Unfortunately, the lights were on inside our apartment when I returned from Atlanta, tired but detached from the miserable events of the day. I hoped Neil had fallen asleep on the couch or had simply left a light on for me, so I would not have to face him.

“Where have you been, Kate? It’s after midnight,” I heard immediately as the door opened.

A surge of anger burst in my chest. “That’s just what I need. Another antagonizing parent,” I snapped. My mother spoke those very words many times until she finally gave up on our family and left the house. I did not want to hear the same over-protective accusatory nonsense from my future husband.

“I had a bad day at school, and I went skating,” I added after gathering my breath.

“But the Arctic Circle is still closed,” he retorted, as though catching me in a deception.

“I drove to Atlanta,” I shot back growing more offended by his behavior.

“You drove all the way to Atlanta to skate?”

“Yes, I did,” I assured dropping my skate bag on the floor for emphasis.

“What happened at school?” he asked becoming calm and potentially understanding.

“I really don’t want to discuss it right now,” I dismissed walking down the hall and closing the door to my room. Neil did not pursue. Maybe he respected my need for privacy, maybe he preferred not get involved.

I only waited a few days before telling Neil about my exchange with Dr. Butler. Surprisingly, he did not respond badly. In fact, he seemed relieved.

“Well, I wanted to take a few more classes anyway,” Neil admitted.

“More classes? I thought you were going to graduate and look for a job.” Neil had supposedly decided to work for a few years after earning his master’s degree and return to school later for a doctorate. He claimed to be undecided about which field he wanted to study. This development gave him the perfect opportunity to stay in school and explore his options.

“So I guess we won’t be getting married right away,” I ventured. Although our intended graduations were only five months away, we had made no wedding plans and neither of us had mailed resumes, though I had prepared one and began a cursory search for available academic positions. We intended to look for jobs in the fall and plan a spring or summer wedding.

“Maybe we should wait until your situation becomes more clear,” Neil rationalized.

I hoped we would marry regardless of this setback, but Neil was not interested. He wanted to continue to study and live together. Just as my mouth opened to lash out at him for not wanting to get married, he wrapped his arms around me and told me how sorry he felt and how much he loved me.

Of course Neil never suggested I leave the graduate program. Neither did my parents. Although I did not maintain close contact with my mother, I telephoned her during this period of depression and despair. Both she and my father repeated incessantly, “You have to get that Ph.D. You just have to get that Ph.D.” Either they deeply believed I possessed the mental aptitude and stamina to complete the program or they believed it was my last chance for redemption. It would have been nice to hear the words, “Whatever you decide, we will love you just the same.” But those words were not forthcoming. I would have settled for a well intentioned piece of advice such as: “Finish the semester before making a decision.” My mother, in particular, had apparently gambled her pride on me earning this degree. She reacted almost desperately when I suggested looking for a job. My father, who had treated me compassionately since the divorce, also insisted that I needed this degree. Perhaps I did need to complete it, if only to avoid failure. The degrees I already held would be sufficient to secure employment, though not as a professor. My parents seemingly valued that gilded diploma more than my peace of mind. I began to curse it and contemplated my obsessive motivation for pushing myself beyond all realistic limits. If I wanted justification for quitting, it certainly would not come from my family. Neil neither encouraged nor discouraged me. His neutrality drove me crazy. He may have intended to give me room to reach my own conclusions, but I interpreted his impartiality as disinterest. From my point of view, nothing had ever been difficult or disappointing for Neil. Nothing made him question his abilities. He could not understand my predicament or the depth of my insecurity.

Gaining no sympathy from my family and fiancé, I shared my story with other graduate students in the Consumer Science department and elsewhere on campus, and discovered that advisor treachery was not uncommon. One master’s student left campus for a semester with a serious illness and returned to find that her professor had allowed someone else to finish her project as an undergraduate senior thesis. Another young woman claimed her advisor cancelled her final examination the day before it was scheduled and forced her to work for another year. Gossip floated through the graduate community about students who sued the university for various injustices perpetrated by faculty members. One unfortunate fellow was told the same three-year lie that Butler told me. He secured a professorship at another university only to find his research committee had no intention of allowing him to graduate in that period of time. The man accepted the job under the condition that he could finish his project while working and return to Carolina Tech to defend his dissertation. It was not uncommon for students to refer to members of their research advisory committee and “bastards”, “creeps”, “liars” and “scumbags”. At least I was not alone.

Having forsaken the bridal study that inspired my pursuit of graduate education, I did not even know why I was doing this anymore. Supposedly the doctorate qualified me to teach in a university, which had been my aspiration since working with Dr. Perez at Virginia University. However, that goal seemed questionable after experiencing the other side of academia with Dr. Clive Butler and learning about similar tragedies reported by other students. I was still basically a quiet, honest person. I did not possess aggressive self-serving tendencies allowing me to mislead another human being for my own betterment. Potentially surrounded by colleagues capable of deceiving students in exchange for personal advancement, my good nature might be exploited. Limited by decent morals, I would be unable to succeed as a professor among these unscrupulous types. I might be dismissed while those willing to play dirty would secure tenured appointments.

Of course not every professor at every university is unethical. Many are honest educators, like Dr. Victoria Perez. At the end of her career, she did not need another student or publication to earn tenure or promotion. She mentored me simply because she loved teaching. During my years of doctoral study, professors’ teaching responsibilities diminished in favor of bringing outside funding into the university through grants and industrial contracts. Universities began to operate as businesses, often to the disservice of students who either sat in classes taught by graduate assistants who could barely speak English or faced years of indentured servitude for ambitious professors. This did not exactly suit my personality. If I eventually became a faculty member, I swore never to take advantage of my students or treat them with disrespect.

Hardship, disappointment and confusion bonded veteran graduate students. I began to form close friendships with my peers and spent more time with them off campus.

“That’s graduate education,” a fellow doctoral candidate concluded following my tale of woe. “It always takes longer than you think and you never work on the project of your choice.”

Talbert was probably the most intelligent and naturally gifted individual among the Consumer Science graduate students, but he was also the laziest. According to rumor, Talbert sabotaged his own research so he would not have to graduate. A man in his late twenties, Talbert entertained a wide variety of interests and social commitments. In addition to his assistantship salary, he worked on Friday and Saturday nights as a college town bartender, which allowed him the luxury of living alone in a decent apartment.

Still hot with anger if I dwelled on Dr. Butler’s betrayal, I demanded how Talbert could maintain such a cavalier attitude after being a Carolina Tech doctoral student for five years.

The handsome young man shrugged his shoulders, “The only thing more worthless than a Ph.D. is half of a Ph.D.,” Talbert joked before elaborating on the fringe benefits of being a student. “I love my life,” he began warmly. “I have a lot of friends. I don’t have to settle down to a boring job, get married, have a family and pay a mortgage. Right now my parents don’t expect anything from me. I am a student. I can enjoy an extended adolescence during which society allows me to have fun. Most people work until they are over sixty. If I start right now that is at least thirty-one years. If I get a conventional job, I won’t have time for anything. No more whitewater rafting in the summer, ski trips over Christmas, afternoon hikes, taking off and golfing just because I feel like it…”

“But you’ll have money,” I probed, taken aback by my overt materialism. Years of living with wealthy Neil had made me aware of the luxuries I somehow managed to live without but honestly did not need.

“I have enough money, Kate. Sure, I can’t buy a house, but that isn’t what I want at this point. I have all of my life for that. What I have now is free time to do what I enjoy while I am young and healthy. If I leave here at two o’clock and drive to the Lawrence golf course, nobody cares. You can’t do that when you have a regular job.”

I thought of the times I left campus at one or two o’clock for the Arctic Circle or did not come to school until afternoon. I often worked on the weekend, when the rink was crowded anyway. Most occupations did not allow that flexibility. Maybe I needed a bartending job to pay for more skating lessons instead of a career position.

“I really enjoy tending bar and restaurant work,” Talbert continued as I inwardly mused about skating with Randall. “If my father wouldn’t kill me, I’d drop out of school and bartend.”

“At least you can earn a living bartending,” I lamented. “I can’t earn a dollar doing what I truly love.”

“And what is that?”

“Ice skating.”

“Who said you can’t earn a living as a skater? How long have you been skating? You could skate in an ice show with Dorothy Hamill or somebody.”

Talbert, my dear friend, assumed I had skated since childhood and maybe even competed. He did not know that I would not qualify to stand in the chorus. “I just started skating last January. I can’t even do a toe loop.”

Talbert grinned. “I don’t know what a toe loop is, but I assume your inability to do one is unfortunate.”

I nodded at the man’s understatement. “Pitiful,” I corrected.

The savvy bartender did not abandon the issue. “Why can’t you do one? Is it something you can learn or do you have to be an Olympic champion?”

Relieved that my friend did not ask the incriminating ‘axel question’, I assured him a toe loop is an easy jump.

“Then there is no reason why you can’t learn to do a toe loop and whatever else. You’re young and in good shape. Better now than after you’re retired. ”

Unconvinced, I thanked Talbert for his encouragement and began to contemplate his message. I spent a lot of time practicing basic spins. I needed to expand my repertoire and learn some new moves. As a student with a flexible schedule, I should take advantage of this unforeseen delay and use it to become a better skater.

“Would you like to come to the rink with me some time?” I asked thinking my friend might wish to experience firsthand the sport upon which he shed new perspective.

“No thanks, Kate, I already have enough ways to avoid reality.”

Avoiding reality. Was that what Talbert and I were both doing intentionally or subconsciously in graduate school? Postponing the obligations of adulthood while we experimented with other possibilities and fantasies? Only a couple of weeks ago I almost condemned Neil for waiting to get married, and I wished Dr. Butler could be prosecuted for false advertising. I considered dropping out of the doctoral program for a mundane full-time job. Now I wanted to stay in school, mix drinks, and skate during the daytime for another few years.

In the late summertime heat and humidity, I practically skipped to the parking lot at the end of the day, still invigorated by my conversation with Talbert. I drove behind the Lawrence Mall to the Arctic Circle Ice Arena. Certainly Pete would have posted a notice on the door about the fall reopening. Driving to Atlanta once a week had become exhausting and provided insufficient practice. I could hardly wait to get back on local ice and conquer the toe loop and all of the other jumps. I certainly hoped Randall would be returning for the new season with his wife, Willa. Lost in daydreams of rotational jumps and learning Willa’s tremendous split leap, the vestige of the old tire store brought me right back to reality.

The homemade painted sign that proclaimed “Arctic Circle Ice Skating Rink” had been taken down. There were no skates on the shelves behind the rental counter, and the shabby old cash register had disappeared. The candy machines, arcade games and miniature golf props were gone. Only water stains and small piles of sand provided evidence of the prior existence of an ice surface. The metal supports and railings still shined circus red but had been severely scraped by workmen moving fixtures and equipment out of the building.

A placard hung in the window where I had expected to find the welcome back banner. It said simply: “For Lease”.

Chapter 24 posted 2/1/01
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