{"id":3193,"date":"2015-04-10T11:21:57","date_gmt":"2015-04-10T18:21:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/?p=3193"},"modified":"2015-04-23T13:50:57","modified_gmt":"2015-04-23T20:50:57","slug":"a-crappy-summer-turns-a-corner","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2015\/04\/a-crappy-summer-turns-a-corner\/","title":{"rendered":"A Crappy Summer Turns a Corner"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Diana<\/a>

Diana Savina<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

I jerked upright out of a sound sleep. My newly broken ankle squawked in complaint. I peered at the sliver of streetlight slitting through the window and stilled my breath.<\/p>\n

Nothing.<\/p>\n

Well, nothing but the sound of Ralph sawing sequoia-sized logs in the next room.<\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t afraid. No one but an idiot would break into the house of a six-foot-eight, 270-pound man who bellowed bass down the block. This was New Smyrna Beach, not Miami where I worried about black-white riots; hippies high, then low, on LSD asleep on playground benches; and a buffet of dangers at the docks.<\/p>\n

R.J. rolled over and said something unintelligible in his sleep from the upstairs sleeping porch.<\/p>\n

Tiny feet scratched across hardwood\u2014the sound that must have woken me.<\/p>\n

My heart thumped.<\/p>\n

Mom, usually the one who sucked it up and killed roaches and spiders for me, worked eleven to seven at Fish Memorial Hospital.<\/p>\n

I hopped on one foot to the doorway, flinching with each jostle to my injury, flipped on the light switch, and pogoed back to French provincial safety.<\/p>\n

Then I saw it.<\/p>\n

I screamed like Charles Manson stood in my room, rubbing maniacal hands together, instead of a three-inch mouse.<\/p>\n

Ralph\u2019s snore broke.<\/p>\n

He blustered into the room. \u201cWhat the hell is going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

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

My arm shot out, pointing at Charles Manson Mouse, poised for mayhem, beside my closet door.<\/p>\n

He swore. \u201cWhat do you expect me to do about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKill it!\u201d I knew he squirrelled away kindness. The guy cried at Hallmark commercials with the cat curled around his shoulders and our ugly German shepherd sprawled across his lap. But I wasn\u2019t sure if his valor would bend toward the animal kingdom or a noisy stepchild.<\/p>\n

He harrumphed away and came back with a broom.<\/p>\n

For a big man, Ralph lunged fast\u2014agility left over from his football days when they called him Tiny\u2014but the mouse scurried from under the bristles.<\/p>\n

I dove beneath the covers.<\/p>\n

A few grunts and thunks later, Ralph lumbered down the hall.<\/p>\n

The toilet flushed.<\/p>\n

I sat up. Relief and adrenalin pooled inside me. \u201cThank you!\u201d I called as Ralph grumbled back to bed.<\/p>\n

Wide awake, I wedged the pillow between me and the headboard.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d been so focused on the creative writing party yesterday afternoon, I hadn\u2019t thought about how my summer plans to be a counselor at Our Lady of the Hills Camp in North Carolina had collapsed as surely as the bone in my ankle. Me and my stupid klutziness. I punched my pillow and rolled over. Pain shot up my leg.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Anita Peppers<\/p><\/div>\n

Then I remembered the dinner dance at the yacht club\u2014tonight!<\/p>\n

I\u2019d almost fallen over in shock when Jim Bennett\u2014a guy I didn\u2019t know\u2014invited me. When I called last night to give him the option of taking a girl with two working legs, he assured me he still wanted to take me. I think he was relieved he wouldn\u2019t have to dance.<\/p>\n

\"Jim<\/a>

Jim Bennett<\/p><\/div>\n

I smiled in the dark. A date with a V.I.P. senior headed to the Air Force Academy almost trumped a mouse and a messed up leg. I\u2019d worry about the ruined summer later.<\/p>\n

At the dinner dance\u2014my foot stretched out under the table on a chair, throbbing time to Rufus Thomas\u2019 high decibel band\u2014I was a peg-leg Cinderella at the ball. I shot smiles at my date so he\u2019d know I was glad he didn\u2019t ditch me. I couldn\u2019t think of anywhere I\u2019d rather be.<\/p>\n

Two weeks later I parked my crutches against the wall at the beachside recreation center. I hopped to one of the long arts and crafts tables. It wasn\u2019t my beloved Our Lady of the Hills, but working for the New Smyrna Beach summer rec program planted me mostly in one spot all afternoon.<\/p>\n

\"Bill<\/a>

Bill Cuthbert<\/p><\/div>\n

In the mornings I laughed at Bill Cuthbert playing the roles of both soldiers and Indians in summer school American History. Only Mr. Cuthbert could morph moldy military minutia into something interesting. He called me Miss Fetterman<\/em> as if I’d arrived at adulthood early and I sat a little taller.<\/p>\n

A purple pipe cleaner sailed past my nose and I spun around to Steve\u2019s smirk. Usually, I looked forward to seeing the kid and whatever hijinks he conjured for Arts and farts<\/em> as he called my session of the rec program. Steve had enough personality for a pack of prepubescent boys. But today he\u2019d ticked me off.<\/p>\n

Yelling at him would stamp us enemies for the summer. If I barked an ultimatum, he\u2019d call my bluff. I sucked in my irritation. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you what, finish yesterday\u2019s Popsicle stick jewelry box for your mom and I\u2019ll let you skip today\u2019s picture frame\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\u00a9<\/a>

\u00a9 O’jay Barbee | Dreamstime Stock Photos<\/p><\/div>\n

Steve rolled his eyes. \u201cLam-o.\u201d<\/p>\n

He had a point. \u201cYou can have the last 20 minutes to work on your yo-yo moves.\u201d<\/p>\n

Steve narrowed his eyes, considering my offer. He looked down the row at a couple of his buddies, Elmer\u2019s Glue up to their first knuckles, as they pasted pipe cleaners to cardboard. \u201cDeal.\u201d<\/p>\n

After dismissal, Steve opened the passenger door of a station wagon. I crutched toward the car where sun glanced off the driver\u2019s window. It wouldn\u2019t hurt to wave at his mom, pave the way if I needed her on my side another day.<\/p>\n

The window rolled down.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Mike’s signed yearbook picture our junior year<\/p><\/div>\n

I stared at Mike Zwicker\u2019s cheeky grin. His ginger-colored hair and riot of freckles had earned him the nickname Pink Panther around New Smyrna Beach High School and on the golf team. His smile held the same swagger Steve\u2019s did, but on a guy my age, it looked hot.<\/p>\n

My step faltered.<\/p>\n

Mike eyed me like I\u2019d just transformed chauffeuring his kid brother into a good thing. \u201cHey, I didn\u2019t know you were working here.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shrugged. \u201cSummer job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

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

\u201cI pity you, having to deal with this dip-weed,\u201d Mike cast a glance toward his brother.<\/p>\n

Steve glowered and slammed the car door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up with the tripod?\u201d Mike gestured at my crutches. I gave him the long version while Steve yelled insults out the window at a friend.<\/p>\n

I watched them drive away. Maybe being stuck at home this summer wouldn\u2019t be so bad.<\/p>\n

Much later, after I gained more than a catechism comprehension of God, I thought how like Him it was to care about a klutzy teenager and her crappy summer prospects. To cushion a broken ankle with a couple of parties. To toss in a cool job, crazy summer school teacher, and cute guy. No matter what I\u2019ve had to hobble through in life\u2014some things far more excruciating than a broken ankle\u2014I still find Him cognizant of the things I care about and unflinchingly kind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t
If you’d like to leave a comment, share something good that softened a hard thing in your life.<\/div><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Related Posts from New Smyrna Beach<\/h3>\n
\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Alexander Shustov<\/p><\/div>\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

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

Breaching Bright Air<\/a><\/p>\n

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

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

Coveting Cheerleader Cool<\/a><\/p>\n

Pot, God, and Going Home<\/a><\/p>\n

A Puce-colored Foot & A Pocket of Possibility<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\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

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

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

I jerked upright out of a sound sleep. My newly broken ankle squawked in complaint. I peered at the sliver of streetlight slitting through the window and stilled my breath. Nothing. Well, nothing but the sound of Ralph sawing sequoia-sized logs in the next room. I wasn\u2019t afraid. No one but an idiot would break […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3202,"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":[284,107,280,283,282,279,194,141,281],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nA Crappy Summer Turns a Corner - 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-crappy-summer-turns-a-corner\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Crappy Summer Turns a Corner - Ann Lee Miller\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I jerked upright out of a sound sleep. 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