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.