Harm Reduction Part Eight -- Rock Bottom

Harm Reduction Part Eight - Rock Bottom

EXT..DRIVEWAY OF OISE BUILDING - NIGHT

Several cop cars are sitting in front of the building with sirens flashing. BEN pulls up and gets out of his car. He approaches one of the cruisers. PETE is sitting in the back seat. He is bloodied and beaten. BEN opens the car door.

BEN:

 What have you done?

PETE looks up stares at him blankly. 

BEN breathes out in disgust.

An OFFICER approaches. BEN hands him a set of keys.

BEN: (to  OFFICER)

Here. Take my car back to the station. I'll take him.

BEN goes around the cruiser and gets in the front. He turns on the engine.

INT. A COP CAR
The car travels along the city streets on its way back to the station.

PETE:

Where are we going?

BEN:
Honestly Pete, right now we're going to the station to book you and then...well...this time Pete I think your going to jail for a bit.

PETE says nothing.

BEN: (getting annoyed)

What happened Pete?

PETE:

I went to a meeting like you people told me to.

BEN:

You people. You people. Reality is populated by us people Pete. It's not a cult.

PETE:

It is to me.

BEN:

Ok, so what happened at the meeting Pete?

PETE:

It was closed and I got mad.

BEN: (really angry)

It' s a fucking holiday Pete. Seriously do you have any concept of anything? And are you high?

PETE:

Yes.

BEN:

And they said you resisted and got the shit beaten out of you.

PETE:

Yup.

BEN:

I want to sit you down and just scream WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT??

PETE:

I don't want to be here anymore.

BEN:

Are you suicidal?

PETE:

No. Here. Now. Cuffed in the back of this car.

BEN:

Too fucking bad.

PETE:

Why are you here? Every time. Boom. There's Ben. I want to know why.

BEN:

I've been trying to help you.

PETE: 

I don't want your help. I didn't ask for your help. You can shove your help up your sturdy ass.

BEN: 

Fuck you Pete. And quit the sturdy ass shit.

PETE:

Fuck you Ben.

Silence

PETE:

I think you're in love with me.

BEN:

Ya, right. Have you seen yourself today? Ya, I am enthralled by your hopeless pathetic charisma.

PETE:

I think you are.

BEN:

Is that your alcoholic side thinking that or your drug addict side?

Suddenly PETE slams his head against the metal cage separating him and BEN.

BEN:

HOLY FUCK!!

PETE bashes his head again.

BEN:

STOP IT!!!

PETE lets out a scream.

PETE:

FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!

PETE bashes his head on the cage again. BEN slams on the brakes and gets out of the car. He opens the back door and drags PETE out and stands him up against the car. BEN leans in to say something and PETE headbutts him square in the face. BEN stumbles backwards. He holds his hands to his face. He pulls them away and sees nothing but blood. In a rage he charges toward PETE and punches him in the face hard. PETE collapses to the ground. BEN has sunk to his knees.

BEN: (to PETE)

Oh my God. I am so sorry.

BEN stands up and walks over to PETE. He pulls him up to his feet and leans him against the car.

BEN:

Are you ok?

PETE says nothing. He is starting to tear up.

BEN:

I just reacted you know. I'm sorry.

PETE: (through tears)

Your reactions say more than your actions.

BEN: (with an uncomfortable laugh)

Great.

PETE is now heaving with tears. BEN reaches around him and pulls him in tight. PETE cries on BEN's shoulder. They stay that way for some time.

BEN:

Just hang on buddy.

BEN moves back slightly. He cups PETE'S face in his hands and stares at him eye to eye. BEN leans his head in slowly towards PETE'S face. He appears about to kiss him.

PETE: 

 (whispering)  Please don't.

BEN steps back.

BEN:

I'm sorry.

PETE:
Bash me in the face and then try to kiss me. You are fucked up in the head.

BEN:
I'm really sorry.

PETE:
Let's just GO.

 

...to be continued.

 

Harm Reduction Part Seven - Ben

Pete showed up at his first AA meeting drunk and high.Well, he thought, they only said I had to go. There were no other conditions placed on him. One kind attendee leaned over to Pete and whispered in his ear, "You smell like a distillery."
"Thanks," said Pete and he went back to the business of not listening.
There were about thirty people there, all of whom, Pete noted, appeared to be in more distress than him.
At one point they went around the room and each person said their name followed by "and I'm an alcoholic."
I'm not fucking saying that, Pete thought, as the introductions got closer and closer to him. Finally it got to Pete. "Hi. I'm Pete."
That's it. No admission of anything.
Everyone stared at him. He looked at the person next to him as if to say "Ok, move along."
He became known as "the dude in denial" in the rooms of AA.

During his first meeting a stranger handed him a copy of a big book appropriately entitled the "Big Book."  He was told this thing was the bible of AA and that he had to read it at least ten times. Ya, sure, he said.
Pete had to get a new Big Book about every other meeting because he kept losing or destroying them in various ways.
He threw one at a bus that had just pulled away and it got run over by the back wheels. He used one as a wind shield to light up a smoke and it caught fire. (You would think a book for alcoholics would be inflammable.) He dropped another Big Book in the Don River. He managed to fish it out but by the time it dried it had bloated to about eight timed its normal size. He still brought it to the next meeting and plopped it onto the table to various looks of disgust and disbelief.
The same attendee leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You're ridiculous."
Angrily Pete responded, "I'm trying."

One day Ben drove Pete up to Millhaven Correctional  to see Justin
Pete, for some reason, was really nervous about it. Justin. Ah, yes Justin.
A quote from the "Big Book" of  AA (yes he had glanced at it) had become an obsession  -- "the chilling vapor that is loneliness settled down."
It made him think of his life with Justin. Even in Justin's company Pete was sometimes desperately lonely.  And this lifestyle was becoming a permanent thing. The longer it went on the harder it would be to change. He knew that.
Pete turned and looked at Ben's face. Ben was a very handsome man. And moral.
He felt warmth from Ben. Justin was about icy danger. As a drug addict  Pete was attracted to both equally.
But Ben.
Pete didn't get close to anyone. He was afraid he would just painfully let them down every day. Pete couldn't bear the idea of someone watching him all the time because even he knew that he was generally up to no good. And this guy's a cop for fuck's sake. Pete wanted to do Pete things. Justin was fine because he wanted to do Pete things too.
Yet, there he was still staring at the side of Ben's face.
Ben turned, looked at Pete, and smiled.
Pete smiled back.
Warmth.
Maybe I'm just deluding myself.
And, he thought, I'm too scared for any of that.

Pete walked into the visitation room at Millhaven and sitting there, behind the glass, was Justin. All the feelings rushed back into Pete. His heart raced and his throat tightened. He ran to Justin and pressed his hands against the glass.
Hey buddy., said Justin.
Hey, said Pete.
The locked eyes for a moment.
Pete was suddenly realizing how much he missed Justin. And he was mad that he was allowing himself to feel this way.
Pete was tearing up.
But then it all stopped. Justin saw Ben.
"What the fuck is he doing here?"
Pete turned around, "Oh, ah, Ben? He brought me here."
"What the fuck, dude. Why?"
"Well ah..."
"Seriously, Pete. What are  you, like, "hanging out" with a cop."
"No Justin he's trying to help me out...."
"Fuck man, I leave you alone for one month and you're fucking...what are you a p.c.goof now or something?"
"I don't know what that is so I'll say no."
Ben leans over and says "Justin, it's not like you were doing him any good..."
"Fuck you Ben...he's my best friend. I fucking look out for him."
"Um," Ben said,"you're in jail and he's all by himself."
Justin bashed the desk with his fist. "Now I'm incarcerated and resentful." Ben, are you fucking him?"
Pete jumped in..."No, Ben is not fucking me. And why would you care?"
Justin stood up pointed a finger at Ben and said "I want you to leave him alone."
Justin turned around and walked out.

"Well, there we are." said Ben.
Pete sat in silence for a bit staring at the spot where Justin had been. Kind of hurt and a little torn.

On the drive home Ben said to Pete,"You know he's no good for you."
Pete responded, "I don't care."

They pulled up to an intersection and came to a stop. Ben checked for cars to the left. He asked Pete, "How's it looking your way?"
"Bleak." he said.

After a couple of weeks of drunken AA attendance it was suggested to Pete that he get a sponsor. Sponsor. Like Bic or  Tide? "No you moron, a sponsor in the program. Someone to guide you. I think you need some help."
So Pete went on a mission to find said "sponsor."
At one meeting Pete overheard this one guy named Rich talking. This guy had 3 years sobriety and yet was questioning everything he was doing. "Do I want this? Do I want sobriety?"  "Ooh," thought Pete, "that's the one. That's my sponsor."
Turns out Rich was a better sponsor than even Pete had expected. Slightly lazy, very inattentive, and with a past history of violence that left even Pete in awe.
"He will leave me alone," Pete thought, "but I can proudly announce that I have a sponsor and get everyone off my back."

One evening, it was probably around his 27th AA meeting, Pete showed up and the door was locked. Through the glass he could see someone inside. He pounded on the door. "Hello! Hello!"
The man was a security guard. He came to the door but didn't open it.
"I'm here for the AA meeting. Could you open the door?" Pete said through the glass.
"We are closed."
"No, I have a meeting. An AA Meeting."
"Closed. Holiday."
"No, I have a meeting. Open the door."
"You no listen man. Closed. Holiday."
"I'm serious, little man," Pete was now yelling. "Open the FUCKING door.""
"I am going to call the police. Go away."
Pete was about to cross the rage line.
He pointed his finger at the man's face.
"You are fucking with my serenity!!!!"

A door was smashed in. 9-1-1 was called.

Ben was driving to work when he got a call.

"Cundiff?" It was police dispatch.
"Ya, it's Ben. Go ahead."
"Ya Cundiff, do you know some guy named Jaffey, Peter Jaffey?"
Ben tensed up.
"I do..."
"Well he's being held in a cruiser over at U of T."
"For what?!"
"Public mischief, break and enter and resisting arrest."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Well they're holding him there now and they said he knows you."
"Ya, ok. I'm coming."
Ben bashed the steering wheel with his hands a few times.
FUCK!!!
He turned the car around and headed back to U of T.





 

Harm Reduction Part Six - Pete's Court Date

Ben pulled over at the Honey Dip Donut Store. He let Pete out of the back of the car and undid his handcuffs.
"So you trust me," Pete said.
"Not really," replied Ben,"but I'm sure I can run faster than you."
They grabbed a table.
"Why did you bring me here, uh..."
"Ben."
"Ben"
"A long time ago when you were in your early twenties you were given to me as a sort of dossier. I was supposed to keep an eye on you."
"Well you didn't."
"Ya, I kinda did."
"Why me?"
"It was a new project about gay cops looking out for troubled young gay guys. They thought we might have some things in common."
"Oh please, what could we possibly have in common. Look at you."
"Look at me what"
"All handsome and put together, and me, I'm all fucked up Ben. And we're about as similar as a halibut and a goat"
"It sounded good in theory."
"So you're a fag." said Pete.
"I am a homosexual."
"Look, I know what happened to you Pete. I know your history."
"You don't know everything. There's shit that's not in some file you might have read. Seriously can we just go."
"Pete, I'll go to court with you. It would look good. Help you out a little."
Pete stared out the window for a bit.
He began, "If Justin goes to jail I'm going to be in trouble."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
"I thought you knew everything."
"I know you spend every waking moment with him."
"It's more complicated than a boyfriend thing."
"You want to hear what I think?"
"No, I don't." Pete was becoming antsy.
Ben continued, "I think you two are co-dependent. I also think one of you has feelings for the other.  Haven't figured out which way is which yet. I think it's you who has a thing for him if I was to place a bet.
Pete just went silent.
"And I tell you now that if you continue hanging out with him you'll get hurt, you'll get into trouble and you will never ever stop drinking and using."
"You are not unique Pete. I've seen all this before."
"Fuck you."
"I'm trying to help you Pete."
"Where the fuck did you come from? Why are you doing this to me?"
"I am trying to help you. I have been watching you...and like I said I've arrested you five times...and that's my limit with you guys... and right now Pete, enough's enough.
"You're one of those people who thinks they can save me. Well, Ben, you can't."
"I can give it a shot."

Justin was sentenced to three months in jail.

Pete did go to court for his latest charge and the judge (who also knew Pete well) decided to try some creative sentencing. She demanded that Pete attend 90 Alcoholics Anonymous meetings over the next 90 days. Upon hearing the sentence Pete shouted out, "That's a crock of shit!" He was told to be quiet. He promptly screamed "I'm not a fucking alcoholic!" "Mr Jaffey! Compose yourself!" said the judge sternly. "Fuck you!".
Ben leaned over and loudly whispered "Pete please"
The court guards were called over to take Pete out of the courtroom. He struggled and wrestled with them.
Ben leaned over and told the judge how sorry he was.
"And who are you?" asked the judge.
"I'm Officer Ben Cundiff, Toronto Police."
"Why are you here?"
"I'm trying to keep him out of trouble."
At that moment the guards tackled Pete to the ground almost knocking Ben over in the process. Ben got back on his feet and dusted himself off.
"And how's that going for you?" the judge asked Ben.

Ben picked up Pete when he was released from jail.
"You have to go to these meetings starting tomorrow," Ben instructed.
"You know I still don't really know who you are, right?"
"There's one at 252 Bloor St. W. tomorrow at 7:30 a.m.."
"Are you fucking kidding me? 7:30? In the morning?"
"Yes Pete, and if you don't go you'll go to jail. And, you know what..."
"What?"
"I can be the one who arrests you."
"Fuck you man."

Pete turned and stared out the window for a while.
His eyes were becoming a bit moist.
"Are you crying?" asked Ben.
Pete looked at Ben and asked "When can I see Justin?"

That night Pete couldn't sleep so at about 4 a.m. he went for one of his typical wanders.
This time he wandered down Parliament St. and turned left on Winchester and then left again into the Necropolis Graveyard. He was surprised the gate was unlocked. He walked past the little chapel and found a horizontal benchlike gravestone. He laid down on it for a little snooze. He was thinking, "This location will have to go in my coffee table book."
He was staring at the chapel with one eye open, one eye closed.
He sat up.
He realized he had been thinking about the cop, Ben. Ben. Not Justin. Ben.
And the feeling he had, although brief, was different.
He was a little shaken by whatever that was.

It had begun snowing and Pete was a little cold. He wandered over to the little chapel and on the off-chance it was open tried the door. It was.
He stepped cautiously in the darkness. When he turned a corner he saw a beam of light from a lamppost streaming through a stained glass window revealing a room with pews and an alter. The beams of light were all different colours. Dust floated.
Pete sat in one of the pews.
He stared at the gold cross which was on the alter shimmering. He was a bit transfixed.

After a while Pete came to the stark realization that in the middle of this calm and beauty he was really fucking angry.

He looked up to the light, paused, and said one word. Softly.

"Why?"

Harm Reduction Part Five - Recovery Denied

The fear Pete had lived with through for most of his childhood had overtaken and smothered all of his other emotions. And then by starting so early with drugs and alcohol his emotions were never able to rebound and grow. He was numb and cold.

Pete was 32 now.
He had promised himself he would get sober before he moved back into the Jaffey house with his brothers but that didn't happen. Realizing that even his deep affection for his brothers couldn't keep him sober Pete got a little hopeless.
The months following the acceptance that he would be accountable to his brothers and his house were some of the worst for Pete. He had always been an angry young man but now he was reacting to every tiny incident with unnecessary exaggerated rage. Pete didn't often analyze what was going on in his head but this behaviour was scaring and confusing him.
Justin's take on it was, "Dude, you're fucked up."
Very helpful.

In the eight months before the move back into his house he (and therefore Justin) had essentially run out of money. Pete's dad's life insurance money was dwindling and Ed wasn't paying any rent because he had been fired from his sad-sack job. And yet the boys continued drinking and using as if nothing was wrong. Things were going obliviously awry.

Justin and Pete began planning ways to make a little extra drug money.
"Justin, I have an idea. I've been thinking about making a coffee table book."
"Ok, that's kind of unexpected," said Justin. "Of what."
Pete, being an alcoholic and coke addict, kept very strange hours. He was known to drift off daytime or nighttime.
"I want to take photos of the best public places in the city to nap. I've tried them all. Some park benches, concrete barriers, statue bases, and the occasional very large tree stump."
"Pete, I'm fascinated." said Justin in all seriousness. He continued, "I have a plan to make a little money too. Although it's not quite as artsy."
"What is it?"
"I am going to deal coke. I kind of know everyone already."
"Jasper will have you killed." said Pete in a rare sober serious moment.
Jasper was Justin and Pete's drug dealer. Pete was sure that if Justin started dealing himself it would be an infringement on Jasper's territory. Jasper's two best customers would also suddenly stop buying.
"We tell Jasper we're clean."
"Look, I have a connection. We could bypass Jasper altogether."
Pete's stomach was turning with fear and intrigue.
"I really don't know Justin...we already owe him a lot of money."
"I could make money and pay him back"
"So you want to make money to pay back your drug dealer by being a drug dealer."
"Correct."
Even to a drunk and high Pete that sounded too good to be true. Pete had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Through all his crazy thinking Pete never had a sense of right or wrong but he did have a magical psychic sense of danger. Coke dealing right in Jasper's face would be pushing their already tenuous limits.
"I'm pretty good at flying under the radar Pete." This coming from a beautiful overgrown man tattooed from ankle to neck, very fond of brightly coloured sneakers." Very subtle.

The money situation became more real one night when they realized they couldn't afford to buy smokes or a bag of Skittles. They went in the convieniece store to look around anyway. Justin walked up to the cash with the bag of Skittles he wanted and announced, "I am taking some stuff and I have a weapon. And give me a pack of smokes."
And they walked out.
"What the fuck was that?" Pete asked incredulously.
"Justin, that's fucking serious."
"You worry too much. It worked."

It didn't work at all. The two of them crossed through Allen Gardens.
A few seconds later a cop car came screeching to a halt right behind them. Then one was in front of them. Then one raced up from the left and one from the right. Pete was looking down the barrel of a shotgun. About ten other officers had their guns drawn.

Holy shit.

The boys were separated and slammed face down on the hoods of two different police cars.
The cops screamed "Got any weapons or drugs?!" as they emptied their pockets onto the hoods of the cars. They found a pack of smokes and a bag of Skittles. Justin and Pete were handcuffed and thrown into the backs of two different cruisers.

Pete sat in the back of the cruiser and thought...well this time I didn't really do anything. But he didn't want to rat out Justin either.
The front door opened and Officer Ben Cundiff got it in and sat down. He typed a few things on his computer. He looked at Pete in his rearview mirror.
"Hello Pete." he said.
Pete was confused. "How do you know who I am?"
"Pete, This is the fifth time I've arrested you."
"Oh...um...oops."
"Ya, you're sort of a hobby for me. You don't remember any of them do you?"
Pete said, "Wait a second, did I call you "sturdy ass" once.
Ya, ahem, that's me.
"See, I remember stuff."
"I 'd rather you didn't remember that."
"Look Pete, I know Justin did all this. The store owner was pretty clear about that. But seriously, you're really high or drunk or something, so I still have to take you in."
"You don't really. And where is Justin?"
"Justin is in a bit of  trouble Pete. He said he had a weapon."
"He's always doing that."
"Don't say that in court, ok."
"Ok." said Pete.
"Look," began Ben,  "Let's go for a coffee before we go in."
"Why?"
"Pete, I've been watching you for a long time now. I honestly thought you'd be done with all this by now."
"All what?"
"You don't think there's anything wrong with living like this?"
"No, I don't."
Ben started up the car and heading toward a coffee shop.



















  

Harm Reduction Part Four - Pete and Justin

INT  Flop House
The next morning:
Pete has woken up in Justin's arms.


So Pete did, in fact, inherit the big old Jaffey house.
But now, he had a problem.
He couldn't move back in there with Ed in the house and if he kicked Ed out he would take his little brothers with him. Pete wouldn't allow that. His intentions were always to not disrupt his brothers' lives no matter what.
So Pete came up with the fancy idea that he would rent an apartment, live there, and charge Ed rent to live in his house with his little brothers. A half-assed status quo.
Justin had two things to say about all of this.
"First of all,: he began, "That means your tenant is also your rapist. And that's fucked up. Second, keep it in the back of your mind that I'm kind of homeless. Just sayin."

"You said that before.: Pete said.
.
Pete had turned 18 by now and was able to rent a place. And, yes, Justin came with him.
Along with money from his father's life insurance and a steady rental income from Ed, Pete realized he was set. For now. His focus was having enough money for drugs and alcohol. And also having enough money for Justin's drugs and alcohol. He did. For now.

Pete and Justin would live together for the next 10 years.
It was the best time of Pete's life so far.
Although there was nothing story-worthy physical between them Justin and Pete had a deep loving relationship over those years. They discussed their drug and alcohol problem only sporadically and usually only after a particularly dangerous situation, e.g. a bar fight with knives and/or a drag queen. One of them would say, "Ok. That was a little crazy." Then they would giggle. Justin and Pete were kind of mouthy and prone to mild violence when drunk or high in public. Pete had overheard one guy who was pointing at him say, "Watch out for the little fag in the corner. He's vicious."  Pete took that as a compliment.
Pete and Justin were well known around the party circuit as a dangerous duo. People either admired them or feared them. As a life-long self-perceived victim Pete enjoyed being near Justin's confident bravado. Designer bravado. Justin was always dressed and always acted just right. Pete always felt like he was just "there." Well until the drugs and music started. And then Pete would feel comfortable and happy. And in the presence of Justin, safe.
Justin would try to dress Pete well. "Somehow Pete," Justin would say," I spend a lot or your money on designer clothes and yet you always make it look like you're wearing a potato sack."
There were 5 bars around their place and one by one they got barred from each. However, by the time they got barred from the fifth one enough time had passed that they would be allowed back in the first one. They boys thought this was very clever. This cycle went on for years.
Justin and Pete would move about every six months, usually when they decided their apartment was too dirty to clean.
Over the years the amount of drugs they were doing increased. Slowly, unnoticed and dangerous. The amount of money Pete was receiving was not matching the amount they were spending. Justin described their spiral as a kind of ride at the fun fair - super exhilarating, slightly nauseating.

One day Pete's brother Robbie came into Pete's room.
I have come the realization that you are a drug addict and I have reserved a space for you in treatment." 
What the fuck.

Pete told Justin everything.
"So," Justin said, "Are you ok?"
"My brother thinks I'm a drug addict."
"You are."
"That little shit has it in for me."

Pete sat in silence.

"The man who raped you is still around you Pete." said Justin changing the subject away from the scary thoiught of recovery..

Pete cupped his hands around his face and slumped back on the couch.

"I know."

Silence.

"I guess I can move back into my house, whack Ed, and take care of those boys."
"You can't take care of yourself Pete."
"I know"

"But I can give it a shot. I would love to move in with my brothers and stop doing this shit."
"Don't you dare get sober without me,." said Justin.

"Robbie said I am supposed to go in a week."
"Pete. Ok look let's look at this rationally. Come here and do a couple lines so you can think straight."
In a weird way that made sense.

"Ok," said Pete. "Then we have a timeframe."

Deep down Pete didn't think it would be possible.
He watched Justin do a couple lines of coke.

"Can you help me do this Justin?"

"As God is my witness, I will help you do anything except get sober."

Throughout his years of heavy drug and alcohol abuse Pete always knew what the next move would be. Find, purchase and use.
It was so very simple for a long time.
But it suddenly wasn't working anymore. It wasn't enough.
And that scared him to death.

Pete finally had no choice but to did move back into his own house. With the man who raped him. Unwhacked. And, of course, with Justin in tow.

Harm Reduction Part Three - Pete's Brothers

No one had asked Pete anything about himself in a long time. He felt he needed to keep his guard up. Pete's secrets were his only defense left. But he was also feeling terribly lonely and knew the time was coming that he would have to trust someone.
People used to show concern about Pete's drug and alcohol use. Treatment centres and various programmes were recommended. Two different interventions took place. He remembers the first intervention because he had a big zit in the middle of his forehead and he remembers the second one because he had noticed his socks didn't match. Pete responded to most suggestions of help with a pointed finger and an angry "Please leave me alone."
His family and friends had resigned themselves to the idea that Pete didn't want to recover from this. They just took a step back and watched the show..

Pete looked over at Justin who was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall.
He was waiting for an answer.

Justin said calmly, "Did you convince your mother to kill herslf?"

"Well..um..." Pete mumbled, "Some bad shit happened to me."
"What shit?"
Justin was picking at his toenails.
Pete was tearing up.

"I don't talk about it much. But ya, my mom killed herself because of me."
"That's fucked up. So, um, what, are you hiding here or something?"
"That's not it,." said Pete.
"That's NOT why you're hiding."
"No."
Where's your dad in all of this?.
"He died in a plane crash when I was 8 but that has nothing to do with my mother."
"What the fuck man?"
Pete sat there with tears running down his face. Silent.

After a while he began.
"Justin, my mother married another man and he moved into the house when I was 9 and he fathered 2 more boys.
And he began raping me."
Pete took deep breaths in between the words.

Justin, I was a happy little boy.
Justin didn't know what to say.
So after some sort of sober thought, this came out:
"Fuck dude, your shit has weight."

Pete said, "I guess."

How often did he do that?
Pete struggled to say, "Once about every couple of months. It would have been less terrifying if it hadn't been so random."
For how long?
"Until I was 13."
Justin stared sympathetically at Pete.

"And I couldn't tell anyone"
Why not dude. What the fuck?

Ed, my step-dad, said that if I even mentioned anything he would kill my little brothers.. I love them so much. So I was scared to death. Basically no one was going to believe me anyway..
"So you just accepted it?"
Guess so.

Justin asked, "Aren't you worried your little brothers might be at risk."
"No. I told Ed that if there was even a hint that he was doing something to those boys I would kill him."
And what did he say.
"He said, "I would never. They're my sons. That would be weird."
"THAT would be weird." Justin was bewildered.
"Ya.."

"Justin, I don't have a lot of power or control over anything in my life.But the one thing I could do is rip my family apart with one call to the police. And if Ed got sent away my little brothers would be left with no one but me. I am in no position to raise them right."

Justin got up and walked across the room and gave Pete the most sincere hug he had ever had.
He whispered in Pete's ear, "Pete, you are so damaged. This is unfair" Pete bawled and Justin didn't let go.

Pete whispered in Justin's ear, "When I was a little boy and I was sleeping I used to dream there were angels hovering over me, protecting me. And one night they vanished and HE appeared over me. Nothing has protected me since.
I want that feeling back Justin and the only time that seems to happen is when, well, you know.
I do...
God owes me that, you know, Not to be scared.
In your case, dude, I think he does.
They got high again.

"Funny thing is..." Pete began, "with my mother gone. I inherit my house. But for now I have the police looking for me and a funeral to miss."
"Did I mention I'm homeless?" Justin added.

Harm Reduction Part Two - Teenage Pete

INT. FLOP HOUSE, Night,
Shit of a window. Camera pans from window along the wall and stops directly on JUSTIN'S face. He is staring at something.
Shot of a 17 year-old PETE sleeping on the other cot in the room.
PETE'S eyes open.

PETE;

What are you looking at?

JUSTIN:

You.

PETE:

Why?

JUSTIN:

My name is Justin Denny and it looks like we're overnight guests.

PETE: 

Are you naked?

JUSTIN

Ya.

PETE: 

And covered in tats?

JUSTIN:

Yup. Had a boyfriend who hated them. Got a new one every time he pissed mr off. He pissed me off a lot.

So what you here for?

PETE:

I think I killed someone.

JUSTIN: 

Holy fuck man. I only stabbed my brother with a fork. Who did you kill?

PETE:

My mother.

JUSTIN:

Did you?

PETE:

Not really sure.

JUSTIN:
How is that possible?

PETE:
They say I talked her into it. Killing herself, I mean.

JUSTIN:
Did you?

PETE:
Got any drugs?

JUSTIN:
Ya, of course, some coke. Come over here.

PETE:
Um, sure, but could you put some clothes on.

JUSTIN:
No.

PETE gets up goes over to sit on the bed with JUSTIN.

They snort a couple of bumps.
JUSTIN leans over and licks PETE'S shoulder.

PETE: 

What the fuck?

JUSTIN:

You taste better when your sleeping.

PETE:

That's fucking creepy.

JUSTIN:

Not really. So tell me about your mother.

Harm Reduction Part One - My Friend Pete

Peter Tomas Kopecky was born in a Quebec town called Contre-Coeur, which in English translates as "unwilling." This fact would haunt him for years in his attempts to recover from alcoholism and drug abuse. He was unwilling, resistant and angry. Other than that, a great guy.
His addictions weren't really a genetic inheritance. He came to them due to circumstances beyond his control and with a little kickstart from a streak of naughtiness.
Pete showed addict behaviors long before he was ever an actual addict.
When he was 4 he was in a grocery store begging his mother for a box of Lucky Charms. She refused and walked away. When she was out of sight he reached up took a box off the shelf and walked out of the store. No one stopped him.
His mother, realizing her little boy was missing, searched the store frantically for him. A woman approached her and said, "I believe your little boy is in the parking lot."
And there Pete was standing alone holding what Pete wanted.
Most people laugh at Pete when he says this but he believes his gateway drug was Lucky Charms. But he's dead serious.
When he was 5 he asked his mother if he could go play in the bog with his friends. She said, "No. Because I don't want you getting your new shoes dirty." So Pete went to the bog, took off his new shoes, placed them gently on the shore and rolled around in the mud for a while.
He came home covered head to toe in slop. "Oh my God!" his mother yelled. "I told you not to play in the bog!" "No," Pete said "You told me not to get my new shoes dirty."
"And I didn't."
You can pick a future alcoholic/addict out of a group of kids very easily. Look for the smartypants. Look for the ones who are a little too smart for their own good. Look for the scared yet bossy ones. Basically... look for the children who are interesting.
When he was 6 Pete went to Kindergarten. He lasted a day. On the way there he had memorized the route back, just in case.  Pete tolerated his first day of school  for a while but he knew it wasn't for him. The other kids were noisy and kind of simple. "Fuck this shit," he thought - that is actually what he thought - and he asked to go to washroom, and bolted.
It would be the first of many times the cops would be looking for him.
He retraced the route back to his house he had memorized and came to a meadow where he laid down. And he dozed off in peace.
Pete was an only child -- at the time. His father, Tomas,  was a writer. A well-known one revered for his short stories. He had respect and a large following.  He said he wrote short stories because he could only love a character for so long. The one thing he did love and pay attention to for an extended period of time was his dear son Peter. Peter was his greatest joy. Tomas would hear about Peter's exploits and laugh and laugh and laugh. Tomas would rub Peter's head and say "Just like his Dad."
Peter's world was pretty good at that time. He was plotting and scheming but had no worries.
He has spent the decades since trying to recreate how he felt in those moments. Safe, loved an comfortable.
When he was 8 it all went away.
Tomas was on a flight to Los Angeles for a book conference when his life ended.
For a number of years afterwards Pete felt the way his father must have felt when the plane was crashing. Scared and descending.

Life didn't throw Pete a curve ball. He was shot with a shot gun blast.
And it got worse.

Pete's mother Judy remarried a man named Ed Burrows. The father figure in Pete's life had been a gentle loving soul. With Ed, Pete's young life would turn brutal and cruel.
Judy and Ed had three more boys in quick succession. Sam, Andy and Robbie.
Pete's half brothers.

Pete told  a story once about the situation with Ed, his now step father.
He started talking about lions in Africa.
Either a good story was unfolding or it was another psychotic break.
Lions in Africa, he began, mate for life. If the male partner dies then the female has to find a new mate. If the previous male had fathered any cubs then it's up to the new male to kill them. Maul them to death. To assert that he is new leader there could be no evidence of the old male.
That's Ed. The new male.
He's the new leader.
And he has to get rid of me.

And he's doing it.

Pete would tell himself he was exagerrating.
Then he would tell himself. "No, I'm not."

Pete would go missing a lot when he was young.
Sometimes for three days...

He would return high and drunk.

This was around when he was 10.




To be continued...

The Vicious Daisy is Euchred

Terrible language in this one:


If you want to see rage and violence forget the UFC. You need to watch four recovering alcoholic gay men play euchre.
Awful.
So there we were one dismal sober evening gathered around Lovely Melvin's kitchen table with a new deck of cards featuring topless women. Fifty cents at Dollaramma we were told.  Lovely Melvin, Big Thighs Paul, Drag Mack and Fabulous Me. Ok, those three actually have a different nickname for me but I'm not particularly fond of it. They call me the R.-B.A.G. (the Rage-Based Alcoholic Goof). It's not at all me.
Melvin and I were leading 9 to 1 when Mack and Big Thighs stormed back to tie it 9-9. I informed Big Thighs that given the depressed state I was in it would be very cruel to complete the comeback. They did it anyway. Bastards. I turned to Big Thighs and said, "You are a thoughtless twat."
Even for me that was pretty good.
"You are a vicious and angry little man," he responded.
I am neither vicious nor angry.
I am just shy.
And then B.T.'s partner Mack backed him up by throwing a cookies'n'cream cupcake at my head. It missed, because I am sneaky quick, hit the wall and fell to the floor. One of Melvin's local district champion schnauzers scooped it up and he went ballistic. "She's not supposed to eat that kind of stuff!! Oh my God!!"
Complete gay-os.
There followed a few carefully constructed insults (by me) and a few dumb ones (by them) and at some point I got slapped. Hot.
We took a little pause from the game and Mack asked Melvin if he could try on the gown he had been promised for the upcoming sober drag show. Sober drag show. Of all my least favorite phrases in the English language that's right up there with "rebound constipation" and "trans-rectal probe", all of which I have either seen or had.
Mack came gliding down the staircase in a full-on pur-gay-ple gown, matching cape, gold stiletto heels and a massive blond afro.  He attached a little brooch but tossed it aside saying, "Oh no. That's ridiculous." Ya, THAT'S the part that's ridiculous.
I have never understood the whole gay man drag thing. And I let it be known. I have been accused of internalized homophobia. Not so. My homophobia is externalized. Out there to be analyzed and commented upon. The reason I am not fond of most gay men is that they are way too fragile, i.e. bar fights are rare, they vacuum their drapes and most of them have no idea who Aaron Rodgers is. Intolerable.
Round 2 of euchre went according to plan. Mack and I jumped to an 8-2 lead. Mack decided we should turn our little Euchre tournament into a Broadway musical. Gays do that. Everything should become a Broadway musical. "Burning Foot Cream: The Musical."  "Clogged Hoover: The Musical."  "Big Silly Hat: The Musical."
We went up 9-2. And again, to my horror, they tied it up. Sensing a second astonishing comeback I put an end to it by setting my cards on fire. Melvin threw his coke at me to put it out, missed, (remember, I'm sneaky quick) and Big Thighs got drenched.
They all accused me of being a sore loser or something like that but I stopped listening.
I was looking around the table at my sad-sack dear buddies. Big Thighs, all soaking wet, Drag Mack in his broochless gown and afro, and Melvin clutching his local district schnauzer performing the Heimlich in attempt to dislodge the unhealthy cupcake.
Nuts.
I know we're all a bit crazed but really I wouldn't want it any other way. Those idiots saved my life. They caught me at the point where loneliness was settling down. It could have become permanent. They pulled me in, sat me down, dealt me a hand, and said, "You're on."
My hand sucked.
By the way.





.

the vicious daisy smokes

So I told my shrink that I don't think my sleeping meds are working to their full potential. She asked me if I was taking them with food as suggested. "Of course." I said.
"What food?"
Well yesterday I took them with a Pop Tart and the day before that I had them with a bag of Skittles.
"You're supposed to take them with healthy food!"
"That is healthy food."
"So what exactly do you consider to be unhealthy food?"
Anthrax.
She stared at me blankly. She does that a lot. I actually don't think she's very good. She always seems quite stunned when I'm talking. They say that most people have a love/hate relationship with their shrinks. I think we've hit the "hate" part.

Not listening to the advice of doctors has always been one of my hobbies, along with smoking near babies and chasing cats.

I've recently been kicked out of my Nicotine Cessation Program. I was accused of insubordination, lying and subterfuge by the evil Russian doctor running the thing. I don't know what some of those words mean so I deny everything. However, I did lie. When I walked into his office the first time he asked me if I had just had a smoke. I said no. He said, "Yes you did." "No. I didn't."  "I was watching you through the window. You had a smoke." I think he was a KGB spy.
One time the evil doctor was facilitating a group therapy when he asked the question "Why do you smoke?" I raised my hand and preceded to go on a ten-minute monologue beginning with, "Because smoking is fabulous..." I talked about how I've so met many cool people in dirty smoking areas, how a smoke break give me a peaceful moment away from the assholes populating my day, and most importantly I had only recently perfected flicking my butts through the air really really far. (Although I have to watch that. I have flicked butts into garbage cans, open car windows, and once into a woman's hair.) By the end of my speech the Russian just glared at me. He said, "You are really something."  I sighed, " I know".
He said to me, " If you had saved up all the money you spent on cigarettes this year you could have gone on a cruise." "I don't want to go on a cruise," I said, "I want to fucking smoke."  Well. That was the end.
I muttered a few awful things on the way out. As we all know - I wear my emotions on my middle finger.

Somehow, the Russian got one last little magical dig in. Going home I cupped my hands to light up a smoke and set my transfer on fire. I walked home.

 

The Vicious Daisy

I think I'll start calling this the Age of Lunesta.  Got prescribed it yesterday to replace the useless Trazadone I had been taking. The shrink said "Well I know you so we'll just start with the maximum dose." What does that mean?

The strange thing about that Trazadone too is that it's actually an anti-psychotic. I think somebody's not telling me something. (or they are apparently afraid to.)

Ok so I took the maximum dose and thought I had an amazing night's sleep. However...my roommate called me the next day to inform me that I had spent the night wandering around babbling. I also had decided at some point that all the glass windows in the apartment should be opened to the right, instead of to the left, which is where they were.  Apparently even my unconscious self is tedious and boring.

It's like when I went to the Sleep Clinic at Toronto General. They went and put me in a pitch black, soundproof room and filmed me. Well, didn't I get the best sleep I had had in two years. So i thought, crap, they're not going to figure out anything. The doctor called me a couple of days later and asked me to come in and look at the video.  I said I didn't really see the point. "Oh really?" she said.
I watched the video and realized that when I am sleeping I do mean imitation of a Mexican Jumping Bean on speed. Holy Shit.

Last night, at least I didn't leave the house. Back in the day my attempts to relieve my insomnia usually involved a late night/early morning wander around my sketchy neighbourhood engaging the homeless and staring down schizophrenics. One night an insane guy crept up behind me on Jarvis and screamed, "Are you the devil?!!" .I calmly replied "No. I'm not. But he's coming." Dude froze in terror. Mean, I know, but funny. Improvised cruelty is a wonderful thing.

I used to run into one particular guy on a daily basis. He was very ill, slightly violent, and...kind of hot. He always offered me something different for two smokes. Two. Never one. One day he offered a pair of dice, the next time a VHS copy of "Cars", the next a nine of diamonds, and the best was when he offered me three condoms. I looked at him a bit strangely I guess cause he said, "It's ok dude. They're new."

I ran into yet another schizophrenic hottie in an alley of Parliament recently and had the most ridiculous conversation, like, ever. Again, this guy asked me for a smoke and said, or I thought he said, "Do you want a quarter," i.e. "I'd like to pay you a little something for this."  I have come to realize after much thought that I think he had actually asked me for a quarter to which I had responded, "No I don't  need your quarter."
"I'm not giving you a quarter."
"Then why did you offer me one."
"I don't have a quarter to give you. That's the fucking point!"
"I don't get it."
And me and the shirtless, mentally ill man stared at each other for a moment.
And then he says to me. "Dude there is something wrong with you," and walks away.
So a homeless schizophrenic guy tells me there's something wrong with me. It's not even 7 a.m..

.