Preparing a pile of winter clothes for my father to ship once the weather turned cold, he discovered me leaning into the heap of fabric sobbing uncontrollably. When my father asked what was bothering me, I explained that I simply could handle another challenge right away. He suggested I contact the school in Virginia and ask to postpone my admission. My face tingled with relief as the simple solution gelled in my mind. I waited until the next morning to place the call and put the request in writing. “Family Emergency” constituted a reasonable excuse without stretching the truth too far. My father preferred that I continue to live at home while he struggled with my mother over the conditions of their divorce. He could not consider me a dependent, but he began to regard me as a friend.
As a mental vacation, my father arranged for me to spend a month in Wisconsin with his brother. He said a change of scenery would help me to forget Mohammed and realize life continued throughout the world regardless of the unpleasant hiccup I had experienced. I had never lived outside Northern California and was intimidated by moving to Virginia. When the time came, my father wanted me to have the courage to pursue my ambitions. I went willingly to stay with my uncle, who was a jovial fellow; and his wife. I slept in their extra bedroom until I was not tired anymore. When I woke every morning, I cleaned the kitchen after her sloppy kids (from a previous marriage) and went for a walk. While the warmth of summer prevailed, I swam in their pool. I spent afternoons sewing on my aunt’s machine and visiting with my older cousins. Every evening, I made dinner for my aunt and uncle and her children, if they chose to appear at home. The peaceful month calmed my nerves and cleared my mind.
Upon returning to Cambridge Hills, I went back to work at the same bridal salon. I considered employment in another bridal boutique, but none of the others in the area compared to the place I already knew. It maintained the best stock of gowns in the Sacramento Valley. After interviewing for a position in a fabric store and discovering the low salary they offered, I decided not to deviate from my interest in wedding fashion. Enthusiastic about attending graduate school, which was still safely far in the future, I began to make notes about the behavioral trends that I observed. Had I not transformed the routine job into an educational experience, it would have become tedious and frustrating. The irony of continuing to work as a bridal salesgirl after completing a rigorous degree in Textile Science annoyed me if I thought about it too much.
Driving home from work on Wednesday nights, I could see the outside light my father installed by the garage from the highway before the Cambridge Hills exit. Like a beacon, it led me to the safety of the rambling ranch house that offered peace for the first time in my life. To ensure relaxation, I worked a part-time schedule and spent time at home sewing, watching television, and talking to my father. In the course of those many conversations, neither my father nor I brought up skating. Although I felt comfortable talking to him, I could not broach this subject. Maybe I feared that he might refer to skating as a foolish hobby or reinforce the assumption made years before that I would have never been successful as a skater anyway. I simply did not care to expose myself to negativity over a dead issue. At that stage of my delicate life, a healthy relationship with my father meant more to me than unearthing an old argument. I doubt my father even remembered the “can I have lessons?” episode that profoundly affected my development. Bringing it up would only hurt both of us unnecessarily.
For the first time since kindergarten, I did not return to school in the fall. I considered picking up a community college course, but dismissed the idea quickly. After beginning graduate school, it might be years before I got another break. Regardless of what my father may have thought, I truly regret not committing to skating, whether ice or roller, during this sabbatical. I had ample free time and could earn enough money to pay for sessions and a sensible quota of private instruction. A good pair of skates would have been an appropriate graduation present to myself. Skating certainly would have helped me to heal from the bad relationship with Mohammed and focus on my own self-worth. Following the dismal realization that my roller skating had not improved in years, I lost interest. As I put college behind me, skating also fell into place as part of past dreams and childhood experiences. I began to view myself as an adult and struggled to make sense of how I fit into the world. Unable to pass myself off as a fashion designer, masquerading as a skater did not make sense either.
After a couple of months of comfortable monotony, I became restless. Devin had telephoned to invite me to dinner celebrating my graduation in May. At the time, I feared Mohammed’s wrath if he happened to be staking out my apartment when Devin came to call. Without explanation, I turned my old friend down. Devin also left a message during the summer, which I never returned. With Christmas coming, I felt particularly empty and lonesome. Following considerable internal debate, I picked up the receiver and dialed Devin’s number. We talked for hours and I told him what had happened; how a boyfriend had hurt and frightened me. Rather than expressing jealousy about my escapade with another man, Devin comforted me and asked to take me for dinner after work on Friday. Not expecting to renew an old relationship, I agreed to join him.
Devin did not mention the upsetting subject when we got together for the first time in over a year. I was surprised by how easily we communicated and fell into old patterns of joking and dreaming. He told me that he enjoyed his new job in landscape contracting and planned to make a career of it. He even considered returning to school at night to earn a degree in business. Devin had expected me to be accepted into graduate school but seemed sullen when I told him the university was in Virginia. We had a wonderful time that evening drinking, eating and dancing. I was receptive when Devin asked to see me again…soon.
Since shaking myself free of Mohammed, I had not considered dating another man, nor did I notice if a man expressed interest in me. My last experience blinded me to potential romance. Since Devin and I had been good friends, spending time with him did not intimidate me. I doubt I would have responded to the advances of anyone else, but Devin was warm and familiar like my old roller skates. The boots were never pretty, but I liked them in spite of their faults. Devin was not a “magazine groom” but he was a genuinely kind human being, for whom I still cared deeply, partially because he loved me unconditionally.
We saw each other with increasing frequency until I began to spend weekends at his new apartment. Since I was beyond the age of consent, my father never commented on my interaction with Devin. He probably feared losing me by trying to restrict my activities, as my mother had. I had already lived away from home and planned to leave again the next summer. Jeopardizing my plans to move to Virginia, a discouraging letter arrived after the first of the year. The professor under whom I planned to perform my master’s research accepted a position at a prestigious private university. Although she encouraged me to apply to that school, I would not be able to afford the tuition and my academic record did not merit a scholarship. This situation became the topic of considerable discussion between my father, Devin and me. Both men seemed relieved that I might not be going away to Virginia, after all.
Devin began to mention marriage again. However, this time I avoided encouraging him. I certainly did not want him to deplete his sparse earnings to buy a diamond ring. While I enjoyed every moment with Devin, I was not convinced that I should spend the rest of my life with him. He made me feel loved, secure and grown up. On some level marrying Devin appealed to me; therefore, I contemplated finding a job managing a bridal shop or applying to an executive training program with a department store. However, I rejected those options a couple of years before and had good reason to reject them again. Those were not my dreams. If I could not become a skater, I would not settle for a mundane career in a retail store to secure a bourgeois life with Devin. No matter how kind he was or how much I liked him, I believed I was destined to become something special. Since I had not demonstrated prodigal ability in any particular field, I did not know what that “something” might be.
I did not withdraw my application to Virginia University but planned to be there in September to work with another professor. Nor did I stop dating Devin or turn down his proposal. I told him and my father that I wanted to earn this master’s degree before making a major decision about the rest of my life. Realizing it would have been easy for me to simply get married, my father respected this choice. Devin was not thrilled with the idea of me leaving Sacramento for two years and returning only for holidays. Still in the process of establishing his own independence, Devin agreed that we were not ready to get married yet. However, the prospect of marrying my college sweetheart at some undefined time made my future seem less nebulous and frightening.
Devin took me roller skating fairly regularly. We both rented skates, and he never encouraged me to seriously pursue my childhood interest in the sport. We usually skated at night after work or on a weekend afternoon during crowded sessions, but I occasionally witnessed a younger person performing a freestyle move, which provoked a longing sensation in my subconscious. Had I decided of my own volition to sign up for lessons, Devin probably would have been supportive. From his perspective, I had become a woman who no longer needed to fantasize about childish and futile notions. He viewed me as his future wife and eventual mother of his children. It probably never occurred to him that the frivolity of skating might be an important part of my continued development as an individual. At the time, I doubt I allowed myself to consider it either.
By the time I left California at the end of the next summer, my shabby roller skates had begun to collect cobwebs by the steps in the garage. The divorce evolved favorably for my father. Without minor children to support, my mother lost her legal leverage. The court awarded her little more than the money she had already secured. Although she mailed letters without a return address to Carole and me within months of leaving the house, I often left them unopened for weeks. She eventually told us where she lived in Sacramento, and Carole visited before I did. Although I did go to her apartment a few times, only my father and Devin were at the airport when I departed for Virginia, which was the way I wanted it.
I did not cry upon leaving California nor was I afraid to land in Virginia, a place I had never been. Devin had not given me an engagement ring, tethering me to a familiar existence at home. I abandoned my roller skates in the garage and the homemade purple skating dress in my bedroom. My father discarded these treasures before I could rescue them during a future visit. My mother expected me to return to California trembling after a few weeks on my own in a strange new land. She still had no confidence in me, but I never lost faith in myself.
As soon as I completed my summer final examinations, I began to sort through the clothes and belongings in my bedroom deciding what to take to Virginia. After four difficult years of study and the turmoil of ridding myself of Mohammed’s damaging influence, I felt ill equipped to handle another challenge. The thought of focusing on a new program of study terrified me. With my resources depleted, I doubted that I possessed the ability to concentrate, much less succeed. A mediocre designer, half-hearted scientist and a forgotten skater; I hoped to excel in consumer psychology. I did not want to earn any more “C”s or turn in substandard work. I viewed graduate school as an opportunity to discover untapped talents. However, in my emotionally distraught and exhausted condition, I felt unprepared for the formidable task.
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