The Ninth Step

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."

"I don't think I am in the mood. Thanks anyway."

"Why? What's wrong? Is it Joe?"

"He was supposed to be back from the diner hours ago. He promised that he would baby-sit Jordon today and I would go out with Emily and Heather to play pool."

Playing pool was an important ritual for her. Every week she would go out with her girlfriends to a karaoke bar to play pool and sing.

"You think he is gambling? VLT's?"

"I'm sure he is. He knows I would have found him at the Best Western lounge, so I guess he went somewhere else to do it."

"I am sorry..."

"That's OK. It's not like it's the first time it's happened."

"Well, that's just one more reason to come over. What are you gonna do -- just sit and wait for him to come back? For all we know, he may be back in two days like the last time.... We'll have a few cans of beer, talk, you relax... You know, sometimes it is good just to change environment ..."

All through this conversation I was looking at her feet -- she was barefoot, as usual.

"OK. I'll come as soon as Jordon is asleep."

When I went back, Mike said, "So, is she coming?"

"Yes, she just needs to put Jordon to sleep. You know, Joe is gambling again. She is pissed about it, of course. But I talked her into coming anyway -- maybe it can help her to get her mind off this shit"

"Great." He said, and then added with a mischievous grin," You know, I have a gooood feeling about today."

"In your dreams..."

"Whatever..."

We had just opened another can of beer, when we heard a knock. Joe stood up and opened the door.

"Hi, Ella!"

"Hi. Ian asked me to come over -- so here I am!"

Ella was standing in the doorway, in all her glory. I couldn't help but notice that she had done her make-up and I felt a whiff of perfume.

"Great! I'm so glad to see you. Wanna beer?"

"Sure -- she sighed. Mike opened another can and handed it to her."

"Here, sit on the couch; make yourself comfortable."

She set on the couch and immediately put her bare feet on her cocktail table. I nearly gasped -- whatever else happens, I would have a chance to eye her feet for an hour or so. This time, her toe nails were painted bright cherry-red which made her even sexier (if it were possible for her feet to be more desirable to me).

By her demeanor, it seemed that she already had a glass or two. She smiled more than usual, was a little flirty. This filled me with hope of a very exiting evening ahead for me ("Alcohol -- helping losers to get laid since the time immemorial").

"So, is Jordon asleep?"

"Yep. If he wakes up -- I'll hear him. He is just next door."

"Ian told me about Joe -- what an asshole!"

"Let's not talk about him. I want to have fun tonight."

"That what we are here for!" -- Mike nodded.

"So, what's the celebration?"

"We -- Ian and me - got our tax return checks, so I decided to take a few days off."

For a moment, I saw her eyes light up.

"If you don't mind me asking, did you get a lot?"

"Well, it depends... is $2,000 a lot?"

Her eyes grew wider, but she contained her excitement.

We talked for a little while, sipping beer and smoking.

Then she said, "Guys, can I ask you for a reeeally big favor? Like, if you don't want to do it -- that's OK, but I'd really appreciate it if you would do it for me."

"Shoot!"

"Can we buy some ... you know... C-shit (C-shit was one of the many euphemisms the inhabitants of the boarding house had for crack. Some others were "rock", "candy", "stuff". They say that Eskimos have 100 synonyms for "snow" since it is all they see most of the year).

"When I drink,"- she continued -- "I always feel like smoking some of it. I'll call my guy. You know I never ask for things like this. He (she was obviously referring to Joe, her husband) buys some all the time when he gets his money from the diner. But ...."

"Yes, baby," (now Mike was calling her "baby"!) "it would be our pleasure. In fact, I've got a $100 piece right here. We'll give you some. But you've got to do something for us in return."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... for example ... what about a kiss? A real French kiss for me and Ian."

"No way!" (She pretended to be offended but I could feel that she was interested in the proposition.)

"Come on... A kiss is just a kiss ... Just like mistletoe on Christmas. Don't you do the mistletoe thing? And it would serve right this bastard who is playing the fucking VLT's instead of spending his time with a beautiful woman like you. He is an idiot for that, you know."

I could see it that she was almost persuaded, so I joined in.

"Pleeese, pretty-pretty, please?" I said in a faux-child voice. "You just need to kiss both of us, that's it. And we will give you some."

"OK. Let me just check on a few things back at my place and I will be back like in 15 minutes. I'll grab my pipe, I never use anybody else's. Joe gave it to me."

She suddenly looked sad, and then -- just to overcome her feeling of guilt she repeated. "Remember, just a kiss!"

"OK!" We both said in unison.

As soon as she stepped out, Mike whispered to me, "OK. Now you go take a shower, fast!"

"Why?"

"You'll see. I am going next, don't take too long, OK?"

I didn't need any more urging. Just like Mike, I had a distinct feeling (that only a man that did not have sex for some time can relate to) that there is a chance that I would be getting some tonight.

At the same time, I was worried. What we were doing was not "cool", even by the boarding house standards. Hitting on another man's women was really frowned upon.

While in the shower, I couldn't help but think about Ella. I pictured how I would kiss her over and over, passionately. Also, of course, I thought about her feet.

Her feet seemed to have a life of their own. Once, she was talking to a friend on the payphone for a really long time and I had a chance to observe her feet for almost half an hour (pretending that I am waiting for my turn to use the phone). Even if I have enjoyed the sight of her feet many times before, this was the only occasion where I could see her soles. While she was talking on the phone, she would stretch and stand on her toes for time to time. Her soles were perfectly smooth, or so it seemed from a few feet away. I could not help to think that Joe was a fool for not spending every waking moment of his time licking, kissing and caressing such treasures.

I was awakened from my fantasies by Mike who was knocking at the bathroom door.

"Come on, man, what are you doing there -- jerking off? She will be here any minute. Get out, I need to go to the shower before she comes."

I walked out of the shower, dried off and lighted up a joint but before I had a chance to finish it, I heard the knock on the door. My heart started pounding like a sledgehammer. It was Ella.

"So, was everything back home? Is Jordon sleeping OK?"

"Yup. I brought the baby monitor just in case. If he wakes up, I'll hear him. So, where is Mike?"

"He's taking a shower."

"You are lucky. We don't have one at our place."

We chatted a little bit more, but I could feel that she was pre-occupied with anticipation of smoking her crack. I could feel that now her breath smelled like mint mouthwash, in preparation of the kisses she has promised to us.

I always wonder about the power our addictions have over us. I read that - during the war - captured soldiers were withstanding torture and beatings but not telling the enemy interrogators the information they wanted. However, when deprived of their daily ration of cigarettes -- they "cracked" within days.

It was obvious that Ella was very attached to Joe, attached enough to give birth to his child. She was a very attractive woman and without a doubt many men (way better than Joe) found her attractive and would be more than glad to take Joe's place. Despite that, she stayed loyal to him (or so it appeared) for the 3 years they were together.

Yet, here she was, about to French-kiss with TWO guys she barely knew, just to get high for a few minutes.

Soon, Mike came out of the bathroom wearing only his sweatpants. Of course, I am no expert at man's physical attractiveness, but the sight was far from sexy. He was FAT, had a beer belly and freckles all over his torso. For a moment, I was afraid that Ella would, upon seeing Mike like this, decide not to proceed with our arrangement.

"So, shall we start? Whom do you want to go first?" Asked Mike, very bluntly.

"Wait... wait ... wait ... First you give me a toke" She protested.

"No, first you do your thing."

"How do I know that you guys even have the stuff?"

In all fairness, it was quite a reasonable question. Mike didn't take long to answer. "She does not trust us! Did you hear that? She does not believe that I've got it! OK... OK... I'll show you!"

He disappeared to the bedroom.

I could see the anxiety on Ella's face, she was really afraid that the whole thing was a joke. After she has worked herself up so much in anticipation of an all-engulfing high that could cure all the problems of today and tomorrow (albeit only for a few minutes), it would have been a great disappointment.

Mike emerged in a few minutes with a cellophane bag containing something that looked like a golf ball. He un-wrapped it put it on the table:

"OK, here it is."

Ella was looking at the piece mesmerized, as if it were not just a piece of a wax-like white substance, but a Hope Diamond or the Philosopher's Stone that would give its beholder the youth eternal. I was somewhat impressed as well. I had never seen a piece of crack that big in my life.