A hint of earthiness filled the morning air as each new day transitioned to a colder and dimmer venue. Most evenings fulfilled their threat of rain, giving a whole new meaning to the city’s name, Waterloo. At the end of September, trees for the most part remained clothed in green while others, splashed with color, hinted at what lie ahead. Two weeks later, a riot of color suddenly appeared making my cycling to and through campus a kaleidoscopic experience. Vibrant colored leaves showered my route, pirouetting down along the invisible spiral of breezes. I loved the crunch underfoot and the unique smell associated with dried leaves and deliberately sought out their deepest gathering as I journeyed between lecture buildings. But I never looked forward to what followed, trees naked and bereft of their gaiety, scratching the gray winter sky.
During the Fall-Winter term of 1970, I lived off campus in a one-bedroom apartment which I shared with a friend. Our apartment was on the top floor of a three-story building with a balcony that faced the street. On either side of the sliding door that led out onto the balcony, he and I had set up our desk and bookshelf. The kitchen was long and narrow with a small eating area at one end. Fridge and sink were on one side and stove on the other side. The walls of the apartment were painted a boring off-white that had been carelessly applied and in need of a fresh coat. Flooring was well-scuffed parquet that was spotted with paint with a few tiles missing. Window coverings ranged from bedsheets to Canadian flags except in the living-room. In that room, above the sliding door, were hung thick red curtains with dusty uneven folds that barely spanned the door’s width. Those curtains, once undoubtedly fashionable decades ago, had ‘kindly’ been left by previous tenants.
Two days to go. And I could hardly concentrate. I hadn’t seen Sheila for two weeks. Sure, we kept in touch by phone, but it didn’t trump holding her, smelling her hair, and feeling her lips against mine. How could it? Though I had returned to Toronto every weekend, except one, since classes began, it did not take much convincing on my part for her to travel my way this time. Besides, the Toronto Varsity Blue football team, her team, was coming to town to trounce, according to her, the Waterloo Warriors, my team. She had decided to skip classes on the Friday so that she could arrive Thursday evening ahead of the rush.
“Where’s Roman?” she asked, peering into the kitchen and living-room. Though she had never met him she had heard lots about him from me.
Kicking the door shut with the heal of my foot, I placed her suitcase down in the hall. We had arrived by taxi from the Kitchener bus terminal. “He had an assignment to submit. Should be back shortly. Here…can I take your coat?” She slipped off her jacket and handed it to me. “I’m thinking we’ll order in, if that’s okay with you?” I asked, hanging her coat up and closing the hall cupboard door.
She stared at my bike leaning against the wall. “Must be a bit of a chore carrying it up and down”
I shrugged. “I’ve got used to it. You know, its one of those a person has got to do what a person has got to do things.” I watched as she peered into the bedroom.
“What are you thinking of ordering in?” she asked, wandering into the bedroom.
“Chinese,” I called out, crossing the living-room to close the curtains across the sliding door. “Oh, by the way…”
“No need to shout, I’m right behind you.”
“Oh! And, so you are.” I turned and wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her tight against me. “I sure have missed you.”
“Me, too.” She caressed the side of my face with the back of her hand. “What were you about to tell me?”
“Oh, it can wait… until tomorrow.” The super had kindly offered to loan me her daughter’s old bike. Married, her daughter had moved away a year ago.
“Whose suitcase is that in the bedroom?” she asked.
“Roman’s.” We were about to kiss, when the door to the apartment opened and slammed shut.
“Is it safe to come in?” Roman bellowed, pushing his bike ahead of him and stamping his feet as he went. He parked his bike against the wall behind mine. “Oops!” His hand immediately shot up to cover his eyes. “Carry on with whatever you were about to do. This monkey neither sees nor hears nor speaks. What happens in this apartment stays in this apartment.”
“This reprobate, Sheila, is my roommate,” I chuckled.
“I don’t know what you see in this fella, Sheila, but whatever it is, he’s a lucky guy.” He proffered his hand to her which she took. “My roommate’s short on politeness this evening, so I’ll introduce myself, I’m Roman.”
“I’d watch yourself,” I advised Sheila, laughingly, “remember what I told you, he’s quite a lady’s man.”
“Oh…well…But, can he cook?” she replied.
“I’m Ukrainian, so of course I can cook.” He said, pretending to be offended. “Has she not tried my borscht soup yet? I made it special for you two this weekend.” He cocked an eyebrow and stared straight at me.
“What’s borscht soup?” Sheila enquired.
“Roman, we arrived less than ten minutes ago. There’s lots of time. Anyway, we’re about to order Chinese. Are you in?” I pulled the menu out from the back pocket of my jeans to show him. “No time,” was his quick response as he peered at his watch. But, he did not move. I could tell he was ruminating over something by the series of strange contortions his mouth was making.
“You have never tasted borscht?” Roman asked Sheila.
“I don’t… think… so,” she replied.
Roman disappeared into the kitchen. When I heard the clang of pots and pans I knew what he was up to. A few minutes later he ushered Sheila into the kitchen and sat her at the table. Simmering in a deep pot on the stove was Roman’s soup. Dipping the ladle into the pot he poured the red liquid into a bowl and brought it to her.
“My family recipe, without change through many generations. Wait, don’t taste it yet, there is more.” He went to the spice tray and then to the fridge. “I must garnish it with dill.” He sprinkled it over the top of the soup. “And a dollop of smetana.” She looked up at him with a quizzical expression. He smiled. “Sour cream. Now…go ahead…taste it.”
“This is yummy, but what is it?”
“Healthy Ukrainian red beet soup,” he said proudly. A car horn beeped three times, then three times again. “That’s my ride. I do hope we will meet again. It looks like the weather will hold for the weekend. I would have loved to have gone to the game with you but…well…life…”
Shortly after Roman left, I phoned in our order and the two of us snuggled on the couch while we waited for the food to arrive.
“Is everything alright with Roman?” she asked.
“His dad has not been well. Roman goes home most weekends to be with him. It’s a close-knit family.”
“How bad is it?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve tried to encourage him to talk about it but…”
For a long while we lay in each other’s arms without breathing a word. Then suddenly she sat up.
“Where’s my suitcase?”
“Still in the hall where I left it. But must you now? I was enjoying our time.” I watched her as she scrummaged through her case and returned with a brown paper wrap tied with string. “What’s this?”
“Open it.” She flopped down beside me and curled her legs up.
Unwrapping the string and paper and putting it aside I held a knitted scarf in my school colors, gold, black and white. Standing up, I positioned it across my nape so that it hung evenly on either side down my front. “Wow! Where did you get this?” I began to strut around the room. “It must be at least eight-feet long.”
“I’ve been knitting it every opportunity I had since August.”
Emotion bubbled up inside me as I rejoined her on the couch and held her and kissed her.
The Varsity Blues beat the Warriors that weekend just like she predicted.
And it was the first time we ever made love.