Although I did not make my debut as a skating performer at the “Martinsville Break the Ice Review”, I found a seat in the bleachers to watch Stephanie and a few other friends showcase their routines. With Neil gone for the summer, I went to the show alone. Ordinarily, we would have gone together; and in spite of our separation, he probably would have offered to accompany me. I breathed a sigh of relief on the day Neil drove away from our Lawrence apartment to spend the summer in Northern Virginia with his family. While we had been cordial and occasionally friendly, I sensed that Neil would happily resume our relationship, if only on a superficial level. I may have missed Neil and felt tempted and confused by his continued proximity, but I could never respect him again. He had taken advantage of me and bastardized our engagement to insure his own satisfaction. Instead, I happily sat with Vijay and his family. Vijay had wanted to perform, but had been too busy at work during the last couple of months to devote sufficient time to learning a program.
Stephanie, who I considered a good adult skater, appeared lost on an enormous frozen backdrop. Her fastidious movements, evenly paced spins, and technically passable jumps did not fill the arena. Although low level footwork and stroking connected her elements, each step looked labored and awkward as the young woman resolutely covered the ice, either struggling to keep up with the music or attempting to remain aware of it. In a crowd, Stephanie seemed to be a good skater, when other people filled the considerable white space; making her appear less small, slow and forlorn.
Even some of the children who dashed around the evening and weekend freestyle sessions looked out of place and sloppy by themselves on the ice. Awkward step sequences and unsightly positions castrated their otherwise credible double jumps. The young people who demonstrated maturity and artistic presence did not need to land a double to look impressive. A beautiful arm movement, stretched free leg or simple pivot done with grace and conviction led my eyes around the rink with more interest than a careless child rushing from one leap to the next. I decided to emulate this elegant type of skating. Unable to jump, I had to develop other skills to present myself. A glorious spiral curving through the entire arena made a more dramatic statement than a shaky double trapped in a corner.
The most fascinating performers skated fast enough to fill the arena. They jumped at one end of the rink then skated with powerful strokes to the other side and launched into a flying spin. The arena did not seem too large for their skating. The best Martinsville had to offer, the intricate footwork of a serious competitor may have been entirely absent from their connecting movements. Instead these athletes substituted basic stroking or crossovers to carry them from one skill to the next. From the perspective of an unworldly adult skater who did not even know the definition of the words “choctaw” and “bracket”, their routines seemed advanced.
Of course, the highlights of the evening were the Blanchards’ performances. Randall had challenged his most accomplished student to a double axel contest. The teenager had trouble landing his double axel, and Randall had bid his a fond adieu over ten years before when he stopped traveling with ice shows. The coach believed a little friendly competition would encourage the boy to focus on the difficult skill. Perhaps it might have also motivated Randall to regain abilities that he considered casualties of age. During practice sessions, the pentagenarian was much closer to success than his young apprentice. While Randall did not reintroduce his double axel in the Break the Ice Review, his renown delayed axel had grown noticeably. The soaring jump covered at least fifteen feet of open ice. I gasped audibly when the man landed his enormous leap. Vijay also stared wide-mouthed and broke into spontaneous applause. We had both seen Randall falling with the determination of a boy preparing for a freestyle test. He popped many axels in search of the elusive double and startled the adult skaters with his spectacular wipeouts. While this was only a single axel, the sheer size of it would dazzle the most astute skating audience.
After the show, Vijay and I met Randall in the lobby, who was still dressed in a shiny but dignified jumpsuit.
“I’d wanted to do the double tonight,” Randall replied to our congratulations. Still a competitor and performer at heart, he viewed the local ice carnival as an opportunity to establish a goal, but he simply did not have time to perfect the difficult jump. “Maybe by the end of summer,” he resolved. The rink planned another ice review for late August to allow the summer students to display their newly acquired skills before the beginning of another competitive season. Randall perceived the hokey shows as milestones for himself as well as the youngsters.
This was the first I heard of the Summer Ice Gala, but I silently decided to make my debut in August.
I pushed the button under the flashing “message” light on the answering machine fully expecting Neil’s voice asking me to mail something that he forgot but desperately needed for some inexplicable reason. I had been out all day, first at the university then at the Martinsville Ice Review. Yet, the message counter only displayed the numeral “1”.
I had to wait until Monday morning to return the telephone call from the Family and Consumer Studies secretary at Virginia University. I assumed the department was planning an alumni barbecue. When I heard Judith’s voice through the earpiece, I knew the purpose of her call was not to invite me and a guest to a summer cookout.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Kate.” The woman paused uncomfortably. “Victoria Perez passed away last week.”
I dropped heavily onto the living room sofa unable to speak. Tears had not reached my eyes yet, but my disbelieving hand began to quiver under the slight weight of the receiver. “What?” I breathed.
“Last Wednesday. She had cancer. It came on suddenly. The funeral is this Thursday. I know you were close to her,” Judith replied choppily dealing with her own emotions.
In the three and a half years since I graduated from Virginia University, I only saw Victoria Perez once, at Neil’s graduation. During the first year, I stayed in close contact with her, keeping her abreast of my progress and decisions in the doctoral program at Carolina Tech. As my work, engagement, and skating occupied more of my time; our telephone conversations became less frequent. I tried to call her after Dr. Butler told me I would not be graduating as anticipated. When her answering machine connected, I hung up, almost relieved that I did not have to discuss this humiliating experience. Dr. Perez had not been surprised by my intention to earn a doctorate in three years. She considered me a capable student willing to work hard toward my goals. Prolonging graduate study to generate more publications may have been an unfortunate accompaniment to the trend for professors to bring grant funding into the university and establish their own entrepreneurial research programs. Earlier in Dr. Perez’s career, she may have seen many people earn advanced degrees over shorter time periods. She certainly pushed me through the master’s program quickly. If she had less virtuous motives, she might have lengthened my tenure.
Victoria Perez remained on the faculty for an academic year longer than originally planned to mentor me through a non-thesis Master of Arts degree. She died less than four years after my December commencement. Dr. Perez had shared one of the last years of her life with me. Of course, Victoria had no way of knowing how limited her time had become. Although I was grateful to her, I never imagined what she unknowingly sacrificed. Now I could never appropriately thank her, and nothing would replace that year she gave me. I wished she had retired and spent the time with her family and left me to transfer to another school or settle for another advisor. Guilt worsened an already oppressive sense of grief.
I told Clive Butler that I would not be on campus Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. He studied my features and asked if everything was all right. Outwardly polite, he probably wondered where I was going, but the expression on my face indicated that I had not planned a fabulous holiday. Other than Talbert, who offered to take me to the funeral, I did not wish to discuss Dr. Perez’s death with anyone. I sat in the laboratory staring vacantly at my computer monitor for hours, not reading or entering data. I just sat there, grieving and hollow inside. Butler walked through the room and saw me, but left quickly as he realized the depth of my anguish. Each night, I held my cat, Platty, and cried into her fur. I could no longer distinguish between the shock of my mentor’s death and the pain I felt over squandering months of her precious time.
Consumed by loss, I did not drive to Martinsville to skate. Skating seemed frivolous and I did not deserve to have fun during this period of mourning. I did not even want to skate, though it would have probably been therapeutic to ease my emotional torment for a couple of hours, though I was not sure skating could distract me from such a tragedy. Ice skating required some sense of joy. Even when Neil and I ended our engagement, my emotions ranged from sadness and shame to anger, but I also experienced a feeling of closure. Now I could graduate and move wherever necessary to pursue my career without being tethered to Neil’s half-hearted commitment. Dr. Perez’s death evoked no remotely positive sensation. Of course, Neil was the furthest thing from my mind. I had forgotten him and his petty deception as though we had never met.
I recognized the faces of several Virginia University faculty members at the church. Most of the students had graduated and moved on, but some I had seen before. My eyes met no one’s. I did not want to exchange pleasantries. This was not a wedding. Talbert led me to a pew where I sat comfortably distant from my nearest neighbor. Flowers filled the sanctuary, lining the aisle and clustering in glorious, though solemn, arrangements around the closed coffin. A framed portrait of Victoria Perez stood on an easel amidst the flowers. It was an old picture, not of Victoria as a girl, but as a grown woman. Probably in her thirties, before her hair had grayed. Her warm, motherly face wore a kind soothing expression. I had seen that expression on an older Dr. Perez many times. She had comforted me with it, demonstrated her understanding of my problems, and offered praise for good work. I loved that sweet smile, but I could not look at the image and contemplate the woman’s lovely visage. Tears stung my eyes and I looked away, not at anything in particular, just at the backs of the other mourners’ heads.
I had never told Dr. Perez that I loved her. Yes, I had thanked her and taken her to dinner and shared my thoughts with her about less personal issues, but I had never expressed my sincere love for the woman. In my peripheral vision, I saw her compassionate smile in the portrait.
I love you, Victoria. You were like a mother to me.
Tears streamed down my cheeks and Talbert glanced at me with concern and sympathy. I did not look at him, but dug in my purse for a tissue. The congregation rose and began to sing. Melodious voices muffled my sniffles as I fought to regain control of myself. I thought I would at least survive through most of the homily. However, I was destined to cry throughout the service. Around me I heard other people suppressing sobs as they struggled with their own emotional distress at the loss of this wonderful woman.
In the church hall, people stood in small groups talking somberly. I shook hands with many of them telling those who did not know me that I was one of her students.
“Victoria was a great teacher,” I heard several times and agreed sedately. “Victoria loved to teach. How lucky you were to study with her.” I acknowledged this too. I was lucky. Victoria Perez had been a positive influence in my life.
“I’m glad you could come, Kate,” Juan Carlos Perez, Victoria’s widowed husband, welcomed. “I asked Judith to call you. It was a hard time for my family and me. I would have called you myself…” The man’s voice trailed off.
“Your wife meant a great deal to me. I’m so sorry. I wish I could say more.” I felt miserable expressing my condolences in such cliché terms, but I honestly did not know what to say. I was sorry, terribly sorry. I was sorry she died, sorry she invested one of her last years in me, sorry I had never told her exactly how I felt. Although I had finally gotten control of myself, my face was ashen and swollen; my eyes bloodshot and puffy. Mr. Perez avoided looking directly at me. He knew I had been crying. I had been crying on and off for days. My face displayed the sympathy that my intellect could not put into words. He looked composed, but was probably dangling by the finest of threads over a chasm of sorrow.
“Have you met our children?” he asked brightening superficially. Victoria had five grown children, three boys and two girls. All but the youngest had families of their own. I smiled weakly and introduced Talbert as “my friend”. Mr. Perez invited me to stop by his home before returning to South Carolina.
Juan Carlos placed a pot of tea and three cups on the coffee table. He poured for himself, his youngest daughter, and me.
“You meant a lot to my wife,” the widower began evenly. He had certainly not overcome his grief but had begun to accept it after the funeral. “She always said you were such a good student, such a hard worker. Victoria felt fortunate to conclude her career with an appreciative pupil. She loved teaching and treasured every moment with you because she knew you would be her last student. When she told me that you wanted to become a professor, it was a great blessing for her to have made such an impression.”
I touched my eyes with the corner of my pretty paper tea napkin. “Victoria was a wonderful professor, the best teacher I ever had. I wanted to be just like her.” Of course, now I was not certain about pursuing a career in academia. When I relayed this and my reasons for hesitation to Mr. Perez, he smiled compassionately.
“The simple fact that you considered it was meaningful to Victoria. It is the highest form of flattery an educator can receive; for a student to want to follow her example. Even if you choose to do something else, Victoria knew she did her job as your mentor by giving you an experience so positive and stimulating that it made you excited about the future. Whether or not you become a professor is irrelevant, Kate. My wife touched you with her gift. Do you know how few times that happens even in a career as long and prosperous as hers?”
I did not know, but realized it was one of the reasons people went into teaching, to have a positive effect on someone else, to instill hope in a young person. The noblest of aspirations, it often went unrewarded. I was definitely working toward this doctorate because of Dr. Perez, and I would finish it to honor her memory, regardless of what I did with it. She believed in me and nurtured me. I would fulfill my commitment.
“I am sorry that she had to spend so much time with me when she should have retired and been home with her family,” I whispered looking into my half-empty cup.
With that comment, the daughter got up awkwardly and disappeared down the hallway.
“Oh, I upset her. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her.” All I could say was how sorry I was for this or that. I should have been offering comfort to Victoria’s family, yet all I could do was wallow apologetically in my own misery.
“Rose was close to her mother. This is very difficult for her, but she wanted to meet you, the student who meant so much to Victoria.
“You have been feeling guilt about my wife’s retirement,” he stated gently. “You shouldn’t, Kate. Victoria liked few things more than teaching. There were few ways she would rather spend her time. I’m glad she ended her career so positively, and she spent her life doing what she enjoyed. Please don’t feel badly. Even if Victoria had known what was going to happen, she probably would not have done anything differently. She never regretted it. None of us did. Victoria cried at your graduation. It was her last graduation in a line of dozens. She cried for the end of her career, which had brought her so much happiness over the years. She wished the same for you, no matter what you choose to do with your degrees.”
I returned to Carolina Tech ready to work and determined to be called “Doctor of Philosophy” someday, if only to honor Victoria Perez’s memory. Her husband rid me of my guilt and helped me to realize that I had been a positive part of her life too. I still did not know what I would do in the future which stole enthusiasm from my efforts. However, my grief did not disappear immediately. An overall sense of loss made me contemplate my broken engagement again, not that I necessarily missed Neil. I had purged him and his selfish personality from my system, but I longed for companionship and love, the kind of devotion Juan Carlos Perez displayed for his wife.
An array of confusing emotions caused memories of Devin, the young man I left to pursue a doomed relationship with Neil Fitch, to resurface. I wished I had married him or at least continued to date him. Devin really loved me. My mind became cluttered with exaggerations of Devin’s undying love, the love I cast aside to flirt with Neil, who could take me on proper dates. I had been selfish like my ex-fiancé, and I was ashamed of myself. Yet, I wondered what had happened to Devin. This wondering became all consuming. It occupied my thoughts in the laboratory and during crowded summer freestyle sessions. I fantasized about calling Devin and renewing our romance again.
People deal with grief and loss in different ways. I was coping with the death of a beloved mentor and the end of a long-term relationship. Daydreams of my simple past with Devin spared me from confronting my present emotions. I thought about the bridal shop and roller skating and living contentedly in my father’s house. Those were happy times, I recalled.
My fingers danced over the keypad of the telephone in my Lawrence bedroom. The last number I had for Devin’s apartment returned an automated “no longer in service” message. I looked up his parents’ number, knowing they would remember me fondly and pass along his new listing. As ringing traveled through the line from Northern California, I dropped the receiver back into its cradle before anyone could respond.
To my absolute delight, the Martinsville Community Arena did not close for the summer. After shutting down for two weeks of maintenance at the end of May, the place returned to full operation for summer skating. The summer season kicked off with a hometown ice review featuring Randall and Willa Blanchard, a couple other professionals, and the rink’s own talented crop of skaters. Stephanie tried to convince me to accept a slot in the show, but having never learned a program; I did not have time or money to put one together with Willa on short notice. However, Stephanie had been working on a program for testing with Randall and decided to use the supposedly stress-free forum of the local ice carnival as a shakedown cruise. Recalling the Arctic Circle’s surreal Grand Opening Ice Show, that could have easily doubled as a “Going Out of Business” comedy, I longed to skate purposefully for an audience. People often watched me skate and commented on my ability, but I never intentionally put together a display of my best skills for viewers.
Chapter 32 posted 6/4/01
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