So I settled into the final semester of 1990—studying hard, meditating, exercising, eating well, and going to church. As I’ve mentioned before, it wasn’t the theology that drew me in. It was the stillness. The rhythm. The attempt at meaning.
Bruce had returned from his army stint. He and I were thick as thieves again, although we’d never actually been at school together. He’d gone to Hilton College, a fancy boarding school down in Natal, where he’d become close friends with a guy named John Alexander. By this time, John was studying at Wits and living in a digs in Melville—a small, arty suburb near central Joburg.
Bruce invited me along to a casual get-together there, and that’s where I met Terry.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. She was sitting on John’s lap.
Terry was petite, blonde, and absolutely gorgeous. For me, it was a love-at-first-sight moments—but there she was, clearly attached to Bruce’s mate. So, not a great start. Still, I must’ve managed to worm my way into conversation with her at some point. Flying came up—as it tends to when you have your own aircraft (I know spoiled brat right!)—and I invited her and John out to Lanseria for a flip around Johannesburg.
They never showed.
I was disappointed, to put it mildly. But a few days later, a letter arrived. A real letter, I still have it but for the life of me can´t remember how she got it to me. She wrote that they’d got lost on the way to Lanseria—this was, of course, pre-GPS, pre-cellphones—and she expressed real frustration and regret. The paper carried her scent. I read it a dozen times. The thrill of receiving it is hard to describe.
Then, maybe a week later, I was unloading tiles on a Saturday at my makeshift factory when Bruce’s little Toyota Conquest came bouncing up the driveway. I always used to tease him and call it a Charade, but it was a proper pocket rocket. And out of the passenger side stepped Terry.
I greeted them cheerfully. Bruce said they were just coming by to see what I was up to. I grinned and said, “Why don’t we go for a flip?”
He laughed. “You serious?”
“Absolutely.”
So we drove out to Lanseria in Bruce’s car. I did my usual: out to the general flying area, down low over Hartbeespoort Dam, skimming ten feet above the water at 300km/h, then pulling up into a stomach-flipping stall. Just enough drama to leave an impression. Terry of course he been given the co-pilot´s seat Bruce religated to the rear. I'll never for get what she said to me as I helped her out after the flip; "That was orgasmic!".
Afterwards, we went for drinks at Bayerischer Hof, a nearby pub. I found myself deep in conversation with Terry—discussing advanced physics, of all things. Relativity, time dilation… not exactly date-night material, but it felt effortless.
Bruce suggested we head to a casino on the way to Pretoria—its name escapes me now—and off we went. I’d already had some experience with blackjack and had taught myself basic card counting. We did well. Terry was flirting with me outrageously. It was absolutely thrilling.
On the drive home, Bruce was tearing down the road, Terry in the passenger seat, me in the back. At one point, she reached her hand back over the seat. I held it. Illicit. Wrong. And yet I couldn’t let go.
Back at my place, Bruce dropped me off and took her home.
Some time later, I heard a car coming up the dirt driveway. It was Terry—with her enormous brown mastiff in tow. I think she’d taken her father’s car and driven all the way from Linden. She said she just wanted to talk.
We stayed in the car and talked. I was sitting there in boxer shorts, still stunned. She said she was unhappy in her relationship and needed someone to talk to. I knew the attraction between us was enormous. And this—this was it. The moment I had waited for.
But I said coming inside would be a bad idea. “It’s not a good idea,” I said. “But I’d really like to call you.”
She gave me her number: 782-8149.
“Don’t you need to write it down?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll remember it.”
Of course I remembered it. It was scorched into my brain.
The next day, I called her, and we made a plan to go out. But what I hadn’t yet mentioned—what made everything even more complicated—was that John Alexander was out of the country, attending an AISEC conference in Hong Kong. Bruce had been asked to look after Terry while he was away. So technically, she was under Bruce’s watch when we went flying, when we went to the casino, when she came back to my house.
Now I was going to take her on a date. And my conscience was screaming at me.
Eventually, I couldn’t stand it. I drove to Frog, the restaurant at the bottom of Corlett Drive where she was waitressing. She’d dropped out of Wits after her first year and was paying off her student loans.
I interrupted her shift and said, “I can’t go out with you while you’re still with John.”
She replied, “It’s okay. I’m going to break up with him.”
“When?”
“He’s back on Sunday. His flight arrives at nine.”
I asked, “So when will you break up with him?”
She said, “I’ll do it at the airport.”
So I said, “Okay, I´ll cancel our table tomorrow and I’ll book us lunch lunch on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at one.”
She agreed.
That Sunday, I stayed away from the phone. I couldn’t bear the idea of hearing that she hadn’t gone through with it. I didn’t want to check the answering machin, didn’t want to be reachable. I went to Niels’ house and cleaned the pool, anything to distract myself.
On the way to pick her up, I stopped at Spielhaus Jewelers in Sandton City. She’d told me she loved Watership Down, so I bought her a little porcelain rabbit. I arrived at her house in Linden, my heart in my throat.
And there she was—walking down the path in a yellow and orange floral dress. She looked absolutely exquisite.
She got in the car. I gave her the rabbit, she loved it. “Did you break up with him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. My heart soared.
We went for lunch at a place in Kyalami, which no longer exists. Gin and tonics. Wine. Laughter. The kind of perfect meal that slows time.
And then we drove back to Rivonia, and I lost my virginity in the most beautiful way possible.
I was 23.
That evening, we went to dinner at a Greek place near Louis Botha Avenue. I told her—awkwardly, nervously—that I’d never been with anyone before today. She was surprised. But kind. Gentle. Warm.
It was everything I had dreamed of.
Later, Bruce found out. He was furious. And I don’t blame him.
I told him, “I understand why you’re angry. But this is bigger than me. I love her. And you’re going to have to deal with it.”
It took him a while. But he did.