Golfing with God by Roland Merullo

Author:Roland Merullo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Workman Publishing
Published: 2005-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

The next morning I rose at first light. The storm had passed, leaving only a scattering of palm fronds strewn about the grounds, and small puddles in low spots on the tar parking lot. Before breakfast I stepped out onto the fairway behind our condominium and saw that the course had drained beautifully and was perfectly playable, if still a bit damp.

Alicia had gone out and bought some groceries the day before—I did not ask about money; it was simply there, in my pocket, in my wallet, in the folds of Her leather purse—and we had a light breakfast in the condo without saying much to each other.

In my excitement, my eagerness to play, I’d almost forgotten that I was supposed to be helping God with Her game. So I began working up a practice routine for Her—an hour on the putting green, a little time on the driving range, then a relaxed eighteen holes during which I’d try simply to build Her confidence. It was wonderful to be able to think like a teacher again, and wonderful to feel the anticipation of the golf round building in my old body.

But when we’d finished with our croissants, fruit, and coffee, God gave me the bad news that She wouldn’t be accompanying me after all on that fine morning. “Jann and I are going on a little shopping trip, honey,” She said, in her cute, not-so-smart voice. “You won’t mind if I skip out our date just this once, will you?”

“But You said You wanted to work on Your game. I think I may have figured out what Your problem is and—”

She gave a casual wave of one braceleted arm. “Oh, Hank, honey. There will be plenty of time for golf. I haven’t shopped in so long, and haven’t seen Jann in eons. You understand, don’t you?”

I mumbled something about understanding perfectly, gave Her a chaste kiss on the cheek in farewell, changed into my golfing attire, and strolled off in the direction of the starter’s booth. Men were taking golf bags out of the trunks of cars; women were hitting wedges on the practice range; two young towheaded boys were horsing around with their father on the putting green. Near the starter’s shed, carts were muttering, golfers slipping dollar bills out of their wallets—this was the busy little drama I had lived with for most of my adult life, and it sang a sweet chorus in my innermost ear.

In a moment I had made the acquaintance of the starter at Pawleys Plantation, a genial and hardworking fellow named Greg Stevens. Greg spoke with what I recognized from my Pennsylvania days as a West Virginia accent, and he had the natural hospitality of so many of the people I’d met from that state. In heaven, when I wasn’t spending time with Juanita and my Brit golfing pals, I often sought out the company of former West Virginians. I couldn’t remember ever having played golf there, but I had admired its most famous son, Sam Snead, and, perhaps because of that, I felt an instinctive link to the place.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.