A Place For People Like Us

By Danila Botha

Editor’s Note: An excerpt from Danila Botha’s novel, A Place for People Like Us, which explores friendship and identity, Judaism and cults, and hypocrisy and family. —David Michael Slater

The first time I met Jillian was the night I was about to meet my potential new roommate, and instead of texting me like a normal person, Cassidy called, frantic, and all I could hear was her breathy, high-pitched voice clarifying that she was “sitting near the bar” and “been waiting here for fifteen minutes,” and even though I knew I was less than five minutes late, I could feel my heart start to race.

It was hard to hear anything over all the noise, the people behind me yelling their orders above the blaring speakers at the bar, the band who was sound checking on a small stage in front of them, White Stripe-y garage rock like it was 2006 instead of 2016. I edged closer to her and heard the metallic scrape of her Coke Zero against the graffitied wooden table. Cassidy looked exactly like she did on Instagram, sandy blonde curly hair subdued in a ballerina bun, with a few loose ringlets framing her heart shaped face, glowing skin, no makeup except for a little mascara and lip gloss, a pink hoodie and black high waisted jeans that made her look like a fit suburban housewife with two kids, instead of a twenty-one-year-old, third-year undergrad like me.

“Look, I’ve got to go soon,” she said, tapping the dusty table with her phone like she was Judge Judy condemning a particularly unskilled criminal. “I have to get up at 5 a.m. every morning to run.” She repeated the words partial athletic scholarship three times. It would have made a good drinking game if only I still drank, and she had even the tiniest sense of humour.

Her phone case was full of gold glitter that moved around when she shook it. She wanted to show me photos of the extra room in her apartment. I leaned over, and from what I could see, it looked clean and bright, with a decent-sized window, but it was definitely small. She said she had an extra futon and a bedside table, so I didn’t even need to bring my sidewalk-scored half-damaged Ikea crap with me, which was an extra bonus. Her parents paid her rent, she’d told me, but if she rented out the other room, she got to keep some of it, and her dad was impressed with her entrepreneurial spirit. She liked that I was a business major in one of the elite programs everyone knew was hard to get into. It was weird going to school in the most expensive building on campus. Webb Gallagher had intimidating marble floors and gold lettering, its vast open spaces filled with bright light and office building-like chairs and tables. Cassidy had no reaction to my double major in film.

We were both trying to act like we weren’t desperate, even though school started again in less than a week. Jen, Cassidy’s old roommate, was a faster runner, and when she found out she got a full track and field scholarship to Purdue, she ditched Cassidy without a second thought. “She turned out to be the worst kind of friend,” Cassidy said. “Cutthroat and so inconsiderate. So I decided, I’m never going to live with another friend again. This is a business arrangement, right, so we’re going to get along, but it’ll be easier to have boundaries.”

She pulled up a contract on her phone. “I just need you to read this and initial here.”

I took a deep breath. The kids I babysat loved the Little Mermaid movie, and I felt like Ariel, signing my voice away for the vaguest potential of happiness.

I knew I couldn’t spend another second in the messy, revolving-door communal artist house I’d been living in, no matter how cheap it was. For one thing, it was almost an hour from campus. What started out as interesting and relaxed quickly started reminding me of childhood. Officially, there were four music majors from my university who were in a band together, along with the lead singer and the drummer’s girlfriends. They were called Shut Your Eyes and See, which was apparently a James Joyce quote, and they sounded like a cross between the National and Arcade Fire. They smoked an obscene amount of weed, did mushrooms and drank, practiced and fought at 2 a.m. It was the dirt-streaked, sticky wooden floors, the endless nights of rice and lentil dinners, watching them cheat on their Drama or English major girlfriends, who always played dumb or cried and screamed but then took them back.

I skimmed and signed.

I looked at Cassidy’s little diamond studs and her chunky silver Tiffany heart necklace. She was talking about being a kinesiology major and her plan to become a physical therapist.

For the past two years, I’d worked for a wealthy family in Leaside. They had a full-time live-in housekeeper and hired me to take care of their kids. My boss, Stephanie, taught me all the subtle signifiers of wealth.

She gave me tons of her old clothes. “Better you than the Salvation Army,” she’d said, which made me feel both excited and queasy, like a pig gorging on the pile of truffles it was just supposed to dig up.

When I told my mom about my potential new roommate, when I took a selfie in Steph’s clothes, with squeaky clean hair and a tiny, delicate gold crucifix around my neck that she’d given me for my birthday, she was so relieved. I knew all she wanted was for me to be able to push my past further into the rear-view mirror.

I wanted for the millionth time to just be able to buy a pint of whatever was on tap and drink it slowly, like Cassidy was doing. I fantasized about a pitcher of Sangria, the deep purple kind with thick, juicy slices of orange and canned maraschino cherries floating in it. I could tie the stem of the cherry into a knot using my tongue. It always distracted people from how much I could down quickly.

Whatever I did, I committed to it all the way, which my mom always said was just like my father. I wished I were different, but for the past year, I’d been fully committed to sobriety. I went to NA and AA meetings every week.

I rubbed the knuckle of my index finger under my nose, wiping away traces of imaginary powder. I only ever drank to make the coke last longer. Just thinking about it filled my stomach with a tantalizing mix of exhilaration and fear.

I glanced over at the stage. Another band had started playing, louder, heavier rock, and I got up, turned my camera on, and started filming. The singer, who was wearing red leather pants and a cropped black tank top, was dancing her way into the crowd. I look at her, and, in one of those surreal moments that only happens in movies, the singer walked right up to me, took my phone out of my hands, and kissed me right on the lips. I pulled away and regretted it immediately.

The singer had a big red grin that was both charming and devious, like a cross between Taylor Swift and the Joker. She looked like she’d been expecting me to wait around. “I’m Jillian,” she said. “I always look out into the audience and choose someone who looks like they need some shaking up.”

Cassidy thought the whole thing was hilarious, and I was too embarrassed to talk much to Jillian. I wanted to ask her what her last name was so I could creep her on Instagram or at least hear more of her music. “Hopefully we’ll see each other again,” I said, trying to sound casual, and she grinned at me. “Don’t worry, we will.” It sounded like a promise.

I moved in with Cassidy two days later.

Danila Botha (www.danilabotha.com) is the author of the short story collections, Things that Cause Inappropriate Happiness, Got No Secrets, and For All the Men (and Some of the Women) I’ve Known, which won an Indie Reader Discovery Award for Women’s Issues, Fiction, and was a finalist for the Canadian Book Club Awards, the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and the National Indie Excellence Book Awards. Danila is also the author of the award-winning novels Too Much On the Inside and A Place for People Like Us, which just won an Independent Press Award for Contemporary Novel. Her first graphic novel, Vidal, which she wrote and illustrated, will be published this spring.

Things That Bring Me Joy

• My funny, smart, and joyful kids

• My loving and sweet dogs

• My husband, who is my best friend.

• Painting

• Writing

Jewish Things That Bring Me Joy

• Making challah on Friday mornings

• Shabbat

• Reading Jewish writers

• Connecting with Jewish writers

• My kids’ love for Jewish holidays and community