During the last alcohol induced depressive episode in Vancouver, I contacted my sister in Calgary and told her that my stint in Van City was over, and in desperation, asked if she could come pick me up. Amy's partner Phil said that he'd be happy to drive to Vancouver. He said he'd arrive in his truck in two days and to be ready to rock and roll.
I was stunned that Phil would even consider the drive to Vancouver, I feel it is a testament to his kindness and empathy.
It is about a ten-hour drive from Calgary to Vancouver, so Phil would be driving over twenty hours (I used a calculator) just to save my chocolate chip cookie filled anus.
I began packing all my things. The laundry basket my cousin let me "borrow" was filled to the brim with clothes, books and paraphernalia. The single suitcase I toted out west was now fabulously obese with the rest of my belongings. I left the posters on the wall for the next poor soul who would occupy the dungeon of ants and pee.
Quickly and efficiently I brought all my stuff to the curb so I'd be ready to move when Phil arrived. I then turned around reluctantly, strolled to the front of my landlords house, and knocked on the door to discuss the situation. When she answered I said "I'm having a difficult time and as a result of my mental state I'll be leaving today". She looked worried and then irritated. Surely, my landlords relied on the rent I contributed to cover the mortgage payment every month. Her house was definitely not cheap. She said "I keep your damage deposit". I knowingly agreed and then proceeded to walk over to the roadside curb and then sat down in a lump of defeat.
When Phil arrived, I threw my things into the back of his truck and off we went leaving the frivolous life I'd created in Vancouver behind after a sonic six months.
Phil was easy to be around, there was a peace that came over me during the ride to Calgary that I had not experienced in some time. Phil is a man of character, of ease, and that ease wore off on me. From what I've seen, he never over indulges in much of anything, he seems content to just "be".
During the trip to Calgary, conversation flowed effortlessly; I could be myself, it was refreshing. In a way it was as if Phil gave me permission to be totally at peace in that moment because unknowingly, I'd often give others the power to tell me how I should feel about myself. When others hold that kind of power over you, fear, anger and resentment are always nipping at your heels. Phil allowed me to be still and to not feel like I needed to crawl out of my skin; that is a great quality to witness and experience.
Calgary came upon us late in the evening, just after supper time. Phil helped me lug in my things and we were greeted with a beautiful dinner that my Sister had prepared for us. It was the first time I'd ever tried shitake mushrooms with goat cheese; they were divine!
We sat down in their kitchen and discussed surface level, mindless issues before juggling with what I intended to do in Calgary for the next while. There were a few jobs I had in mind, like the Boys and Girls Club of Calgary amongst several others.
During the meal that was so graciously
prepared, Amy and Phil were thoughtful and understanding of my situation, they seemed eager to help in any way they could. What they didn't realize was how truly "sick" I was, and how alcohol was now my master...
Each day I would set forth into the Calgary area, learning the bus system and how to navigate around the outstretched expanse of this odd, treeless City. I'd take the bus all the way downtown from Calgary North, over the Bow River and in amongst the outstretched office buildings. I'd look around until my intuition told me it was a good time to jump ship, then I'd pull the cord, revel in the soothing sound of the "DING" that told the bus driver to stop, before stepping off into the frigid central metropolis.
I looked around for a coffee shop and eventually found a Starbucks to hunker down in. My sister lent me her iPad to update my resume and to immerse myself in the job search market so I could once again, attempt to support myself. The great, or one of the great things about moving to Calgary was that my friend Mitch also resided in the area; he would often meet me at the Starbucks on 17th to do his own business centered work, while I applied for a vast array of public service positions.
Eventually, "The Boys and Girls Club" located in the Bowness area of Calgary called, and scheduled me for an interview. I told my sister about the potential employment opportunity and we both basked in some elated hopeful glee. To go celebrate the victory I walked across a soccer field close to my Sisters apartment to a local yoga studio for some enchanted sweat-covered power-flow.
The field I traversed was covered in snow that was bustling with a large accumulation of little white rabbits that could run the length of the field in mere seconds. My God they were fast; luckily, they weren't hostile, so my plans to engage in a newly found yoga practice was not interrupted by a rabies infested bunny attack.
There were a couple of instructors at the studio that I fell in love with, well, not fell in love, more just innocent crushes. I'd always loiter around the studio afterwards to engage in some deep philosophical thought that often stoked the fire of my existence. When I stepped out the door, a sudden
revelation smacked me square in the face, it occurred to me that yoga didn't exactly fill the "celebration" void. Surely, there was more celebrating to be done, so I walked over to a country style bar and started drinking some beers. With each beer that was drunk, the restless, hyperactive excitement expanded and before long I was out on the highway hitchhiking for a ride to the "bar area" of Calgary, which to me, based on observation, seemed like it was in and around 4th.
Not long after I extended my thumb, a young gentleman pulled to the side of the busy road. He yelled "where you going?". I said "downtown to the bars". "Jump in" the man said. Instantly, it was evident we were on the same level intoxication wise, my inhibitions were of course quite low, but there was a gentleness about him that instilled trust and comfort. We exchanged stories and weirdness on our way downtown. I handed him a ten-dollar bill when we arrived and thanked him profusely. Glad he wasn't Ted Bundy's third cousin Ethel.
I shuffled up and down 4th avenue until my eyes met a set of stairs that descended downward. I thought it looked out of place... "oh, what a great adventure" I pondered, so I carefully scaled the ice covered steps, which conveniently led to a popular English style bar.
A friend of mine (Cary) whom I had met at a local gym, was supposed to meet me in an hour or so. Until then I'd sit in one of the cozy wooden booths, people watch, and drink my concerns away.
Back and forth I scanned the room. Mmmmhmmm, that girl looks so familiar. Sure enough, after staring at her for far too long, I was positive beyond a reasonable doubt, that I knew her from High School.
We talked for about an hour or so. It was an odd conversation, just due to an incident that took place back in "the day". Long story short she was at a party my friend had organized in Grade Ten. We flirted mutually and then she proceeded to tell her boyfriend that I was the evil devil who conspired to steal her away from him. During the incident I was actually sober. A few weeks later I did apologize to her boyfriend. That lingering past incident injected some awkwardness into the exchange that evening. Nonetheless, she was a kind person and we had a marvelous nick nack dialogue of interconnected noises that made up a perfectly discernible conversation.
My friend arrived a few minutes after "the girl" wandered back over to her group of friends. Cary stayed and chatted with me for a couple hours before he had to head home. Soon after he left, I blacked out.
Next thing I can recall was standing on my sister's front step. The cops were standing beside me. They were chatting with Amy about where they found me and how I was completely removed from who I was, and from what was going on.
Amy and Phil weren't too hard on me the following morning. I jumped back on the sober locomotive (I wonder if there actually is a sober locomotive, the Polar Express was sober I think, although those goofy dancers were pretty eccentric). Days went by and there wasn't a single interview on my to-do list (I'd missed the interview at the Boys and Girls Club due to being hungover, so that celebration obviously backfired). Thankfully, Amy confronted me one day with a job opportunity at "Bowness Daycare". Her friend was conveniently managing the facility and told my Sis that they'd love to offer me a potential opportunity. To appease her and to elevate my self-esteem I said "sounds about right!".
About a week after finding out about the opportunity Amy had confronted me with, I took the big bad bus to the Bowness area, found the daycare and sat down for an interview. Like I said; the manager was my sister's friend so it was more of a job offer than a job interview; a job offer that I gladly accepted.
By now it had been three weeks since I last drank. "What alcoholic (didn't actually think I was an alcoholic) can go three weeks without a drink? I'm so deserving of a beer right now". Off I went on the subway and landed in and around 4th avenue and sat down at a bar called "The Local".
My backpack was filled with books along with my sisters iPad. I hunkered down on a wooden bar stool beside an African-Canadian man. Words vomited out of my mouth as I forcefully began a conversation with the gentlemen. He was indifferent and said things like "oh yeah?" And "mmmhmmm" and "okay". Just appeasing the over-energetic weirdo to his left. Naturally, he quickly vacated and I did my duty to the alcoholic Gods. Beer after beer, after yeast infected beer, till oh, you guessed it, till my head was in the clouds, or actually... it was probably in the gutter...."which one was it Ben? C'mon dude you got to be more clear!". "I'm sorry person reading this book, I actually cannot recall.....okay....my head was most likely in a public toilet in China, oh, the power of astral projection!". "I'm lost." "Me too". "I like pizza". "Okay...".
"Between you and me, why did you break into the office building? Don't worry I won't tell the police" said an earnest looking paramedic sitting in front of me. "What the fuck, where am I?, ah, dude, I honestly don't remember anything at all" is how I chose to respond; which was the truth. It was obvious that the police and the paramedics were trying to work me over to get a confession. They soon realized that I really couldn't recollect what had happened.
The paramedic told me that they found me in the fetal position inside an office building shivering and muttering to myself. There was no evidence of vandalism, and so they had no idea how I had entered.
The police brought attention to the obvious absurdity of the situation, "it is minus thirty degrees Celsius outside and you are wearing nothing but a t-shirt; if you hadn't made it inside the building, you'd most likely be dead." I stood there stunned, wondering how I'd gotten so lucky, and wondering how I'd gone all "Mission Impossible" on this huge, prestigious looking office building.
Graciously, the police decided not to charge me with a break and enter because of the circumstances, along with the fact that I couldn't recall a single thing about the incident.
So, once again, Calgary's finest, dropped me off at my sister's place. They told her that if she saw me drinking again, even a single beer, to call them and they'd immediately detain me.
My eyes squinted open the next morning. "Fuck my life, what's the point of this shit?, I'm the biggest loser on this earth". It was the same cyclical cynical self-talk.... I was so tired of ending up in the same position.
Amy stormed up the stairs and began yelling at me about how I'd lost her iPad (news to me) and about how I needed to find a job and leave her home.
My sister was always up front and could be
cut-throat. It was what I needed though, some tough love, some consequences, a reality check straight to the gooch.
Dad messaged me later that day and said that he was coming to Calgary from China. He was teaching English in Beijing at a school called "Beijing Concorde College of Sino-Canada", but decided to leave because he felt I needed an intervention. Dad didn't say alcohol was the problem, he just said that we needed to figure out what the issue was and solve it. "I'll be there in two weeks" he said.
He'd be arriving at Amy's just before Christmas. "Well, if Dad's coming all the way here to help me out, the least I can do is stay sober."
When the coming Monday arrived, I left my sisters place at 5:30am to go to Bowness Daycare. It felt nice to get back into a working routine, and because they labelled me as a casual worker, I got to rotate from age group to age group depending on who needed me. It was unpredictable and enjoyable; a renewed sense of productivity filled me once again.
The environment was familiar and the employees approachable and open-hearted. Although it was a comfortable role for me to play and the setting was easily adaptable, there was a tangible current of stress that seemed to run through the place. Employee turnover rates were high and crying was a regular break-time phenomenon as I came to understand.
Of all the groups within the Daycare I enjoyed the three-year- old room (TYOR) the most, it was located on the main level of the daycare. Those rug rats were a lot of fun and rowdy as you would expect, but they also had the ability to be attentive. Reading and playing different games with them was an absolute riot.
There was another aspect of the TYOR that was enticing... The first few times I entered the room it became glaringly obvious that a cute young lady (not one of the kids you ostridge) visited the three-year-old room on Mondays as part of her Early Childhood Education Practicum. I took immediate notice, and decided to make a flash appearance in the TYOR on Monday for a meet and greet.
Okay, no messing around, lets fast forward to the following Monday. As soon as I arrived at Bowness Daycare that morning it was straight to the TYOR, and lone behold, there she was, the dame from the picture I had seen just a few short days ago. She (Martha) was an absolute surreal beauty that's for sure. Her yoga pants were form fitting; as most are for women these days, and it was difficult not to notice.
My first move was to show my skills with the "youngens" and to display my superior "out loud" reading skills and animated gestures to get her attention. Next, I struck up a conversation about her future plans and passion for young children. I made sure to throw in some cheesy jokes about daycare life to seal the deal, and then I went for it. "Do you want to join me for coffee this week? For caffeine and a glorious conversation?". She paused, smiled, and then agreed, much to my invigorated delight.
We met at the downtown Starbucks on 17th. I was a little worried about how conversation would flow because she had been a bit shy.
I awaited for her arrival on the second level of the two storied Starbucks. Nerves restricted my stomach as I glanced to my left to see if she had appeared. Nothing... and then all of a sudden there she was; shining those flashy whites and strutting away in fine style.
Martha carried a conversation flawlessly. She came across as introverted and shy at Bowness, which she was for the most part, however; it did not hinder our interactions on this day.