Threads of Life

Chapter 5-3

fait accompli“There are condoms in my toiletries bag in the washroom,” he said. “Or in the drawer beside my bed. I think there’s also a box in the cereal cupboard in the kitchen. There might be some in my knapsack too.”

“Holy s**t. It would be easier not finding them.”

notWe walked along a row of brownstones and approached Hillel House. I could see two girls and a guy smoking on the small front porch. All three of them were wearing jeans and jean jackets.

I slowed down and Simon asked me what was wrong.

“What if the c****m doesn’t fit?”

We stopped walking.

“Are you serious?”

I had never seen one of them outside of the little square package.

“Do you think a man has to go into d**g store, whip it out, and ask the pharmacist to size him up?”

“No.”

“They fit everyone. And, anyway, your d**k is the same size as mine.”

If I wasn’t so nervous, I would have smiled. Simon’s observation about my c**k meant that there was at least a small measure of equality between us.

* * *

The party was on the first floor in a common room with dark brown walls and grey carpet. On two of the walls were big signs made from bed sheets that said “Welcome Froshers” with stars of David in different colours inside the letters. Wooden chairs had been set up along the walls, and there were couches and large reading chairs in random arrangements in the middle of the room. And there was an adjoining large kitchen containing a few small shelves, a stove, and a long wooden table with no chairs. The table was covered with a large Israeli flag instead of a tablecloth and lots of Middle Eastern food had been set out—pita, falafel, chicken kebabs, hummus, tahini, rice, salad, almond cake—along with paper plates and plastic cutlery. Beside the table were two garbage cans filled with ice and beer, and at least twenty cases of beer stacked on top of each other in two columns. And there was another, much smaller, wooden table just outside the kitchen in front of the washroom with a few sheets of paper and three pens on it and another piece of paper taped to the wood, with block letters encouraging students to ** for a Jewish fraternity or sorority.

It was almost nine-thirty and there were only about twenty-five students at the party. All of them were dressed like the students we had seen on the steps, in jeans and jean jackets. A few of the male students had beards and looked older than everyone else, but most of them looked like they hadn’t started shaving. Most of the girls had long brown hair and, in my opinion, all of them had very large breasts under their tight shirts. Everyone was sitting in groups of three or four, with paper plates on their laps and beer in their hands, and no one looked up from their conversation when we arrived. There was loud music playing from a stereo, set up in the corner, with only one speaker—"On Broadway” by George Benson.

I followed Simon into the kitchen, and he handed me a beer, even though both of us hated the taste.

“Just hold it,” he advised.

I put a falafel ball in my mouth and was about to put at least six more onto a plate when Simon told me not to eat anything else.

I followed him out of the kitchen, back into the common room.

A short girl, holding a beer and wearing an old-fashioned bowler hat with a small Israeli flag sticking out of it, and a jean jacket over a white t-shirt, came up to us and said, “Welcome to Hillel House. First year at U of T?”

“Yes. Thanks,” Simon said. He was looking over her head into the room.

“I’m Bonnie. If you have any questions about our programs, feel free to ask me.” She handed me a piece of paper with pictures and writing on it. “I’m always around. We have a young Judea retreat in Gravenhurst next weekend and lots of other great events planned if you’re interested.”

Simon was still scanning the room. His eyes fell upon two girls who had just walked in and were sitting by themselves on one of the couches.

Bonnie was standing in front of us and there was an awkward silence, until I said, “I like Stevie Wonder, not Bob Dylan, and I go to a conservative synagogue with my father, who’s a lawyer, and I’d love to work on a kibbutz next summer.”

I started laughing and I think Bonnie muttered, “That’s nice.”

Simon grabbed my shoulder and pulled me toward the two girls he had been watching.

“Twins,” he whispered to me.

“Can we join you?” he asked them.

Both looked up at us and one of them said, “Sure.”

We introduced ourselves. The girls were identical twins named Teri and Lori. I couldn’t make out their last name over the music, which sounded like Berman or Bender. As much as they looked like each other, they also looked like every other girl in the room, with long hair and olive-coloured skin and amazing boobs that I was doing my best not to stare at. Perhaps they were a bit taller than the other girls because their legs seemed very long, but it was hard to tell because they were sitting.

“We’re twins too,” Simon told them.

We were sitting across from them on two wooden chairs.

“I thought so,” Teri said.

“I can see the resemblance,” Lori nodded.

I wanted to tell them that our p*****s were the same size but couldn’t find the right words.

“I can see the resemblance too,” Simon said and both girls laughed. Then he asked them if they would like a beer and they nodded, and he got up and went into the kitchen.

Without Simon, I didn’t know what to say. I imagined each of them were trying to figure out how they could sleep with him and not me, and still remain on speaking terms with the other. “You’re In My Heart” by Rod Stewart was playing and both girls’ heads seemed to be moving to the music.

“Can you believe what’s going on in Israel?” I yelled out just as the song came to an end. I was pretty sure everyone in the room heard me because a bunch of students spun around and looked at me before returning to their conversations. I had no idea what was going on in Israel. I couldn’t even find it on a map.

“I know. It’s terrible,” I heard one of them say, probably just to be polite.

Simon returned with four cans of beer and handed one to each of us. I hadn’t taken a sip of the first one and placed it on the floor.

The music started playing again. This time it was “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder.

Teri did most of the talking, first sharing twin stories. Because they were identical twins, they were able to substitute for each other in different situations, fooling people who thought there was only one of them, including a driving instructor (Lori passed the test twice), a boyfriend they both wanted to sleep with, and a doctor (Lori smoked pot the night before their last physical so Teri provided two urine samples). Simon told them that he loved having a twin because he always had someone to count on and to completely understand him without having to say a word.

I think he actually said “my brother is my mirror” and both girls together said, “That’s so sweet.”

Four rounds of beer later, we had learned that they grew up on Russell Hill Road in Forest Hill. And that their father was an orthodontist. And that their parents were divorced. And that their stepmother was ten years older than them. And that they hated her. And that the feeling was mutual. And that they were in residence together at New College, which they referred to as Jew College. And that they both dumped their high school boyfriends just before starting university because they both thought they could do better. And that they were addicted to General Hospital and red licorice. And that they loved smoking a kind of pot called “crazy mist”, which they bought from an Asian kid named Nivya, whose name sounded like the hand cream.

General HospitalSimon did all the talking for us, which, after my ill-timed comment about Israel, was a relief to me. He managed to work into the conversation that we loved sports. And that I had a killer jumpshot. And that we ran five miles a day. And that we volunteered at St. John’s, which elicited another “that’s so sweet.” And that our father was a lawyer at the second biggest firm in the city. And that, in six years, we would both be working there too.

At midnight, the twenty-five students who had arrived at Hillel House around nine p.m. started leaving. Bonnie was saying good-bye at the door and inviting everyone, probably for the tenth time, to join a Jewish fraternity or sorority.

Simon asked the girls if they would like to come back to our apartment and my heart started beating through my chest.

They looked at each other and both said “sure” and then Teri said they needed to use the washroom. They got up and disappeared from the room.

I felt like I was going to pass out and placed my fourth full can of beer on the floor and took a deep breath.

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Simon said.

“Are they really coming back to our place?”

“If they come back in here, they are. If not, they decided to bail.”

“I don’t think I can walk,” I said.

Simon handed me the beer he wasn’t drinking and told me to take a big sip. I did. It tasted awful.

“Now, keep breathing and don’t forget to breathe when you stand up. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

The bad taste in my mouth took my mind off the frightening prospect of having s*x, but only for a moment, until the girls came back into the room and Simon said, “Let’s go.”

I somehow managed to stand up, say good-bye to Bonnie, and walk out without falling over.

* * *

Simon drove. I sat in the front seat next to him and Teri and Lori sat in the back, whispering to each other and giggling. I noticed that Simon’s conversation was now hinting at s*x. “I don’t want you girls to think we’re cheap, letting you into our apartment on a first date.”

I couldn’t tell the difference between the girls anymore. I was trying to think of something to say, but everything I thought of seemed stupid to me, and I kept my mouth shut.

One of them was rolling a joint, using a small green plastic device that looked like a tiny scroll slightly unwound.

We parked in the underground garage and went upstairs to our apartment. When we got inside, the girls said they had to use the washroom again and left us standing in the den.

“What am I going to do?” I asked Simon.

“Hopefully, have s*x with one of them.” Simon sat down on one of the two couches that used to be in the basement at Hampshire Court.