Hanging with Brad

Flash forward. I'll continue with the Detox story Part 3 soon, but in the meantime, here's a glance forward.

I'm out of detox for two days, feeling great and positive about the future. My health and sanity have returned, and I'm heading into an internet cafe in downtown Lethbridge when a young guy walks up to me and says, "Hey, how's it going?"

He's wearing long white shorts and a white t-shirt and a ball cap. I immediately recognize him as a kid who was at the Detox Centre, [who I'll call] Brad. He's easy to recognize because he looks like Brad Pitt. In fact, he's practically his doppelganger.

I talked with Brad a few times before he left Detox. His parents drove him to Fort Macleod from Calgary to get sober and stop using crack. He looks about 19 or 20, but is actually 25. He's got buzzed blond hair and beautiful blue eyes, white straight teeth. He's about 5'10 or 11 and slim. He's hot, but not my type. I find Brad Pitt attractive, but not fuckable.

Brad is agitated and talking fast. Checking behind him, he says, "Did you see that fat gay guy behind me? He's been following me for several blocks now."

I check behind him and the street is empty - there's not a single person within sight in this ghost of a town. "Uh, it doesn't look like anyone's around."

Brad throws himself into a chair at one of the outdoor tables outside of the Internet cafe and lights a cigarette. "Man," he says, "I fucking hate the place I'm staying at. It's full of criminals who just got out of jail, and they've got cameras all over the place, in the hallways and rooms, and the guys who live there hide knives all over the place." He takes a drag of his cigarette, holding it between his middle finger and thumb.

Brad had mentioned to me at the Detox centre that he was going to a halfway house in Lethbridge once he left. It's located downtown, and you get your own room, but share the washrooms, kitchen and living areas with other guys staying there. His parents had arranged this to get him away from Calgary and all his crack-smoking friends and dealers, and told him if he stayed clean and sober for 60 days, they would allow him back home.

Brad's father is the owner of a large energy-related company that develops huge projects, such as the windmill farms they're building in Southern Alberta. His mother is the President of the Catholic Women's League. He comes from a very wealthy family, and he has 3 sisters and 2 brothers, all older. Brad is the baby of the family, fully ten years younger than the next in line.

Brad started using crack at 14, when an Asian guy gave him an ounce of it and told him to go sell it for him at school. Brad was an all-star athlete - he had played hockey for eight years and was a fly-fishing aficionado who has designed and patented his own bait. His family has a 40-acre estate in the Crowsnest Pass, where he was spoiled with two four-wheel terrain vehicles, the latest computer technologies, a 4,000 sq. ft. house and trips around the world. But once he discovered crack cocaine, his life became a nightmare. His parents have sent him to five treatment centres all over Canada, some costing up to $20,000 per stay.

His most recent binge started in January, after he was kicked out of yet another treatment centre. His parents picked him up and rented him a motel room in Calgary, and told him to clean up. Instead, Brad took to the street, sold crack to make a living, used it several times a day for the next three months until he ended up in Fort Macleod Detox for his 5th time.

Now he's sitting in front of me, telling me what I think is a paranoid hallucination common to crack users [i.e. video cameras, people following you and hidden knives all over the halfway house] and I think to myself, "Oh no, he's using again."

Somehow it doesn't show on him - he's still got perfect clear skin and clear blue eyes. He's gorgeous to look at, even with the ball cap hiding his blond buzzcut. Even though I was feeling strong, healthy and confident about living sober just seconds before running into Brad, a whole scenario runs through my mind within seconds, that goes something like this...

Ah, here's the cute guy I met at Detox, and he's using. Maybe he can hook me up with some crack, and we can go party together. I've only used crack once and it didn't do anything for me, and I have had no interest in using it again. So, it should be okay, after all, it's not alcohol. Also, I have no idea where to get crack on my own - even in Vancouver when I went looking for drugs to buy, no one ever approached me. Even when I started asking people where I might get some. People said they probably thought I looked like an undercover cop. Plus, I think Brad may play both sides, maybe I can play around with him a little sexually.

I get lost in my momentary fantasy when Brad says, "So how are you doing, man? When did you get back?"

"Just a couple of days ago, I'm doing good."

"You look good." Brad looks me over more carefully. "Yeah, man, you look great, your skin is tanned and your eyes look clear."

I appreciate the comment, enjoying his attention. "How are you doing?" I ask.

"I had a slip a few days ago, my only one since coming back, but I've been clean for three days now," he says.

"Yeah, right," I think to myself. Brad looks and acts so similarly to Brad Pitt in the 12 Monkeys - a little off, a little crazy, but with great charisma and charm. I can tell his brain works really fast - it's on speed, after all - plus he's creative, so I find him very engaging.

We chat for a while and before he leaves, I ask him if I'll see him at the AADAC [Alberta Alcohol and Drug Abuse Commission] meeting tomorrow morning at 8:30am.

"Yeah, I guess I'll go. It depends if I wake up on time. I don't have an alarm clock right now, and the fucking caretaker always forgets to knock on my door to get me up." Brad stands and extends his hand.

"It was good to see you bud, take care of yourself," he says shaking my hand. He's off with a flash of his star-quality smile.

Brad isn't at the meeting the next morning, of course, and I don't see him for the next week. I'm disappointed and a little saddened, thinking that he's gone out using; wasting all his talents and gifts. I'm over my "party and sex" fantasy with him, and know that I wouldn't do anything to endanger him or encourage his addictions. He's just a kid dealing with a very bad and dangerous drug addiction. He needs support and encouragement.

***


I'd nearly forgotten about Brad altogether when he shows up one morning at the AADAC meeting, ten minutes late. He's wearing a black t-shirt with Old English characters on the back that says, "Only God can judge me." He's got a ball cap on and earphones dangling from his perfectly shaped ears. He shuffles in, head down and plops himself unceremoniously in one of the large oversize chairs around the oval table to join us.

The counselor who runs the meeting asks him a question at one point, to which he responds in his unique choppy and incomprehensible manner. Brad tends to talk in short form - squeezing tons of information and experience into byte-sized blurbs that give you a sense of what he mans, but lacking in clarity. What he says usually ends up being humorous, so everyone laughs, and then he blushes and smiles his bazillion-watt movie-star smile at everyone, while rearranging the ball cap on head.

When the meeting ends, everyone is talking to one another except Brad, who is trying to sneak out the door without making eye contact with anyone. I wait for him, and as he approaches I say, "Hey Brad, you made it!" sounding happy to see him.

He looks at me, bursts into a big a big smile and shakes my hand enthusiastically. He's clearly happy to see me, and have someone talk to. It occurs to me that Brad may be a little shy at times. We go outside where he lights a cigarette and fills me in on what he's been up to.

"Man, I'm glad to see you. I haven't really made any friends with anyone in the NA groups around town yet. I think they all think I'm still using crack, and don't want to go near me," he says. "But it's just the way I talk."

I think, "I'm not sure if you're using or not but that doesn't mean we can't be friends." Besides, I'm too bedazzled by him to care.

"I'm heading to the Internet cafe to do some work," I say. "Wanna go for a coffee?"

Brad has a mountain bike with him, a small, low to the ground black model that looks [to me] like it's made for a kid. He pedals it while I walk beside him.

"I bought it with a welfare cheque I got last week, from a second hand sports store. It probably looks dumb, like I'm a kid or something, but it's nice to get around town with it," he says.

"No, it's a great idea, I need to get one myself," I say.

"I feel like, now that I'm sober again, like I'm reliving my childhood again. I guess I never really had one, starting drugs at so young an age," Brad says.

He yaps on, amusing me with little stories. He often has me laughing at loud, because he has such a nutty way of saying things. I've known many artists who talk like him: in abbreviated, short form. It's funny how much artists and crack addicts have in common.

[Brad just showed up while I'm writing this..I'll continue the story next time.]