We Are Still Married by Garrison Keillor

Author:Garrison Keillor
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2011-11-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chet had told me that he feels a little guilty when he plays well, knowing he’s probably playing too much golf and not enough guitar. “The way I’m playing today, though, I guess I must be a pretty good guitar player,” he said. Hiking down the fairway in the sunshine, he looked loose and tan and happy. Archie cruised by in his white cart, trailing a ribbon of fragrant cigar smoke, and when we all got to Archie’s ball Chet and Billy Edd had put their heads together and were singing a song:

Son-a-bitch, I’m tired of living this way,

Gawdamighty damn.

“Let me take the baritone, Chouster,” said Archie, and the three of them sang it. It sounded so good they sang it again. And once more. Archie pulled out a 4-iron. He walked his dog a few feet. “Don’t you ever play by our rules with somebody else,” he told me, grinning. “You might get shot.” That reminded Billy Edd of a story about a hillbilly golfer who walked onto a green and picked up all the dimes. “I remember the first time I ever went on tour, I was with another musician and I picked up the tip he left on the table,” Chet said. “I’d never seen anybody leave a tip before. I don’t know that I’d ever been in a restaurant before.”

Archie said, “You’ve heard that one about Roy Acuff when he was touring with the Smoky Mountain Boys—the one where they were supposed to stop and have supper at the lady’s house?”

I had never stood around in the middle of the fairway listening to jokes before. I kept glancing back at the tee, expecting to see angry golfers waving clubs at us, but nobody appeared. We were all by ourselves, four men standing in the hot sun and laughing. Eventually, Archie shot his second shot, and then Billy Edd. My arms were turning red and my neck, too. I rubbed on some lotion that made me smell like a ripe peach. I stood over my ball, hitched up to swing, and smelled Archie’s cigar. I laughed on the backswing, my knees caved in a fraction, and I lifted a chunk of sod like a flying toupee and lofted a high fly ball that landed just short of the pin. It wasn’t the play that Uncle Don’s grounder was, but if you had seen it you would have clapped. I felt awfully lucky. Even a blind dog gets a little meat from the smokehouse now and then, as someone said later, I forget who.

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.