{"id":3172,"date":"2015-04-03T09:31:39","date_gmt":"2015-04-03T16:31:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/?p=3172"},"modified":"2015-04-06T15:12:22","modified_gmt":"2015-04-06T22:12:22","slug":"a-puce-colored-foot-a-pocket-of-possibility","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2015\/04\/a-puce-colored-foot-a-pocket-of-possibility\/","title":{"rendered":"A Puce-colored Foot & A Pocket of Possibility"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Lisa DeNauro<\/p><\/div>\n

Lisa DeNauro\u2019s compact, muscular body whipped feet-over-head\u2014a blur of red leotard, freckled skin, and blonde hair. Her palms sprung off the vaulting horse, flinging her into a perfect round off. She nailed the landing and tossed her hands toward the New Smyrna Beach High School gym lights in an Olympic pose.<\/p>\n

Sure, I could do that vault\u2014but it wouldn\u2019t be pretty.<\/p>\n

Sometime since I turned five and flopped handsprings in a Miami gym, rubber-banded around the uneven bars, and arced walkovers on the balance beam, I\u2019d lost my 6X little girl body and my courage. But I could still do splits.<\/p>\n

My last three vaults had been straddles and boredom was about to mother invention. Too chicken to attempt Lisa\u2019s vault, I mulled through my short list of right-side-up vaults. What about a split with right leg leading and left trailing? Brilliant. Why had no one invented this vault?<\/p>\n

I took a deep breath of air-conditioned air laced with sweat and gymnast chalk. Rolling up on my toes, I took off, full-tilt, for the horse.<\/p>\n

This would be epic.<\/p>\n

My feet hit the springboard and my right leg cleared the horse as my hands glanced off leather, shoving my torso up and over. My right leg sailed ahead of me and all my weight came down on the left.<\/p>\n

My foot buckled.<\/p>\n

I landed in a lump on the mat, staring at last summer\u2019s finger-long scar on my inert ankle. The memory caterwauled through my mind\u2014me careening from a cantering horse, smacking against rock-hard Carolina clay. Bad things had followed in threes\u2014broken bones, days in a hospital bed after surgery, and months crutching around in a cast.<\/p>\n

\"momheart76<\/a>

momheart76<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

Girls huddled around the mat.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard a crack.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their faces creased in concern.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Penn jogged over and asked if I could wiggle my toes\u2014yes\u2014my foot\u2014no. She sent one girl for ice, and another to ask the office to call Mom.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t hurt. Not yet.<\/p>\n

Joanne Adams and Becky Blackwell helped me hop to the bleachers.<\/p>\n

Worry wrinkled Becky\u2019s forehead. \u201cI hope you don\u2019t have to miss the party after school.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pain punched through the numbness in my ankle. I gritted my teeth. \u201cI\u2019ll be there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Linda<\/a>

Linda Reader<\/p><\/div>\n

Mrs. Reader was throwing an end-of-the-year pool party for our creative writing class, something I\u2019d been looking forward to for weeks.<\/p>\n

I willed my foot not to puff up and purple. Not to be broken.<\/p>\n

An hour later, parked on Dr. Tessler\u2019s exam table, I chewed on my lip. My ankle stretched out on the paper sheet\u2014plump, puce, and pulsing pain.<\/p>\n

Dr. Tessler squinted at the ex-ray film he held up to the florescent light. \u201cBroken.\u201d<\/p>\n

Disappointment sighed through me.<\/p>\n

He shook his head with a wry smile. \u201cStay away from horses of all kinds. Doctor\u2019s orders.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hilarious.<\/p>\n

\u201cSurgery,\u201d Dr. Tesser said.<\/p>\n

My eyes flew to Mom\u2019s, telegraphing her to pull the nurse card and argue him out of it.<\/p>\n

The doctor continued, \u201cNot now, but once the bones fuse. We\u2019re going to have to get that pin out of there. I think it might have weakened the ankle.\u201d He grinned up at me. \u201cI can take care of those bunions while I\u2019m at it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shivered, imagining him hack-sawing the knobs off my feet. So. Not. Happening.<\/p>\n

I squinted at Mom\u2019s watch across the room, hoping there was still time to make the party. Mom, an intensive care nurse at Fish Memorial, wouldn\u2019t sequester me over a measly broken ankle.<\/p>\n

Dr. Tessler splinted and ace-bandaged my leg, slunk his sadist sense of humor out of the room with the promise of a cast in a few days.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, you\u2019ve got<\/em> to drive me to Port Orange. I\u2019m already late for the party!\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by psarahtonen<\/p><\/div>\n

Twenty-five minutes later, Tylenol 3 dissolving in my digestive track, I hobbled out of Mom\u2019s Duster on my old crutches.<\/p>\n

Becky and Mrs. Reader rushed over to hear my tale. James Knox and Kyle Avery took a break from their breath-holding contest in the pool to listen. John Scrivano looked up from his conversation with Linda\u2019s husband, Larry, beside the grill.<\/p>\n

While I basked in sympathy, Elton John\u2019s Island Girl<\/em> spun on the record player. Nearby a conversation buzzed about whether you could get pregnant from swimming in a pool. A few kids kicked their feet back and forth in the water on the edge of the pool. Someone changed the record and Rod Stewart crooned Maggie May.<\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019d overheard one of the boys call Mrs. Reader his dream Maggie May last week. He could hardly wait for the party to see her in a bikini. A snicker slipped out. I glanced at twenty-something Linda Reader\u2014who wore stylish, but modest, shorts and a blouse\u2014and laughed louder.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s so funny?\u201d Wendy Phillips wanted to know. I told her and she burst out with a guffaw. \u201cEat your hearts out, boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

I smeared mayonnaise on my hamburger, added tomato and four potato chips.<\/p>\n

John Scrivano set a grilled cheese sandwich in front of Janie Payne.<\/p>\n

Her eyes widened.<\/p>\n

John shrugged uncomfortably. \u201cYou\u2019re a vegetarian\u2026\u201d Before he could slip into the pool and drown his embarrassment, Mrs. Reader told him how thoughtful he was and gave him a hug. If a guy with olive complexion can blush, he did.<\/p>\n

Laughter and droplets of water flung skyward from the boys in the pool. Diamonds of late afternoon sun danced on the water. Chlorine and grilled hot dogs scented the air. I shifted in my seat. Sharp arrows shot up my leg, reminding me that the party was nearly over.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Carli Jean<\/p><\/div>\n

In my last town at Martin County High School I\u2019d felt a little lost and trampled in the halls. The masterpiece, Fabliau of a Silent Man,<\/em> I\u2019d written for sophomore English had been scythed with a blood-red C. I was sliced down to a nub, a number, a nobody.<\/p>\n

In New Smyrna Beach I\u2019d spent fifty minutes a day for a year with Linda Reader and eleven kids who loved the lure of language like I did. We\u2019d penned writing prompts, lyrics, poems, and stories.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Breather<\/p><\/div>\n

Gratitude, like the sweetness of the Chips Ahoy cookie lingering on my tongue, made me forget the ache waking in my leg. I scanned my peers. The kids were deep as the waterways wending through town, wise, wielders of wit and words. They mirrored who I was. Who I wanted to become.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d scribbled in notebooks all the way back to junior high. But I doubt I would have majored in journalism and creative writing in college, stacked four decades of journals in my garage, written six books and counting\u2014if I hadn\u2019t been plunked into this pocket of possibility with people like me at the not-so-bitter end of childhood in New Smyrna Beach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t
If you’d like to leave a comment below, tell what prodded you into your line of work.<\/div><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Related Posts from New Smyrna Beach<\/h3>\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

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

Dodging the Day After Christmas Blues<\/a><\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by lachlanmullen<\/p><\/div>\n

Swimming Into Forever<\/a><\/p>\n

Song For an Innocent Time<\/a><\/p>\n

Hippie In the Headlights<\/a><\/p>\n

Car Crash and Other Wrecks<\/a><\/p>\n

Five Minutes of Fame<\/a><\/p>\n

Nailing Normal<\/a><\/p>\n

Waiting for the Real Deal<\/a><\/p>\n

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Speed, the S.A.T.s, and Being Smart Enough<\/a><\/p>\n

Not Kissing and Telling<\/a><\/p>\n

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 <\/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

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

Lisa DeNauro\u2019s compact, muscular body whipped feet-over-head\u2014a blur of red leotard, freckled skin, and blonde hair. Her palms sprung off the vaulting horse, flinging her into a perfect round off. She nailed the landing and tossed her hands toward the New Smyrna Beach High School gym lights in an Olympic pose. Sure, I could do […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3184,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[2,66],"tags":[107,277,278,256,242],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nA Puce-colored Foot & A Pocket of Possibility - Ann Lee Miller<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2015\/04\/a-puce-colored-foot-a-pocket-of-possibility\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Puce-colored Foot & A Pocket of Possibility - Ann Lee Miller\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Lisa DeNauro\u2019s compact, muscular body whipped feet-over-head\u2014a blur of red leotard, freckled skin, and blonde hair. 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