It’s Monday morning and I’m watching the sun filter through the vertical blinds leading to my balcony as I gently come awake. My new apartment is very quiet, so much so that it’s nearly 10:00 am and I’m supposed to be job hunting. All of a sudden, the butterflies of excitement in my stomach turn to a more familiar feeling, a driving force of anxiety. I get out of bed and rearrange my futon so it rests in the sofa position. I remember maman checking about 8 times if a futon was really all I wanted for a bed; she was very confused as to why I wanted to sleep on the floor…because if Big M and Jack ever came to visit they certainly wouldn’t be taking over my bedroom and making me sleep on the sofa bed. I feed Spot, clean his litter, make coffee and hop in the shower while listening to Core by Stone Temple Pilots on my brand new Sony 3-disc CD Changer/Radio Stereo.
My favourite uncle, Sebastien, had purchased it for me as a graduation gift while I was in Québec with maman. I remember when Roxanne and I were about 9 and 11; we attended my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary party in a Northern Québec village. Roxanne and I had a blast! That’s when maman and all the other adults discovered that the kids drank all the punch. In fairness, there was nothing indicating we weren’t supposed to drink it. Roxanne was sick of course, but after having a nap, she was fully recovered. That evening, at the party I had asked Sebastien if he would agree to be my Godfather as a formality so I could erase Bruno from my mind. He agreed without a second thought. Playing CDs on my little stereo always reminded me of Sebastien and maman, which inevitably always brought a smile to my face.
After having showered, I styled my platinum blonde hair, put my makeup on, and got dressed, picked up my envelope full of résumés and hit the pavement in search of a couple jobs. I was hoping for one to begin with and see if I could manage my course load enough to add another 2 or so part time jobs. I quickly realized the silence in my apartment was deafening and while I enjoyed my freedom, I had no idea how to relax or sit still or just enjoy the silence. I was so used to my enjoyment coming to a crashing end rather quickly that for many years I partied as I lived my life: Pedal to the Metal.
I popped my Panasonic Discman in my purse, right next to my 5” blade and walked down the main street in Ottawa to the mall. I had the knife because it made me feel safe in an unfamiliar town; I always had a “stabber” as my dad called it as a kid. I don’t remember playing with my “stabber knife” much in my teens, but in these unfamiliar surroundings, feeling my stabber in my purse made me feel calm, at ease, and in control. The main street had some cool shops and I stumbled upon a store that sold leather motorcycle jackets and Doc Marten shoes; I made a mental note of the store and then went to find a job at the mall.
Finding a job was incredibly easy. I walked into the
Pharmacy at the mall, went to the back to speak to the store manager and less
than an hour later I had a part time job! I would be a cashier and required to
wear a uniform to work along with being required to take several training
classes in different areas of the city. I was really excited to start training and
start working to get money. My money. I would not need a co-signer. My training
would begin the next day. I went to a local nearby bank, looked for the one
with the shortest line-up; and opened a bank account with some cash I already
had. I then made my way to the shop I saw earlier and bought a leather jacket
and a pair of black 8-hole Doc Martens; at check-out I bought several hand rolled
Indian cigarettes to feel ‘cool’.
Once I returned to my apartment, I put my new purchases away and was about to make an early dinner when the phone rang.
Me: Allô
Maeve: Where have you been?
Me: Pardon?
Maeve: Why do you have an answering machine? You don’t need an answering machine. You should be home to answer the phone.
Me: I….I… didn’t know I had an answering machine (I did not, truly and I was pretty close to having a panic attack).
Maeve: What do you mean “you DIDN’T know”? Get rid of it. I expect you to be home and answer my calls.
Me: Well, I got a job so I won’t be home all the time.
Maeve: Oh,
well, I want to know what your work hours are.
After getting off the phone with her, I contacted my telecom company to inquire about the answering machine. Apparently, I did in fact have one included with my telephone line and no, it was not possible to disable it back in the early 1990s. Maeve will be very displeased, I whisper to Spot as I do a happy dance around my apartment. Awesome! The operator even told me I could dial *69 to find out the last number that called. Even better. I could check that religiously to see if I missed any of Maeve’s calls.
The next 2 weeks were spent exploring downtown Ottawa including ALL the bars it had to offer and working. I was in heaven having nobody in my face constantly yelling or telling me what to do… and I definitely didn’t miss hearing the astronaut boots walking above my bedroom. I ran into my old high school friend, Yvon – returning to repeat his first year of Engineering. We hung out all the time, but he lived further away from me so once school was in full swing we saw each other less. He did introduce me to hash though. I swear to Thor, I thought I was going to die the first time we tried roaches on the end of a cigarette in my apartment. I still remembered, very vividly, that drug users always die. I survived and I didn’t hate the feeling, but I didn’t enjoy feeling that sluggish. We hid the hash on top of my Ikea hanging lantern for safekeeping and went to the bar. When we returned to the apartment later that night, we discovered that the cat LOVED hash too and had managed to jump on the lantern, hanging from the ceiling, and open the foil packet containing the hash. By the looks of Spot, hash didn’t make him sluggish at all; he was running circles around the apartment. Yvon crashed on the sofa bed and I passed out on my futon.
Eventually I discovered that the bars in Ontario were *only* open until 3:00 am but just across the bridge, in a small town called Hull, the bars were open until 4:00 am (Thank you Québec!). My new routine was work>home to change>walk to Québec>party until 4:00 am>walk home>repeat. In 2 weeks I was a regular at Le Bop and befriended the DJ who played my top 5 favourite songs every night without my even having to ask, I would just wave my hand hello then flash “5” at him and he would nod.
I had selected my courses while still at home and I quickly learned an 8:00 am class was definitely not going to work out for me if I got home at 5:00 am. I needed to change that and I did. None of my classes started before 10:00 am once I had a routine. I walked to University every day the first month and soon realized that professors just read back to you all the stuff you were supposed to read; then a conversation ensues. Boring. I read the syllabus and saw attendance, for most of my classes was only 5% of the final grade; and the essay is what carried the most weight. Instead of attending class my first semester, I focused on completing all my essays which I did before end of October, and handed in all my assignments. Sure, I’d lose 5% but now I could work more; and work more is what I did. I picked up a second part time job at the Westin Hotel’s gift shop.
I was living my best single life out dancing and drinking every night, getting black out drunk, waking up to a stranger in my bed the next morning. I didn’t understand why none of the boys wanted to see me again. I thought this was dating. How do you date? Aren’t you supposed to make sure you’re compatible? Wouldn’t you need to know if the sex is good enough to bother wanting to see this person again? Except that I just wanted someone to regularly have sex with, I didn’t want to have to share deep private secrets because I knew I would be mocked, ridiculed, and told all parents hate their kids, and that I should just forget it. I was in a new city and I really did want to cut all ties and start fresh. How was I supposed to start my ‘new’ life and be happy if I couldn’t even keep a guy interested in me for more than one night? I didn’t understand the concept of a one night stand.
I’m not sure what the financial agreement was that I had with my parents, it was never spelled out, but I knew I didn’t want to have to call home all the time for cash. Jack had paid my first year’s tuition and books; post-dated cheques paid my rent from money I had earned. Jack didn’t really intend to provide much more for me financially, because whenever I needed something, like a winter coat, I had to beg for money. I figured out I would have to cover my own expenses and I did so with my part time jobs. Life was going really well for me and I felt calmer, almost free; I would only really start to shake and tremble if the phone rang so I made sure never to be home. I feel sorry for Spot because he ended up being alone all the time.
I needed to figure out how to be a responsible adult who didn’t need anything from anyone and who could be her own island. That was my goal. I set myself up to fail over and over again.
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