by Amalie Coles
A few days later, he invited me to his apartment to show me his stamp collection. I was roaming through his tiny bachelor suite when he came from behind and wrapped his hands around me. I turned around and let him kiss me deeply and passionately. I don’t remember how we ended in his bedroom tearing at each other’s clothes, only that it was wonderful.
We made our relationship official on New Year’s Eve, when he showed up at our house with a bouquet of roses. A couple of days later, he invited me to meet his parents, who owned a small farm in the north. After an hour-long drive, I was welcomed by Chantal and Brian Smith, the loveliest couple on the planet.
The following summer, I found a job as a counsellor at one of the residential camps supported by the U of T. I was fortunate enough to get a room on the first floor, making it easy for Jason to crawl in through a window at night. After a long, exhausting day of chasing after kids, I would go back to my little room and wait for my secret lover. He would knock lightly on my window, and I would help him to get inside. Then we would spend the night together doing unspeakable things to each other.
Nobody knew about our encounters, except for my sister, who thought I was completely out of my mind. Not because I was finally involved with someone. In fact, she often encouraged me to let go of my inhibitions and be more adventurous. Erin was more concerned about the possibility of me losing my job.
“Like, what if they find out?” she would scold me. “Your reputation could go down the drain.”
Deep inside, I was a bit afraid of being discovered. Yet I reassured her that Jason and I were safe. For once, I was right or perhaps simply lucky.
The proposal came in October. We were walking at Queen’s Park, kicking leaves, when he took out a small box from a pocket and bent on a knee. I held my breath. Inside was a princess-cut diamond ring.
I knew we were too young to tie the knot. I had just turned twenty-two, while he was twenty-seven. I knew we were supposed to date for a few years before even thinking about commitment. However, I could not say no. I was madly in love with him and could not wait to begin our life together.
We could have just moved in together like most couples, but it didn’t feel right for us. Not for religious reasons. We were both raised in secular families that had a very faint connection to Irish Catholicism. In fact, we hardly ever went to church. We just wanted to make our life together special, and we both believed it could be accomplished only through marriage.
We set our wedding date for the twentieth of June, which coincided with the official start of the next summer, and immediately started planning. Everyone believed we were way too young. Erin even warned me the whole fairytale romance could turn into a big mistake.
“You have a long life ahead of you,” she would tell me. “What if you meet someone else in future?”
“No, Jason is the one,” I would reply, unable to imagine anyone in his place. In the rare moments of doubt, I would remind myself that our parents had also married young and were still happy together. My mother was only eighteen, and my father, twenty. They did have a few issues along the way, but who doesn’t?
Thus I went straight from being my parents’ daughter to Jason Smith’s wife. There was no stage of self-discovery, independence, or random hook-ups. Not that I was interested in experiencing any of these things.
***
I phoned my sister as soon as I got a chance next morning. Erin and I were very close and called each other almost every day. Our parents even joked that we looked more like school friends rather than sisters.
“That’s so exciting!” she exclaimed as soon as I relayed the news. “Now you get to have a summer adventure plus a second honeymoon.”
“I can’t wait already. I just have one more issue to take care of.”
“What issue?” She sounded a bit annoyed.
“I still haven’t booked my vacation at work, and I’m not sure if I have enough time before July.”
“Wow, what a great planner you are!” As the younger sister, I was often perceived as the least organized one. Although it wasn’t completely true, Erin liked perpetuating this misconception about me.
“Come on, I didn’t even know if I was going in the first place!”
“Well, they’ll have to let you go,” she tried reassuring me. “They’ve got no choice.”
“I really hope they will.”
“By the way, can you please bring me one of those Dead Sea products? I absolutely loved that Ahava lotion you brought me from your last trip.”
“Definitely! Maybe your company should order some as well.”
“We’d love to, but their products are so expensive.” As an aesthetician, Erin got to work with some of the best beauty products, but she had never managed to use anything from the Dead Sea collections.
“So, how did your date go?” I finally asked. Last night, she had gone on a date with a guy she had met online. The entire week, she was feeling terribly excited and couldn’t talk about anything else. Never mind it was probably her tenth date in the month.
“Alex is all right, and he seems to like me a lot,” she began. “But honestly, I think we are too different from each other.”
“How so?”
“I feel intimidated by him. He’s finishing business school while I’m a college graduate.”
“So what?”
“He looks so refined, Becky. When I’m with him, I feel out of place.”
“Yesterday, you sounded quite optimistic.”
“I was until he started talking about politics and global warming, and I didn’t even know what to say.”
“I bet you would rather talk to him about the latest fashion trends.”
“Becky, don’t laugh at me! You know how I feel about those heavy topics.”
“Maybe you should give it some time. I mean, Jason and I are different in so many ways, but we get along very well.”
“I’m so afraid of failing again! I know I’m only twenty-eight, but I’m so exhausted from searching for Mr. Right. I often wish I had your life.”
I hated to hear my girl sound so pessimistic. On the outside, she always looked strong, almost invincible. However, I knew her better. Erin had a lot of insecurities others knew nothing about.
“Don’t worry, Erin. You still have plenty of time. All I’m saying is you shouldn’t jump to any conclusions just yet. Also, you shouldn’t be ashamed of your education. Career-wise, you’ve achieved much more than I have.”
The latter statement was completely true. While I held a boring nine-to-five office job I hated, Erin worked at a glamorous spa centre in downtown and loved every minute of it. On the relationship front, however, I was the lucky one. At twenty-six, I had been already married for nearly four years. Erin, although two years older than me, was still single and going on random dates in hopes of finding her man.
“Well, thanks for the reassurance,” she said. “I’ll see how it goes. It might work, or it might not. Anyway, I’m happy for you.”
“We should go shopping someday,” I suggested.
“Let’s do that!” Her voice lightened up immediately.
“How about meeting sometime after my vacation days are sorted out?”
“Well, I hope it will happen soon.”
“Me too.”
After our conversation, I grabbed my jacket and stepped on the balcony to get some fresh air. I couldn’t stop marvelling at the ways Erin and I were different from each other.
***
We grew up in the quiet town of Oakville, located only thirty minutes away from Toronto. Our father, Anthony O’Connor, owned a restaurant, and our mother, Isabel, ran an antique bookstore.
I became infatuated with ancient Israel at the age of twelve. It happened when I was walking home from school and decided to stop at my mother’s bookstore. As soon as I entered the shop, my attention got caught by a large vintage book titled Encyclopaedia of the Ancient Civilizations. I picked it up and quickly skimmed through the table of contents. The book
had chapters on Egypt, Mesopotamia, and the Biblical land of Canaan. The latter immediately captivated me. Since we had already studied the first two at school, I was a bit familiar with these civilizations. However, I knew very little about ancient Israel.
“Becky, what are you doing here?” I heard my mother ask. I jerked my head and saw her standing next to me.
“Hi, Mom,” I said casually. “I was in your area and decided to drop by.”
“I’m almost done. Want to walk home together?”
“Sure.” Although I enjoyed walking alone (I had just turned twelve, so the freedom of going to places on my own was still a big deal), I didn’t mind a little company.
We went to my favourite coffee shop, which served the best hot chocolate and cookies in town, and discussed my day at school. I filled her in about my upcoming choir concert and my volleyball match. She promised to come for both and reassured me that Dad would be there as well.
Next day, I went back to the store, found the book resting on its shelf, and sat with it for two hours straight. The pattern continued for the next few months. I read about the origins of the ancient Israelites, King David’s reign, and the temple built by King Solomon. Then I moved on to other chapters. My mother noted my interest in the book but didn’t say anything. The following winter, I was thrilled to discover the book under the Christmas tree.
During the times I wasn’t reading, I was a normal teenager, who had a few good friends and enjoyed playing sports. I also loved singing and was a soloist at our school’s choir. However, next to my sister, I was a complete nerd and a weirdo.
Like most girls our age, Erin was following avidly on everything related to Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake, whose romance was a hot topic at the time. She kept a stack of People magazines under her bed, and her walls were plastered with posters of pop artists and movie stars. I, on the contrary, didn’t care about that stuff and preferred encyclopaedias to celebrity gossip. Amazingly, our differences almost never interfered with our friendship. We hardly ever experienced sibling rivalry and always had each other’s backs during difficult times.
We left Oakville when I was fourteen, which was the time of some unpleasant changes. First, my mother’s bookstore—and my afternoon respite from school—went bankrupt. I knew something wasn’t quite right when I noticed fewer customers coming in. I began eavesdropping on my parents’ conversations and found out about increasing expenses and declining profits. Eventually, my mother was forced to close down the store.
A few weeks later, another calamity arrived. It turned out that my father’s restaurant, no matter how great the cooking, was having issues with local authorities. I didn’t know what happened exactly, but he too was forced to close his restaurant. I was in shock from learning the news because, in my mind, my father could do no wrong. In an instant, my parents were left jobless and with an endless number of bills.
They tried shielding us from the troubles, but it was pointless. We were old enough to understand what was happening. One day, I noticed a large “For Sale” sign placed in front of our house. Next to it was a picture of some man in a suit with big letters saying “Real Estate Agent.” I couldn’t remember his name, for I didn’t care. I was about to lose my little room, which I had cherished for ages.
“We are moving to Toronto next week,” my father announced during dinner.
My mother and Erin nodded. I wanted to slam my fork on the table and run to my room. I wanted to make a scene. However, I knew better. I understood perfectly well that moving was difficult for everyone. So I swallowed the urge to throw a tantrum and continued acting as if nothing happened.
Things didn’t get any better in Toronto. For the first few months, our reserve money was running out fast, and we were scrambling for every penny while trying to survive. Once a restaurant owner, my father was now flipping burgers at McDonald’s. It took him several attempts and a few night courses on business management to find a better job. My mother became a cashier at Chapters Indigo. Although she was later promoted to a floor supervisor, this job was not the same as ownership of a bookstore.
As for myself, I did not like this big, gray city at all and absolutely hated our new school. We attended Forest Hill Collegiate Institute, which was one of the best schools in the city. The level of education there was far higher than in most schools across Ontario, and in the beginning, my grades were terrible. While all my classmates were putting forth minimal effort to get As and Bs, I was barely passing my courses.
On the friendship front, the situation was even worse. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fit into the high school culture that was characterised by gray sweatpants, UGGs, and classic rock. I was way too different from everyone else, for I preferred Zohar Argov over Elvis Presley. So I would spend most of the breaks standing by a wall, headphones plugged in my ears, trying to obliterate all the stress and disappointment that was happening in my life by cranking up Putumayo series on my iPod.
I knew I was supposed to be more involved with the school’s social life, and I tried, at least in the beginning. I attended the Jewish Culture Club a couple of times, hoping to meet people who shared my fascination with ancient Israel. I quickly learned that the club had little to do with Judaism or Israel and that most kids simply joined it because of free pizza. So I left after two sessions. I also quit all sports and lost interest in singing.
Erin, by contrast, fell in love with Toronto and became the popular girl right from the start. Her grades weren’t high either, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She already had her mind set on the college for aestheticians and was doing well enough to get accepted. Besides, she was always the life of the party, and everyone adored her. During her high school years, she became a glamorous cheerleader, built a circle of girlfriends with similar pursuits, and attended countless house parties, where she met her first boyfriend, Jake. Together, they became the hottest couple in the entire school.
For the next year and a half, our yearbooks were filled with their photos from various events. Their relationship, however, didn’t last beyond the prom date. The summer after their graduation, he moved to Montreal to study at McGill, and Erin never saw him again. She was a bit sad, but there were other exciting things happening in her life. She got accepted to Seneca College for the aesthetician program and was incredibly happy about having achieved her dream.
For the last two years of high school, I studied hard for history tests, wrote long English essays, and did everything to make it to a university. Slowly, my grades picked up, and by the end of the twelfth grade, I was getting high seventies and low eighties. Those grades weren’t high enough for, say, Harvard or McGill, but they were sufficient for the U of T’s Bachelor of Arts program. One day, I found an admission letter in our mailbox and became overwhelmed with pride. My efforts finally paid off.
To some extent, winning this scholarship reminded me of the day I had learned about my acceptance to the U of T. After being let down at work so many times, I began to yearn for a small accomplishment that would remind me of my capabilities.
***
Having stepped from the balcony, I went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. Jason came in carrying handfuls of grocery bags. This morning, he decided to go to a gym and stopped at Loblaws on his way home.
“Want to go shopping?” he asked. “We could check out gardening gloves at Rona or Home Depot for your trip.”
“We have more than enough time,” I replied. I had to be hundred percent sure I was going in the first place, so I suggested going for a walk instead.
My mother called in the evening and asked if there was anything new with us.
“Nothing much,” I replied, feeling my stomach tighten. I had to disclose the truth to my parents, too, and I wasn’t sure how they would react. My parents read the news too much to think of Israel as anything more than a danger zone.
“I hope you didn’t forget Dad’s birthday is this weekend,” she reminded me.
“Of course no
t! How could I?” I made a mental note to search for a present this week.
“Then you and Jason are invited to our dinner on Saturday. Will you come?”
“For sure! What time should we arrive?”
“Around six o’clock, I think.”
“See you then.”
For the rest of the weekend, I couldn’t stop stressing out over the possibility of not getting the time off or even losing my job. I tried working on an assignment for my copywriting course but couldn’t concentrate. Every time I sat down and opened the Blackboard, my mind would trail off to something else. In a few minutes, I would be checking Facebook, getting up for a cup of coffee, and doing everything else besides studying.
At the university, I had majored in anthropology with a special focus on Near Eastern archaeology. I had taken survey courses in ancient ceramics along with Hebrew and Aramaic. Since I also listened to Israeli music, I could speak the language of the Bible almost fluently. Most people assumed I was Jewish or had lived in Israel in the past, but neither of the two was true about me. I was simply a geek with unusual interests.
After graduating with a GPA of 3.7, I hoped to secure a job at the Archaeological Services of Canada or the Royal Ontario Museum. Instead, I ended up at an ordinary office job dealing with angry customers and constantly scoring warnings from my insanely stressed-out supervisor.
I only enrolled in the copywriting program because I was sick of working in customer service and wanted to do something better with my life. What I truly wanted was to continue with archeology. I even browsed for graduate programs on the Internet occasionally and fantasized about becoming a full-time student again. With our mortgage bills and responsibilities, however, this option didn’t seem feasible. Career-wise, it would probably lead nowhere. So I had to keep on learning about advertising and hope it would lead me to a better professional life.
After a gazillion futile attempts at studying, I finally gave up. The stubborn jitters refused to leave me alone. I had to know if the trip to Ashkelon was happening.