking lots of cheap beer. My psychologist tells me now that it was "a necessary period in my life" and was caused by an "identity crisis caused by immigration and the lack of acceptance." I guess that leads to a lack of motivation. I agree with her. I was lost.
Many of my schoolmates had moved to Calgary where the good-paying jobs were plentiful - or so everyone thought- and when I grew tired of my parents asking me "What do you want to do with you life?" I said I was going to Calgary to find a job on a drilling rig. I called up a few people I knew in Calgary and headed west.
Now, my means at the time weren't shit, so I rented a room in a boarding house downtown until I could find myself a job and afford a better place. The boarding house was just a little better then a homeless shelter. I mean, it was scummy, run down and crumbling around the edges. Most of the rooms did not have a washroom, though there were common ones in the lobby on the ground floor, but my apartment did. It was considered one of the better ones on the floor. It also had a kitchenette, though it too was depressingly small and useless. I had a toilet as well and a small, smelly shower. The whole building should have been blasted into dust but the owners had some sort of connection with the city that kept it standing. Maybe it was a historical landmark or something. It was so old I'd expect to see ghosts haunting the stairwells.
Many of my neighbors had just gotten out of the pen and people on disability or welfare; or all three. With all those random and desperate people you'd expect to see a lot of fights there, but in the three months I lived there I didn't see a single one.
It was the opposite, in fact. Everybody was as polite and nice as they had to be, at least, most of the time. I could knock on a neighbor's door and ask for a smoke or a bottle of beer, whatever. When it was somebody's birthday or some other special event almost everybody from the floor was invited to the party.
I shared that one-bedroom apartment with a guy named Mike, whom I knew, back from the rock. I slept on the hide-a-bed in the living room and he had the bedroom. Mike was a burly, red-haired man with freckles all over his body and pushed two hundred pounds. He worked as a shipper-receiver at a warehouse. He usually worked night shifts, so he always came home at five in the morning or so. He always had a beer before heading straight to bed. He was such a sound sleeper that he slept through an hour of the fire alarm wailing after a neighbor lit their couch on fire while making pizza pops in a toaster oven.
I would usually wake up at nine in the morning and have a strong coffee before heading downtown for job interviews. I had firmly decided not take any temp positions or bullshit work. I wanted to find a real job; a job that could get me out of that shitty little apartment and into a real bed. Usually I was home in time to have a few beers with Mike before he left for work. I was optimistic about finding a job.
One thing that was lacking with my new life was female companionship. Women must have a sixth sense when it comes to figuring out a man has no income. I tried to make friends with girls I met when I was downtown looking for a job but things didn't make it further than a polite "No".
There was a girl who lived next door to us. I masturbated while thinking of her even though she lived with her common-law husband, Joe, or 'The Cowboy' as he was called. He loved dressing the part of a hick in the big city. He always had the biggest cowboy hat and polished cowboy boots. She had a kid too. A baby boy named Jordan who was probably one year old. Joe was a full-blooded Cree and Ella was Métis. She was small and skinny and had nice, soft looking breasts that looked like a lot of fun. Her ass was fucking great too.
She had enchanting deep green eyes. Her always shiny black hair (guess she used the right shampoo!!) reached to her shoulders. Her legs were shapely, and her feet ... Her feet were the most perfect feet I have ever seen.
Their "suite" did not have either bathroom or a shower -- just a drinking water fountain, so I could see her in the lobby quite often while she was going to the "communal" bathroom to take a shower, bring some warm water to bath the baby, etc.
Also, they (Ella and her husband) often neglected to pay their phone bill, and the phone company would disconnect their phones. At these times, I would have a chance ogle her more often -- since she would talk to her friends on the payphone that was in the lobby.
It seemed that she had a dozen or so short sexy gowns, the kind that they sell at "La Senza" (fake silk, $ 5 bucks a piece when on sale). I rarely saw her wearing anything but these. Also, she was almost always either barefoot or wearing flip flops -- so I could enjoy the site of her small dainty feet with perfectly manicured toes. I had a strong foot fetish since I can remember, and I consider feet to be the sexiest part of a woman. From the moment I had seen her feet, I was immediately in love with her (and her feet in particular).
She had a tattoo of a rose on her right ankle. I dreamed so many times of giving Ella a foot massage,-- starting at her toes and slowly moving to her heel. Once -- when she was returning home from a girls' night out wearing high-heeled shoes and complained that her feet were killing her -- I offered her to give them a massage. But as I expected, she politely declined.
I would hang around the lobby for an hour just get a glimpse of her walking down to the "communal" bathroom or toward the pay phone. I was sure that she knew about my infatuation with her, and she was somewhat flattered. However, our conversations never went beyond "how are things" and "how is Jordon / Joe / etc".
Her husband was on AISH because presumably he was diagnosed with one of those "fake" illnesses, like a "chronic fatigue syndrome" or something. Regardless of whatever "ailed" him, Joe was healthy enough to work almost full-time for cash (like many other inhabitants of the house who were getting some kind of money from the government) at a big Italian dinner just a few blocks away as a dishwasher/short order cook. They could have had a nice living (by their neighbors' standards) if not for his two "hobbies"-- VLT's and crack.
Sometimes, he would take whatever he had earned at the restaurant and go to the lounge at the Best Western hotel that had VLT's and gamble away all the week's earnings in a few hours. Then, he would get too ashamed about it to go home, and crash at a friends' place instead.
When this happened, Ella would be very upset and they would have a loud argument -- so loud that I would hear it in my room. After a few hours of shouting, things would calm down and I could hear them having sex.
Crack played a very important role in the lives of many boarding house inhabitants. Some of the people who lived there had relatively well-paying jobs (construction workers, electricians, plumbers), but they could not afford anything better than their present accommodations, because they spent all of their money on crack.
Also, crack was one of the few things that was never shared -- "buy your own"! I was told that a few years ago a man was stabbed to death because his room mate suspected that he stole his stash.
Ella and her husband smoked crack too. In all fairness, they did not do it every day -- mostly they smoked it on Friday nights and "special occasions" -- birthdays, holidays, etc. After smoking up, they would have wild sex. I heard them moaning, and I would masturbate -- imaging that it was me fucking her.
Contrary to what many think, crack users are not too different from the rest of us. Most of them have "regular" jobs; many of them are good parents and good friends. Nonetheless, often they are ready to risk it all -- just to loose themselves in the all-engulfing ecstasy this modest-looking waxy substance has to offer. And it was the crack that led Ella to her downfall.
______
On one of those days, both Mike and I received our tax return checks. His was quite large (he forgot to file last year -- so he was getting his tax return for 2 years) and in the eyes of our neighbors represented almost a small fortune.
Mike decided to celebrate by calling in sick to his job and staying at home drinking beer and smoking weed with me. Mike was not too much of a social type and he was never "a life of a party". He had few friends and when he was not working -- he would usually watch TV at home.
After a few cans, Mike lit up his joint and said:
"You know what would I really want right now?"
"What?"
"A woman. I haven't had sex for ages."
"Me neither. That sucks, man."
"Hey, let's invite Ella ... She should be home now...alone..."
"She won't do anything with you or with me for that matter. She is married and she has a kid. She is no slut."
"I guess you are right. But it still would be fun to have her around- she IS beautiful, won't you agree?"
"She is -- I could not hide my sigh - Let's ask her if she would join us for a beer."
I stood up and walked toward her door. Ella was just putting little Jordon to sleep and looked upset. She was wearing her usual black short gown, and I could not help but wonder whether she had any panties underneath. Her breath smelled of liquor. I was surprised -- she never drank by herself.
"Hi, Ella, how are you? Mike and I are having a party and we were wondering whether you would join us."
