Never in a Thousand Years

"I have to get this program!" she exclaimed, after she barely won.

When I took Heather home that evening, she asked if I'd like to come in. I agreed and when we entered the living room, she said, "Mom and Dad, you won't believe this, but when Mike introduced me to his parents, I learned they are members of the Audubon Society too."

Linda replied, "That's nice dear. Maybe they would like to go bird watching with us sometime."

Heather continued, "Mike let me play chess on his computer. It almost beat me."

"Your computer can play chess?" Mr. Fuchs asked.

"Yes, I bought the software before Christmas," I answered, beaming.

"I used to play chess in high school and college. Heather learned to play from me in about the sixth grade, but I never expected a computer would be good enough to be good at it."

"Maybe you can come to my house and meet my parents and play chess against it too," I suggested.

Not long afterward the Fuchs' visited my house and in short order became friends with my parents. Within a month or so, Heather's parents and mine had set up weekly get-togethers to play cards, bowl, or go bird watching. Sometimes Heather and I accompanied them, but we weren't card players, so we'd play chess against one another instead.

Spring came and track season took up more of my time. My times for the 400-meters were dropping and I won all but one of my races. Shawn, Jeff, Brian, and I won most of our 400-meter relay races. Coach was tough on all of us, but we appreciated his coaching skills. He'd been on UCLA's track team about 15 years before when they won the national championship. Our track team was ranked in the top five in northern Illinois.

Now that Heather owned the same chess program on her computer as me, her skill level bumped up too. She continued winning more games than I did. Nevertheless, we agreed the winner of the most games for the week got to pick the next movie we'd attend.

Toward the end of the school year, I sent off applications to Princeton and Stanford Universities. As a backup, I also sent off an application to the University of Illinois, but I was hoping I wouldn't have to play that card.

After school ended, I began working at the computer store full time. Mr. Jacobs cleared a storage room at the back of the store and turned it into a classroom. We trained a number of business owners, secretaries, and anyone interested in learning more about WordPerfect, dBase, and Lotus 1-2-3. Although I was just 17 years old, I was training customers two or three times my age.

There was so much interest shown by businesses that Mr. Jacobs arranged evening classes so people who worked during the day could attend them. When my work schedule involved teaching night classes, I had fewer opportunities to date Heather.

The second week after we started teaching night classes, I called Heather to arrange a date. "I'm sorry, Mike," she said, "but I already have a date."

My world came to a complete halt and my stomach became queasy. I felt like the people on the Titanic must have felt when they learned it was sinking. What to do?

Heather and I hadn't agreed to date each other exclusively, but we'd dated so often, it seemed we were a couple. I wondered who Heather had decided to date?

Several days later, Shawn came into Bits & Bytes to buy some software for his boss. As we talked, he said, "I saw Heather and Byron Hopkins at the Dairy Queen the other night."

"Byron?" I asked. "Why would she want to go out with him?"

"Well, he does have quite a bevy of women he dates. I wish I had that many women who are interested me," Shawn answered.

I couldn't believe Heather was dating Byron. Yeah, he'd caught the winning touchdown the previous fall when our school won the conference championship, and yes, a lot of young women were attracted to him because of his good looks. But he was an airhead, so full of himself that a slight wind would blow him away.

Later that afternoon, Mr. Jacobs said, "Mike, why so glum? You look like you've been run over by a truck."

"Girl problem," I answered.

"With that pretty young lady you sold software to last fall? And what do you think will solve your problem?"

"Mr. Jacobs, would you mind if I ask for Wednesday nights off?" I asked.

He patted me on the shoulder, "Certainly. You've worked more than your share of hours. I'll have my wife cover Wednesday night classes."

"Thanks, Mr. Jacobs," I said, happy to have a night off in the middle of the week.

The next time Heather and I dated, Heather said, "Thank you for being a gentleman."

"I don't know why you're thanking me. I haven't done anything special."

Heather grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and in a pensive mood, said, "I'm sorry, Mike, but I made a mistake and dated Byron Hopkins last week. He's nothing like you. The entire evening, he was like an octopus--his hands were on me everywhere. I finally had to ask him to take me home."

I didn't know how Byron passed Linda's intensive interview, but I was happy Heather didn't carry on an extended relationship with him.

My summer job kept me busy, and I put away as much money for college as I could. Mr. Jacobs was nice enough to give me Wednesday evenings off, so Heather and I generally dated on Wednesday and Saturday evenings.

Heather spent her summer babysitting and volunteering as a Candy Striper at Northwest Community Hospital. Her parents had a substantial college fund set up for her, so she had time to volunteer at the hospital. Toward the end of the summer, she proudly showed me her thousand-hour Candy Striper pin.

Before school started in the fall, Heather and I decided to go steady our senior year. We were madly in love. She frequently popped in to my house and visited with my parents and me, or I'd go to her house and spend time with Mr. Fuchs learning more about how mainframes were different from personal computers. Sometimes, Heather and I went with our parents when they went bird watching together.

Although we'd hugged and kissed, Heather was hesitant to go any farther, and that was okay with me--I didn't want to push her into something she didn't want to do. Some of our classmates had agreed to go steady too, but many of them had a constant turmoil in their relationships, with breakups, and turbulent drama, that Heather and I never experienced. Our love for one another never wavered.

For Christmas, our senior year, I gave Heather a promise ring with two intertwined hearts, each heart having a small embedded sapphire in it. Inside the ring, I had it engraved with, "Mike loves Heather." She had become my best friend, my confidante, and my soul mate.

* * *

I took Heather to a nice restaurant for her 18th birthday on January 14th. My year-end bonus from the computer store allowed me to splurge on a good meal and a small bottle of her favorite perfume.

As we ate our meal, Heather mentioned that she hoped I'd attend the U of I instead of Stanford or Princeton. She was afraid being apart during college would ruin our relationship. I tried explaining that our love for each other was more powerful than the miles between us, but I did concede she had a point.

For my birthday on February 10th, Heather decided to make me a special meal. Her parents and my parents were going out together that night, so Heather had the run of the kitchen. She made lasagna with a Caesar salad with garlic butter breadcrumbs, followed by a white cake decorated with birthday candles for dessert.

The lasagna was a tad overdone and the white cake slumped a little at the edges, but I gave her extra points for attempting to cook on her own. Overall, the meal was okay and the computer book she gave me made me forget about the minor issues with the meal.

As winter waned, our relationship became a little more intimate. She allowed me to slide my hand under her sweater and place it on her breast and I encouraged her to place her hand on the bulge in my jeans.

"We can't go any farther," Heather warned. "I'd have sex with you in a minute, but I'm not on birth control and don't want to get pregnant."

I was grateful for any sexual activity at all, so whatever limits Heather set were fine with me.

The spring semester of our senior year dragged on. We were looking forward to graduating from high school in 1986 and getting on with college. Jeff, Shawn, Brian, and I had lost only one of our relay races. As a senior, I'd won all my 400-meter races during the spring track season and things were going well for the entire track and field team. My best time for the 400-meters was 48.4 seconds, just a fraction of a second off the previous year's state record. We had our eyes set on going to the state finals, but we first had to get past the sectional meet.

On the Saturday of our meet in late April, it had cooled down into the high 30's overnight, and there were some scattered showers here and there, interspersed with sunny periods. Quite a crowd had assembled to watch the race, including my parents, and Heather, who waved at me from the stands.

I was a basket of nerves. One of the runners from the Chicago Heights team was the previous year's state champion 400-meter winner. If I beat him, my chances for an athletic scholarship would be greatly increased.

The assistant track coach brought the athletic department's camcorder to record the race, and I hoped the video of me winning would impress the track coaches where I'd applied for scholarships. All I had to do was run my best race ever, and I was ready.

I'd warmed up and stretched my muscles--this race was going to be mine. A few minutes before my event, a quick rain shower wet the track, so we had to stand around a while until it dried out. I know now that I should have put my sweat pants on, but the upcoming race had me keyed up.

Finally, race officials declared the track was ready and we were called to our starting positions. On the way to the starting blocks, I crossed paths with the previous state champ who sneered at me and said, "Wimp."

I was going to show him who the wimp was, and it wasn't going to be me. I heard, "Ready...Set...." The starter's pistol fired and I pushed off like I'd never pushed off in my life. On my second step, I heard a pop and then a searing pain behind my right thigh. It felt like I'd been shot in the back of my leg. I went down hard on my left shoulder, crumpling into a heap, writhing in agony on the ground.

Coach immediately came over to help. He knew I was badly hurt. I heard him say, "Someone call an ambulance--we have a serious hamstring injury here."

A few minutes later I was on the way to Northwest Community Hospital. The assistant track coach rode along in the ambulance with me. "You took quite a fall," he said, "I was hoping to see you win this race and go on to win the state title."

Gritting my teeth, I smiled weakly at him through the searing pain.

My parents followed the ambulance to the hospital. At the emergency room, the ER doctor and nurses were efficient. After some blood work and an MRI, I was admitted to the hospital in an hour or so. Luckily, the assistant track coach explained exactly what had happened and showed them the video he'd taken of my fall. Then he left the room to call the coach.

A nurse gave me a sedative and wheeled me on a gurney to a room they'd found with an open bed. I was still in great pain, but whatever the nurse gave me had dulled the worst of it.

Shortly afterward an orthopedic surgeon arrived. He described my injuries to my parents and me that the MRI showed I had two of the three tendons of my hamstring torn away from my pelvic bone. My hamstring muscle had retracted into my leg and he said I'd need to have surgery to reattach the tendons to the bone. He estimated it would take about six weeks for my hamstring to heal. Because of my injury, he said I wouldn't be able to sit in a wheel chair, but I could use crutches to get around.

My surgery occurred on the Monday after I tore my hamstring. I don't recall much about what happened since I was sedated. I do remember waking up in a daze in the surgical ICU. I recall my parents were there to see how I was doing. After they were assured I was doing okay, I must have dozed off again. Sometime later, the smell of Heather's perfume hit my consciousness. A few seconds later, I felt her soft kiss on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see my angelic Heather in her Candy Striper uniform bending over me.

I recall her saying, "I love you," in my ear.

"I love you too, Angel."

It was the first time I'd ever called her "Angel," but the way she appeared to me that day caused me to give her a permanent nickname.

Heather traded shifts with her Candy Striper friends so she could be on my floor the remainder of the time I spent in the hospital. She even spent her days off with me.

My orthopedic surgeon checked up on me daily in the ICU to see how I was recovering. He asked for another MRI to determine if I could be moved to a normal hospital room to recover.

They moved me from the ICU to a normal hospital room on the second day after my surgery. A couple of my teachers paid me visits to tutor me and they gave me their assignments. Of course, Coach and my team mates showed up to wish me well. To keep me from getting too far behind in school, Heather brought assignments, notes, and homework from school.

I spent several more days in the hospital on my back with my right leg in a brace, with my knee flexed at a 30-degree angle. A nurse had to help me sit up in bed so I could use crutches to get to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet with only one butt cheek was a real downer, but it was too painful to put my right thigh on the seat at all.

Before I could leave the hospital, my orthopedic surgeon had to give the final okay. My parents came to my room to get his instructions. They said Heather could join the meeting since she planned on becoming a nurse. My surgeon studied my leg and the latest scans. He told us, "Michael has sustained a most unusual proximal hamstring tear. In light of that, I'd say his days of running track are over. If he ever tears those tendons loose again, I doubt they can be surgically repaired, and he won't be able to walk."

Mom and Heather had tears in their eyes because they knew how hard I'd worked to get an athletic scholarship and that now my goal would be out of reach.

Dad was more reserved, asking the doctor, "Michael will still be able to attend college, won't he?"

"Oh yes," the doctor replied. "But he won't be able to participate in sports like tennis, track, or football. Walking, or perhaps jogging, will be the most active activities I'd recommend for the next couple years."

The ride home was the most painful I'd ever experienced. My right thigh was so tender from my surgery that every bump sent a shooting pain down my leg. It took them some effort, but Dad and Mom finally helped me into the house and into bed.

* * *

It was good to be home and in my own bed after being hospitalized. Since I couldn't sit in a wheel chair, I spent nearly all my time on my back. Dad and Mom set me up and turned me so I could use crutches to go to the bathroom. During my recovery, both Dad and Mom worked part time so someone would be there to take care of me 24 hours a day.

Because of my leg injury and brace, I wasn't able to get into a pair of pajamas, so Mom made me a gown, similar to a hospital gown. The bottom reached my knees. Although it wasn't the same as pajamas, it gave me some modesty when I had to get out of bed.

About a week after I came home, Dad received a notice that a two-week training class he'd applied for several months before had been approved. Getting certified on the newest Post Office automated sorting equipment would put him in a higher pay grade. The course was only taught twice a year, so if he stayed home with me, he'd have to wait another six months. Besides that, the Post Office might put another trained employee in charge of the sorting equipment. Mom said she'd manage somehow without him and encouraged him to take the class.

Dad left for his training class in Oklahoma, leaving Mom to care for me all day, every day. Then Mom's boss called and said no one at the hardware store knew how to run the accounting software. He wanted Mom to come in two or three hours a day to get the accounts back in order.

Heather happened to be visiting when Mom took the call. As Mom was attempting to determine how to deal with the situation, Heather volunteered, saying she helped nurses move people around at the hospital and could help me, too. Heather reasoned that if she came to our house after school, that would allow Mom to spend a couple hours a day at work.

* * *

The following Monday Heather stayed with me while Mom went to work at the hardware store. Heather said, "Mike, I'm so sorry you won't be able to run track any more. I know how much you wanted to win the state championship."

I answered with a sigh, "It's not like the end of the world. In another three months, after my therapy and rehabilitation, I hope to be walking normally."

"But I wish I could make you feel better now instead of waiting three months."

Heather brought my assignments from school and we went over our homework together. It was the first time we'd been alone together for several weeks.

A couple hours after Mom left for the hardware store, I told Heather I needed to go to the bathroom.

Heather helped me get into a sitting position, handed me my crutches, and I headed to the bathroom. After I peed, while in the process of turning around and reaching for my crutches, I lost my balance. My first thought as I was falling was, "I have to protect my leg," so I slid down the wall on my left side in the space between the toilet and the shower.

Heather heard the thump I made and clatter of my crutches. She came running into the bathroom. "Mike, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just lost my balance and fell. I'm not hurt."

"Oh my!" she exclaimed as she saw me lying on my back with the bottom of my gown around my waist.

Heather reached down to give me a hand to get me into a sitting position. Then she helped me roll on my side so I could get on my left knee and grab the toilet to stand up. She pulled the gown down over my butt and handed me the crutches.

After I settled back in bed, Heather sat in the chair next to my bed. She didn't say anything for several minutes, but I could tell she had something on her mind from the way she looked at me.

"Michael, do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

Heather hesitated for several seconds as if she was too embarrassed to ask. Finally, she asked in a low voice, "When I helped you up in the bathroom, I couldn't help but notice your penis looks different than all the baby boys I've babysat for."

"Oh that," I said. "They didn't cut my foreskin off when I was born. Dad isn't circumcised, and he didn't want me to be, either."

She scrunched up her nose like she always did when she was thinking. About a minute later she asked, "You mean all those little boys had skin on their penis when they were born, but it was cut off?"

"Yeah--that's what happened."

"But why would they do that?"

"Some religions that do it as a matter of course. Otherwise, I see no reason for it. My foreskin is extremely sensitive."

Another minute went by while Heather digested what I'd told her. Then she said, "That's a cruel thing to do to a defenseless baby."

"Yeah, I agree. They should at least wait until they're our age so they can make their own decision about whether they want to be circumcised or not. I'd say most guys would say 'no.'"

"Would you mind if I looked at it again?" she asked.

With some hesitance, I answered, "Well, since you've seen it once, I suppose a second time wouldn't make any difference."