{"id":2693,"date":"2014-12-26T11:38:16","date_gmt":"2014-12-26T18:38:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/?p=2693"},"modified":"2014-12-26T11:58:54","modified_gmt":"2014-12-26T18:58:54","slug":"beating-day-christmas-blues","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2014\/12\/beating-day-christmas-blues\/","title":{"rendered":"Dodging the Day After Christmas Blues"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Mitya Ku<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

Cold and grumpy, I walked faster down Murray Street. I gritted my teeth and headed for the Indian River and sunshine.<\/p>\n

Our tree dappled house, riddled with windows, made summer without air conditioning bearable, but in the winter it morphed into a mausoleum. I dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my jeans that seemed a couple degrees warmer than the drafty kangaroo pocket of my sweatshirt.<\/p>\n

Yesterday we\u2019d opened gifts and eaten our quirky Christmas fare of corned beef, creamed onions, Pepperidge Farms Stuffing, and mince pie with the kitchen table scooted close to the open oven\u2014the only heat source in the house. R.J. and I took big sniffs of pine tree scent and complimented each other on our collaborative Charlie Brown Christmas tree<\/a>. I\u2019d gone to Jackie Herold\u2019s to ooh and ah over her gifts, called Susan Sigler and Diana Knox.<\/p>\n

The problem with a really good day is that the next one is bound to nosedive. The day after Christmas could theoretically turn out to be a fantastic day\u2014like the boy you crushed on might return the favor at the exact same dot on the time continuum. Improbable, but not impossible. Nevertheless, today puffed up with possibility.<\/p>\n

I hooked south along the river, my feet springing along the thick grass.<\/p>\n

As sun and exertion thawed my body I counted the empty hours stacked on top of each other with nothing to do but think. Usually, school, swim team, and friends crowded my time and my mind. I could go to Jackie\u2019s but she was cleaning house today. My chore list loomed longer than hers.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Jon Eckert<\/p><\/div>\n

I scuffed along the seawall, my thoughts drifting over the ripples in the river, looking for a place to land. I refused to sink into my rocky childhood\u2014I\u2019d only ram into reefs of pain. Even the present\u2014until New Smyrna Beach\u2014harbored its own heartache. So, I floated my thoughts into the future\u2014taking the SAT next semester, graduating in a year and a half. Then, college, career, maybe marriage, get old, die.<\/p>\n

Even the future felt pointless today.<\/p>\n

What was my purpose?<\/em><\/p>\n

I sat on a bench, pulled up my knees.<\/p>\n

Light sparkled on the water.<\/p>\n

Palms rustled overhead and a dog yipped somewhere in the park.<\/p>\n

I shook off the heavy, unanswerable question and focused on the immediate future\u2014Amy Kuhns\u2019<\/a> arrival from Stuart today\u2014the reason this day after Christmas held promise.<\/p>\n

The hours and chores ticked off.<\/p>\n

\"Swadian<\/a>

Swadian – GO GREYHOUND 102DL3!!!!!!!!!!<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

I stood on the curb as Amy\u2019s<\/a> Greyhound bus belched to a stop.<\/p>\n

Her head popped into view and she schlepped her bag down the steps.<\/p>\n

My heart lifted. No matter how many friends I made, each one took up different real estate inside me. I\u2019d had more friendless years than populated ones, and I valued them like sunshine or water.<\/p>\n

Amy\u2019s lips pinched together, her eyes looked troubled.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighed. \u201cA lady stole my money when I went to the restroom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s awful!\u201d I drove straight to the beach\u2014hoping sea and sky would sooth the injustice.<\/p>\n

We left footprints and stories in the sand.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Chris Sardegna<\/p><\/div>\n

Late afternoon sun still warmed our shoulders, when I asked, \u201cDo you ever feel like something inside is missing? Something big that should be there?\u201d<\/p>\n

Amy let out a huff. \u201cWell, duh, Mom died eight months ago. Dad is on the farm in Kansas.\u201d<\/p>\n

I winced. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I wasn\u2019t even thinking about your folks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about it. I think about them all the time anyhow.\u201d Amy stooped to pick up a shell. \u201cMaybe the empty spot is where your Dad existed before your parents divorced\u2014like I ache for Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

But Dad, even though I\u2019d moved 250 miles up the coast from him, still owned whole cities of real estate in me. And the emptiness seemed deeper than Dad. Different.<\/p>\n

I stared at the line where ocean met air, breeze ruffling my hair. Maybe because I\u2019d had a double dose of Mass\u2014Midnight Mass with Jackie, then Christmas morning with Mom and R.J.\u2014my mind veered to the spiritual. \u201cI think the emptiness has something to do with God.\u201d I looked at Amy. \u201cYou go to the Methodist Church. You believe in God, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Amy shot me a rueful smile. \u201cYouth group was the only thing in Stuart that I could walk to. And then there was that really hot youth leader\u2026 But, yeah, I guess I believe in God. I went to church with Mom when I was a kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

We stood for a moment watching the inlet crash against the jetty, then turned back the way we\u2019d come.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m mad at Him.\u201d Amy glanced at me. \u201cHe was mean to let Mom get cancer when she still had me and Todd to raise. Hello, what about us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Amy Kuhns, 16–a warmer day on New Smyrna Beach<\/p><\/div>\n

I didn\u2019t know what to say\u2014like the times when Amy stared into space and looked\u2026 lost. \u201cWe need an expert on God to help us figure things out,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMitzi Bronson!\u201d we both said at the same time\u2014our Martin County High School classmate.<\/p>\n

Amy peered at me. \u201cGeez. We\u2019re only sixteen and seventeen. We don\u2019t have to have everything figured out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I told Amy about the St. Hugh\u2019s seventh grade retreat when I\u2019d felt God\u2019s presence in the silence. My ever-present guilt had shut up for a few minutes and I sensed something infinitely bigger than myself. Not poised to smack me down every time I screwed up. An entity with me. For me.<\/p>\n

\u201cCool,\u201d Amy commented with a quiet voice, her eyes fixed on the horizon.<\/p>\n

I breathed in the scents of brine and beach almost tasting the salt on my tongue. Today I didn\u2019t so much sense that Presence, but a hunger to experience it.<\/p>\n

That night as Amy and I lay buried under blankets in my bed I rolled my head toward her.<\/p>\n

\"Eryne!<\/a>

Eryne!<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

Only Amy\u2019s nose poked into moonlight from under the covers.<\/p>\n

I laughed.<\/p>\n

Amy\u2019s muffled voice came from under the blankets. \u201cYeah, well I bet I\u2019m warmer than you are.\u201d After a minute she turtled out her head. \u201cI\u2019m glad I came.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe too.\u201d As the words left my mouth I realized the day after Christmas had funneled into fantastic when Amy stepped off the bus.<\/p>\n

We never got around to quizzing Mitzi about God, but years later we discovered she had prayed for us\u2014for all her friends\u2014when we were in high school.<\/p>\n

Amy and I lost each other as adulthood moved us away from Florida\u2014Amy to Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, and me to Ohio, Indiana, and Arizona.<\/p>\n

But in midlife, we found each other again.<\/p>\n

Amy was right. Eventually, we figured out faith. And in a crazy twist that would have shocked our teen selves\u2014and everyone who knew us\u2014we both married pastors. Even more bizarre, we became the Mitzis in our friends\u2019 lives.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Just type your e-mail address in the empty box on the right & \u201cSubscribe\u201d to receive my blogs every Friday!
\n<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If you\u2019d like to leave a comment below, tell inquiring minds how you dodged today’s after Christmas blues.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Predesiven<\/a>

Predesiven<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Related posts about New Smyrna Beach:<\/p>\n

Friendless on the First Day of School<\/a><\/p>\n

Beached, Brokendown, and Blessed in New Smyrna<\/a><\/p>\n

Spoons, Nudes, and Tuna Casserole<\/a><\/p>\n

Too Much and Not Enough Testosterone for the Christmas Parade<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0A Couple of Kids Cobble Together Christmas<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Check out my New Smyrna Beach novels by clicking on the covers.<\/p>\n

\"Avra's<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \"Tattered<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \"Kicking<\/a> \u00a0\u00a0 \"The<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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