Deb

Debbie Wursluk is indelibly entwined with my memories of my first year at Cambrian College. I could no more disentangle her from that year than I could cut out my heart. That year, they were one and the same. Does that sound too extreme? Not to me, it doesn’t. She was, without a doubt, the first woman I was ever in love with, and I fell hard. I was not aware how hard, not on that first night, not for some time to come, but she suffused me, and her presence became a daily affair from the first.

Both on the first floor, we moved in the same day, and as striking as she was, I could not help but notice her right away. I was drawn to her. That first day and that first night, she and Evan Macdonald and I became fast friends, and then as that night progressed, she very quickly became the focus of my world. I was not actually aware of that, then; how I was not baffles me, but it’s not that much of a mystery either, as naïve as I know myself to have been. Remember, I’d been shy with girls in high school, and had cloistered myself in a predominately and almost exclusively male school my first year of college. Then there was Roxanne. So, I was not what one might call worldly. I was unaware how completely one can become entranced by another person, or how completely that person can occupy one’s every thought. Yes, I’d thought about women before…a lot; I had just never thought so exclusively about the same woman. And yes, there had been Roxanne. But this was different. Not to say Deb was the only thing on my mind. There were classes; there were other friends; there were parties and new experiences, and the humdrum of homework. And, no, Deb and I did not spend every waking hour together; but, when I came home from school, she was invariably the first person I sought out. Evan Macdonald, too, he being housed midway between my and Deb’s rooms. As I said, we’d become fast friends, the three of us. But seeing how hard I fell that first night, Deb and I became rather inseparable quickly. We had quiet conversations where we felt each other out, seeking everything there was to learn. She openly discussed her sex life (she was way more experienced than I was, intimidatingly so), she talked about her family, her adoration for her openly gay brother. He was self-assured. He was courageous. He was her hero. We talked about so many things: parents, home life, death, her want and need to escape her life as she knew it. She loved her mother, but she wanted better.

We spent a lot of time getting to know one another, as well, by design, by circumstance. Within our first week in residence, we had our first lengthy, uninterrupted time together. We’d been downtown, and having walked there already, decided to walk back. Only we were not paying close attention to where we were going, and were not particularly familiar with Sudbury yet, either, so we, lost in conversation, took a wrong turn. We walked up the adjacent street to the one we’d intended, and almost immediately found ourselves lost. We’d come face to face with rail spur lines, a site neither of us had seen before. We could have retraced our steps, but we decided that was just a waste of time, so we crossed the rail yard and carried on. We felt sure that we’d stumble across our proper path soon enough. But we didn’t. Where we ought to have been angling southwest, we were in fact following roads that headed due south. Deb began to show concern, but I glanced around, sighted the Superstack, and remembered how the stack looked from downtown and from Residence. I told her not to worry, that I knew exactly where we were, not exactly the truth, but close enough that it didn’t make a difference in my mind. I actually had no clue whether the road we were following would actually take us back to residence, but I did know where we were from a largely bird’s eye view perspective. We found our path somewhat erratic, but so long as I kept sight of the stack, I thought we were alright; then I saw Bell Park, and realizing that if we’d kept on as we were going, we’d be walking as far as the Four Corners, quite a hike, before doubling back, so I took a chance, and turned up York Street. “Is this the way,” Deb asked. “Without a doubt,” I said, filled with doubt. I lucked out. York crossed Regent, and as luck would have it, when we gained Regent, we could see the Res. She was elated! I looked like a hero! Well, in my eyes I did. That said, we were both a little footsore when we climbed the front steps. But, we’d shared an adventure together. More importantly, in my eyes, we’d spent an hour wandering about chatting, without anyone to disturb us.

Shortly after that, the Res was out together at the Ramada Hotel, the hottest bar in town, the room so crowded we had to inch through the press to get to the washrooms or the dance floor. I was playing it cool for Deb, sporting a stiff new jean jacket and knock-off Wayfarers (all I could afford, then). I could hardly see, but Deb thought both were the apex of cool so I brought them, and wore them that night; I was all about impressing Deb by this point. We found every opportunity to dance together, our focus on the slow ones. The night skipped past in a heartbeat. Last Call. Lights on. And Res spilled out into the night, looking for cabs. There was at least 30 of us, so there was a lot of hailing to be done. Sudbury’s big yellow ‘50s checkered cabs rolled in and out, and then we of 1^st floor pressed forward. Deb and a girl from Cochrane ducked into the front, and Evan and I and another guy from our circle piled into the back. The girls made short small talk with the driver and then turned back to face us, hanging over the seat. “Kiss us,” Deb demanded, and we did, each in turn, necking with each of the girls for easily 15 to 20 seconds per. There was a short awkward pause, and we all laughed, the driver too. “Is that it?” Deb asked. No one moved, I looked to the other guys who were glancing about, mainly at me. Apparently, everyone had been given crib notes for the evening, everyone but me. All I knew was that I’d rather have me kissing Deb than them, so I leaned in, effectively cutting the other two off from her. They shifted somewhat while I did. Like I said, things may have been discussed during my washroom breaks. “Is that it? Not a chance,” I said, and cupping the back of her head, I drew her to me. That kiss may have lasted slightly longer than the last. By however long.
We arrived, departed, climbed the front steps, rode the elevator down. There were further awkward moments, mainly carried on by me. I kept looking at her lips, feeling her heat. We somehow ended up in my room, beers in hand, myself and Deb on the bed, the others arranged around.
And then I woke up, fully dressed and rumpled under the covers, wondering how I came to be in that state. I must have nodded off, and I’ll assume Deb tucked me in. I guess you weren’t expecting that after such a lengthy lead up. I would not have been either. Imagine my surprise, imagine my disappointment.
We did eventually find ourselves alone in bed the following weekend. Similar circumstances. Everyone jostling for a cab, what with a bus strike in full swing. There was a running bet on as to how many people could be piled into those enormous cabs. We managed twenty-five, jammed in and stacked like cord wood in the back. I ended up on the floor, pressed flat by hips and elbows and the weight of my floor above me. I arrived numb and had to be pealed out of the cab. Deb waited for me to regain feeling in my legs, and escorted me back to my room. She went to the bathroom, and when she returned, I’d kicked off my jeans and settled under the covers. Unabashed by my altered state, she leapt over me, nestled between wall and me. She peeked under the covers.
“You don’t have much on under there,” she said. Not entirely true, but accurate enough, for that moment, anyway.
Deb was strong. Deb was confident. Deb was self-assured. Deb was my world just then. Deb was also in need of comfort, understanding, a strong shoulder, someone to take her as she was, and to raise her up from her own demons and doubts and uncertainties. She was as in need of those things as much as I was.
I only wish that I had not been such the neurotic mess I was then, as she was too.
I wish I had been able rise to the occasion.