{"id":4974,"date":"2017-04-21T08:52:00","date_gmt":"2017-04-21T15:52:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/?p=4974"},"modified":"2017-04-21T08:52:00","modified_gmt":"2017-04-21T15:52:00","slug":"best-boyfriend-new-smyrna-beach","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2017\/04\/best-boyfriend-new-smyrna-beach\/","title":{"rendered":"Best Boyfriend in New Smyrna Beach"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Mike Zwicker<\/p><\/div>\n

Mike Zwicker, covered in golf-course grime from his summer job, stood under the eaves of the New Smyrna Beach rec center chatting with me, making no move to commandeer his ornery little brother, Steve, into the car.<\/p>\n

Warm rain bucketed down beside us, misting my skin, but I hardly noticed. Instead, I balanced on one foot, my arms draped over my crutches, basking in Mike\u2019s grin.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, why haven\u2019t you called me to go out?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d My brain raced back through our junior year searching for something that wasn\u2019t there. \u201cYou\u2019re crazy. You never asked me to call you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"

Mike working on his golf swing<\/p><\/div>\n

Still grinning, he said, \u201cDoesn\u2019t matter. You wouldn\u2019t go out with me anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBet me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The next day I sent a note home for Mike with his brother: 88232 We\u2019ll see. Think you\u2019re gonna win, huh?<\/em> Steve nearly burst a blood vessel in his 12-year-old brain trying to break the \u201csecret code.\u201d Though he finally figured the numbers were a phone number, that was as far as he got.<\/p>\n

Saturday night I stood on one foot in line for forty-five minutes that felt like five at the Bellaire Plaza movie theatre beside Mike, bantering and laughing at his golf course tales. In less than an hour I went from intrigued to mad crush. We saw each other nearly every day for the next month while he easily bested my junior high boyfriend in besotted-ness and driving something besides a bike.<\/p>\n

When one of the school jocks called my house a shack, Mike\u2014more bone than muscle\u2014socked the guy in the face!<\/p>\n

In July, Dr. Tessler sliced open my ankle and extracted last summer\u2019s pin at Fish Memorial Hospital.<\/p>\n

Mike sat in the waiting room during the operation with Mom on his lunch break and came back after work.<\/p>\n

Our friend, Debbie George\u2019s father\u2014whom Mike was close to\u2014had a serious heart attack the same day. Mike stayed the night at the hospital with the George family and went straight to work in the morning. The guy hid a golden heart under his crooked grin.<\/p>\n

He went to mass every Sunday. He dreamed of joining the police force. He came along on my family\u2019s picnic to Blue Springs. He took me home to meet his folks.<\/p>\n

Mike was the only guy Mom ever invited to dinner. My stepfather\u2014whose opinions formed the white noise of my life\u2014said Mike wasn\u2019t as good looking as another guy I\u2019d gone out with. But if he made me happy and spent his money on me, he couldn\u2019t be all bad. Sometimes I wondered if my family liked him more than I did.<\/p>\n

Mike didn\u2019t drink, smoke weed, in fact do anything on Jackie Herold\u2019s list of don\u2019ts. Her approval arrived in a letter from Baltimore where she was spending the summer visiting her father and his side of the family.<\/p>\n

\"\"

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

As the summer wound down, despite Mike\u2019s perfect boyfriend status, my interest flagged. I was not, would never be the perfect girlfriend for him. August Seventh was the day I got my cast off, the day I cast off Mike.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh man, I\u2019ve been looking forward to taking you to Disney World all summer. Just go with me\u2014no strings.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt so rotten for not returning his feelings that I agreed.<\/p>\n

Saturday morning dawned muggy and bright. Inside my head, thunder caps butted each other\u2014Catholic guilt over hurting Mike rammed into two-year-old me, stomping my foot and whining, \u201cBut I don\u2019t like him anymore!\u201d We\u2019d gone out for six weeks\u2014which computed to six years in the dog-years of my daddy-damaged heart. Wasn\u2019t that enough?<\/p>\n

\"\"

Tom.Bricker<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

An hour later\u2014walking, after hobbling on crutches all summer\u2014I followed Mike through the turnstiles as the World woke. Mickey smiled, his face a masterpiece of flowers fanned out in front of us. A tiny quiver of anticipation flashed through the kid in me before it smacked into the dead-end of us.<\/p>\n

We headed for Space Mountain<\/em>. I hated roller coasters, but this was one small thing I could do for Mike. We whisked through the short line onto the ride.<\/p>\n

Mike ushered me to the seat like a princess\u2014like he always did. Why couldn\u2019t I suck it up and like this guy? I\u2019d crazy liked him Week 1, enjoyed him a lot Week 2, until our ball of twine unwound to an empty cardboard core I had to throw away. But Mike didn\u2019t deserve to be thrown away.<\/p>\n

Guilt and goading to be done with today glanced off the insides of my skull as I gritted my teeth and sealed my eyes shut.<\/p>\n

We twirled and dropped and spiraled into black oblivion.<\/p>\n

An eternity later, the world stopped. Saturday morning white blinded my pupils. Ragged lightning bolts of pain ricocheted between my temples.<\/p>\n

My head throbbed through the rest of Tommorrowland and the day stretched out like an odyssey I should never have signed up for. I wanted to go home. Now. Not after ghosts apparitioned into our car in the Haunted Mansion. Not after we climbed into the magic of the Swiss Family Robison\u2019s Treehouse. I didn\u2019t want to sit in the dark listening to the Country Bears Jamboree while Mike pined to hold my hand and I pined for solitude.<\/p>\n

\"\"

mel.bell<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

I glanced at the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea<\/em> submarine, remembering the day I\u2019d looked up and realized I was only a few feet under water\u2014not so different from the disillusion I felt the day I calculated the depth of my relationship with Mike.<\/p>\n

We stood outside It\u2019s a Small World<\/em> and the snow cone syrup of the music swirled around my pounding head.<\/p>\n

Mike looked at me, defeat etched on his face. \u201cYou want me to take you home?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded, sick that he\u2019d wasted so much money on me, and a piece of his heart.<\/p>\n

The day before I found out I\u2019d be teaching second grade Catechism at Sacred Heart Church during my senior year. I\u2019d phoned the rectory to volunteer one day last semester\u2014launching myself at the church to find my purpose\u2014then forgot about it. Now, I hoped the role would pull double duty and pay my penance for ditching Mike.<\/p>\n

We saw each other at school. He was warm, friendly, unfailingly kind. The nice guy who finished last. Even my husband asked, \u201cWhy\u2019d you break up with him? He was a great boyfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t point out the obvious conclusion to his statement.<\/p>\n

\"\"

Photo by Kelley Bozarth<\/p><\/div>\n

I saw Mike last at the Class of \u201876\u2019s ten-year reunion. He was married and his ginger hair had gone white to match his character. I didn\u2019t have the guts to ask, but I hoped his wife had fallen in love with his cheeky grin and the heart inside. He deserved no less.<\/p>\n

After Mike, I returned to traipsing after cocky guys who splattered sparks like Dad did. I was used to picking embers out of seared flesh. In a warped way, the sting felt right.<\/p>\n

I still shake my head, mystified, at how my heart found home in Jim\u2014another guy of character and kindness, confident without being cocky. His sparks ignite rather than singe and I am safe.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mike Zwicker, covered in golf-course grime from his summer job, stood under the eaves of the New Smyrna Beach rec center chatting with me, making no move to commandeer his ornery little brother, Steve, into the car. Warm rain bucketed down beside us, misting my skin, but I hardly noticed. Instead, I balanced on one […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3273,"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":[2,66,322],"tags":[640,294,298,297,292,296,641,281],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nBest Boyfriend in New Smyrna Beach - 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\/2017\/04\/best-boyfriend-new-smyrna-beach\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Best Boyfriend in New Smyrna Beach - Ann Lee Miller\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Mike Zwicker, covered in golf-course grime from his summer job, stood under the eaves of the New Smyrna Beach rec center chatting with me, making no move to commandeer his ornery little brother, Steve, into the car. 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