A snowy day at the University of B.C. I got the call at about 2 a.m. on Christmas Eve day. I told no one about my secret mission of mercy. I was a student at the University of B.C. My parents asked me to order my own telephone line at our Vancouver home, tired of my long conversations hogging their line. So when the phone rang late that night in my basement bedroom, they didn’t need to know. My parents weren’t happy with my relationship with Derek.* They had good reasons for their viewpoint, but it took me longer to come to that conclusion. In the meantime, some topics at family dinners were best left alone. Derek worked as a lumberjack in Haida Gwaii, then called the Queen Charlotte Islands, in northwestern British Columbia. Forestry workers spent long weeks at the remote location, where they were housed and fed amply. They were regularly flown back to Vancouver for time off, where most workers squandered their pay on drinking and other vices. Derek was more sober. Spending so much time away, he’d given up his permanent residence. For the Christmas break, he shared a motel suite with a man he’d met at the logging camp. He trusted the lean First Nations man with long dark hair tied back in a single sleek tail, but I grew concerned after Brandon arrived with wads of cash from selling drugs. “It’s a great way to make money!” he claimed. “That can’t be safe for you,” I urged. “You could be arrested!” Brandon shrugged off my concern. “I know what I’m doing. Don’t worry about me, I'm almost done." "But what about the addicts who are messed up by the drugs?" I asked. "They're fine. This stuff doesn't hurt anybody. You should try some, it's good!” he insisted. “No thanks!” I said. “I don’t want anything going into my body that interferes with my ability to think straight!” Derek also declined. “You should see Brandon's photography,” Derek said one day. “He takes great pictures of the islands. It rains much of the time, but when the sun comes out, it’s beautiful!” I peered into a viewer that lit up the tiny full-colour slides. The natural beauty was breathtaking! Wildlife of Haida Gwaii came alive in natural poses: deer, eagles, owls, bears. Majestic trees emerged from wisps of fog, while the sea reposed nearby. Brandon’s eyes gleamed as I marvelled at the stunning scenes. I wondered if he’d had many compliments of his skill. Maybe he was more used to the tongue lashings and invisibility endured by many First Nations people. Maybe it pained him to destroy the habitat of so many beautiful creatures as he worked to harvest virgin forest. But trust in our new friend was shattered that Christmas Eve. Brandon had taken control of the motel unit’s small kitchen and baked a batch of brownies. After Derek indulged himself, he noticed his heart rate begin to beat wildly. His body shook, and he couldn’t stop trembling. He'd never felt this way before. Although Brandon denied it, we concluded that he must have laced the brownies with drugs. He’d wanted his friend to experiment, and when Derek wouldn’t do it willingly, forced the issue. By the time I received the call, Derek was in a state. I didn’t know what I could do to help. It was so late. When I started to drift off, he cried, “Help me!” I exited the house quietly from the basement door into the waiting taxi cab. We drove to the motel with the flashing neon sign, then took Derek to Vancouver General Hospital. We explained that we believed that he’d been drugged by his roommate, a drug dealer, earlier that day. A doctor eventually injected something to slow the racing heartbeat. After a couple of hours, we headed back to the motel, and I returned home. Derek didn’t worry that the incident would repeat itself, and it didn’t. I was weary from lack of sleep when our family gathered to exchange Christmas gifts that evening, but kept my nocturnal adventure to myself. I doubted that my parents would have approved. When I said yes to that plea for help, I was given a most unusual, secret Christmas. It was unforgettable, being able to help a man who was drugged and despairing to find calm and love on a dark Christmas eve. If you have an unforgettable Christmas you’d like to share, I’d love to hear it! - Irene Plett *Names have been changed. Topics: Christmas, memories, memoirs, drugs, overdose, relationships, forestry, Haida Gwaii, Vancouver, First Nations
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
WriterIrene Plett is a writer, poet and animal lover living in South Surrey, British Columbia, Canada. Categories
All
|