I never made a new outfit for my dates with Howard but managed to find attractive combinations of clothing I either brought with me or that Carole left in her closet. Howard arrived at the door early to take me to Old Town Sacramento, and we conversed pleasantly in the car utilizing our best “first date manners”. I thought I might die of small talk before learning anything interesting about my high school beloved. I babbled about skating, explaining the differences between the spins that consumed my morning. Howard occasionally indicated that he remembered seeing a move fitting that description on television. As an athlete, he probably had at least a passing interest in other sports, though almost every man I knew watched enough figure skating to comment on the beauty and sex appeal of Katarina Witt.
My date parked the car and we strolled down the street toward the festivities smiling and chatting vacantly about the lovely evening.
“You must be wondering about my leg,” he blurted suddenly in an accusing tone.
Actually, I had forgotten about the limp that I noticed the other night. “Oh,” I began calmly, “I just thought you hurt yourself working out. Sometimes I overdo it on the ice,” Although I was in good physical condition, a fall on the knee or over-extending spirals could cause sufficient pain for me to walk stiffly the next day. Now that he reminded me, I became aware of the persistent break in Howard’s stride.
He shook his head.
I did not push Howard for more information or even open my mouth to change the subject. Sensing that he was about to spew the information that sparked my curiosity, I regretted ever wondering what had happened in his life. His mood changed from that of a gentleman entertaining a lady he barely knew to a frustrated person harboring anger that had to be released. Interrupting the long silence required for Howard to either formulate his thoughts or decide how to conceal his outburst, I suggested: “You don’t have to talk about it.”
Howard motioned for me to sit with him on a bench. He seemed tremendously uncomfortable and self-conscious. “You must also wonder why I work in a grocery store,” he began.
“A lot of people work in grocery stores. There is nothing wrong with that,” I replied nonchalantly, when in truth I did want to know what happened to Howard’s swimming career that should have led to other, more glamorous, options.
Howard smiled kindly realizing I was trying to be polite and compassionate. Recognizing his desire to speak frankly, I ceased interjecting sympathetic comments and demonstrated my good will by listening to whatever Howard felt the need to disclose.
He repeated the story I already knew about his choice from several university athletic scholarships. Competing favorably on the college level, Howard proceeded to elite competitions qualifying for international meets. A year before the 1988 Olympic Games, he earned a respectable placement at the national championship and looked forward to an opportunity to contend for the Olympic swimming team. While celebrating with a friend, Howard was involved in an automobile accident, and the resulting injury to his leg ended his blossoming athletic career. Still a student, the university discontinued his scholarship because he could no longer swim competitively. He returned to Cambridge Hills unable to afford the tuition at the prestigious school that had previously supported him. Howard’s parents convinced him to finish his degree at the Northern California State University in Sacramento. In order to fund his education and rent an apartment with a roommate, he took a part-time job in a supermarket near the campus. Howard completed a major in physical education and earned a teaching credential that he initially considered a second or third choice alternative if a better scenario did not result from his amateur athletic career.
Never actually planning to become a high school teacher, he approached his student teaching assignment with limited enthusiasm. Howard had not recovered emotionally from the disappointment of his injury and missed chance to participate in an Olympic trial. He was not prepared to make the transition from promising athlete to high school educator. After teaching gym classes and coaching a high school swim team for a couple of years, he became disillusioned and left the profession. Still friendly with people in the grocery business, he decided to enter a management-training program and work for a few years before reevaluating his options. Embarrassed to return to his hometown as a grocery employee, he begrudgingly transferred to the Cambridge Hills store to accept a promotion to assistant manager of the produce department.
Although I suspected, Howard did not mention that he and his friend had been intoxicated at the time of the accident. Or that his friend had died before the ambulance reached the hospital. He also did not describe the steel pins still in his leg. I learned about those things later.
Howard said he enjoyed working in the supermarket and predicted a prosperous career for himself in the grocery business. However, he aspired to a profession related to sports. While he did not care to instruct teenage children, he had hoped to coach at a college before the injury. Lacking an advanced degree or major title, these positions were often filled by more accomplished candidates. He considered returning to school in the future to earn a degree that would allow him to teach and coach in a university.
When I sensed that Howard had finished his monologue, I touched his hand softly. “Thank you for trusting me.” I did not tell him that I was sorry; although I did feel very badly for him. Howard needed an understanding friend willing to accept him as an adult, not another person to pity the boy who might have gone to the Olympics.
Breaking a mood that would eventually lead to Howard kissing me, I stood quickly and suggested we get a snack before the concert. Just as Howard did not need my pity, I did not want a kiss given out of neediness. After waiting since the beginning of ninth grade for a kiss from this man, I wanted that gesture to be genuine. Howard and I hardly knew each other, but he initiated the process of becoming acquainted by honestly sharing his experiences. Since I had nothing equally tragic to divulge, I decided to save my personal anecdotes for a later time when they would seem less trivial. However, I had no intention of recounting my humiliating misadventures to him or anyone else.
I may have been obsessed with Howard Millbank’s good looks in high school, but now I was more amazed that this individual actually had the potential to rise to the pinnacle of his sport. As a kid, I only wanted a chance to take skating lessons and fantasized about becoming a champion in about the same way that I fantasized about marrying Howard. Now the object of my adolescent affection sat beside me, smiling warmly with relief after telling his painful story. He may have been an Olympian, but he destroyed his own athletic future by over-indulging in alcoholic beverages and getting into a car with a drunken driver. Howard did not have to extrapolate as far as I did to wonder what might have been.
Howard walked me to the door after our music festival date and leaned forward to kiss me gently. A small smile formed on my lips, more of cat-like satisfaction than budding romance. I may have wanted to be a skater as a teenage girl, but I also wanted to kiss Howard Millbank. In a sense, I had become a skater, an adult skater; and now the best looking boy in the Cambridge Hills High School class of 1984 had kissed me good night.
My father rose early and usually had to make a second pot of coffee by the time I got out of bed. He seemed pleased that I kept myself busy and was enjoying a necessary break from my studies. However, I felt guilty about leaving the house either to skate or to visit with friends if my father was home from work. Of course, I had a date that night with Howard. Since he woke before dawn, my father went to sleep early and did not miss me when I socialized in the evenings.
Chapter 36 posted 8/2/01
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