THE GOLFER by John Garner It was the first warm day of the year. The gritty snow patches had finally melted from the fairways and new grass shot up, soft and springy. Sure, other days had been just as warm, only to be followed by a storm, another warm, a storm, warm, storm. But this was the day when he could tell all the days would be warm, warmer, warmer, stretching into the summer. He felt the entire earth take a deep breath and blow it across his cheeks in a gentle breeze. Each year it came the same and each year he knew it better the earthy smell of soft grass shoots stretching toward the sun, the thick sweetness of Russian Olives, gardeners slicing the damp earth with rusty shovels, murmuring mowers, stuffing his heavy woolen socks in the bottom dresser drawer, going barefoot. The sky was open wide, letting the lonesome sunshine pour in Nicklause 3:4&5 And it came to pass that there were golfers upon the land, walking uprightly on fairways of grass. And they multiplied upon the land, forming themselves in foursomes and playing often. He sat on the grass behind the first tee, feeling invisible insects groping their way about his bare legs and back. He wasn't sure when he had become a golfer. It seemed as though it was something that had always been, and always would be. Where there was golf, he was, and where he was, there was golf. Slowly, as slowly as spring had come, his eyelids slipped closed, letting the sunshine rest on them. He thought of last summer Smitty bought a jeep and they took the top off. The clutch was bad, the brakes were nearly gone, and the engine bellowed like a beast. But the radio was loud, loud enough to hear above the engine and the tires would lay rubber with a little coaxing. Everyday they were off, up the canyon, sneaking on the private country club golfing, swimming, and watching girls around the pool. "Just act like you're one of the members. They won't know! And if they do, what could they do to us? Tell us to leave." Smitty grinned. "Imagine us playing the country club!" he said. Smitty erupted into a half-laugh, half-scream like a crazed cockatoo. The pistons thundered beneath the hood and he could hear the tires tear at the hot asphalt as they slid around the first curve in the canyon. The wind from the open jeep sprawled their hair it was too long. He always liked riding through the canyon. Shadows from the cottonwoods fluttered across the hood like giant sunlit butterflies. In the canyon everything flows the breeze teasing the cottonwoods, the river skipping and sloshing among the rocks, even the cars on the narrow road. Smitty drove too fast. That was the day he met Sandy. They had finished golfing for the day and decided to check out the pool. He found a seat in the sun to watch the girls, while Smitty went for drinks. A blonde in a bright blue bikini lay directly in front of him. He had picked a good seat. She lay on a beach towel, hands at her sides, her long slender body tenderly roasting in the sparkling sunlight. Her dark soft tan came right to the edges of the blue bikini, he bit his lip, maybe further. He scooted forward on his chair, eyes fixed on the line of skin that disappeared beneath blue. She looked up. "A er I just a Hi!" She laughed and he could tell that she was rich, because her laugh tinkled like gold coins. "Hi," she said. He laughed for lack of words, conscious of the deep flat notes in his throat. They talked for a long time, mostly about nothing, including almost everything. She said he was funny. He asked if he could call her. She said okay. "What's your number?" "136-2436" "One, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty six. Got it." On the way back Smitty stopped by the dam that held back the river. The reservoir was long and thin, held in place by the rocky cliffs around the edges. "How far do ya think it is to the other side?" Smitty asked. "Oh, I don't know. Further than I could swim." Smitty reached into the jeep pulling a driver from his golf bag. "Got a tee?" Digging his fingers into the pockets of his cut-offs, he found a white wooden tee. He tossed it to Smitty, who punched it into the dirt near the cliff and balanced the ball on top. It was an old one, barely round, bruised, and cut with toothless smiles. Smitty's hands moved forward like a trigger, setting his body in motion. First coiling back, back, stretching his arms and bending his shoulders, coiling and storing energy like a catapult. For a split second the club was a silhouette against the sky. Something cut the catapult's rope. Knees, legs, hips, shoulders, arms, hands, and the club whipped downward as one. But the club came last, cracking the ball into the naked air above the water. The white sphere grew smaller, smaller an aspirin against the azure sky. They watched it, floating floating pausing in mid-air, and falling falling. It fell in a skiff of dust on the other side. That was that and they left. The summer air died, leaving only the emptiness of autumn. Winter waited in the wings He stood there a long time, staring at the river and the jeep. It lay on its top hood crumpled wheels sticking up; the stubby legs of a dead beast. The river sloshed around the metal intruder. The breeze dropped a steady yellow rain from the cottonwoods. The cars passed by passed by on the narrow road. The canyon was always flowing flowing and he wished for once it would stop. His eyes filled with a blur that gushed down his cheeks into the open neck of his shirt. Sandy was somewhere behind him. He didn't look, but he could see her there, watching him, the wind playing at her 14 hair. He plucked up a handful of pebbles. Slowly, rythmically, he tossed them into the water. A long shiny object lay submerged beneath the ripples part of the jeep, or was it? He waded out a ways. The icy water seeped through his shoes and socks. He pulled the object from the river. Tiny water beads like tears formed along the rubber grip, quickly slid downt he shaft, and off the clubhead, vanishing into the flowing current. He swung the club back slowly, and forward slowly chopping a splash of water into the air. It fell back in, swallowed by the river. Again he chopped the water. It splashed his face this time, mixing with his tears. He chopped again and splashed, chopped and splashed, chopped, splashed, chashed, splopped. "Was that Smitty's club?" her voice cut from behind. He was drenched. Listening to the constant flowing flowing, he waited. "Yea." "Your drenched." They walked up the embankment to the road. He took the club with him The cemetary had grass, neatly cut, and trees like the golf course. The grass was old and dry, waiting for the snow to smother it. Why don't they bury golfers on the golf course? He went to the golf course often during the winter months to talk. Sandy went with him, and asked if it answered him. He didn't know and said it didn't have to. Sandy said she needed to talk to him. He knew why, because he'd seen the ring she had tried to hide all night. It was gold and crowned with the biggest diamond he'd ever seen. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you" she began, but he was far away. He wished it was warm San Diego so he could golf. "so I guess we'll just be friends." His throat lumped. "I know you'd like him. He lives in California. He plays golf too. I don't know what to say." He didn't either, so they sat. She looked at the ring, he at the golf course, city lights, and stars. "So, just friends. Okay?" How could she say just just friends friends were everything. The familiar blur filled his eyes. The stars dripped into the city lights onto the golf course, melting into darkness. He shut his eyes and held them tight. God it's cold out. Damnit! He golfed in the snow. His toes froze and he slipped down on the ice. Hell! He was aware of the sunlight playing on his eyelids. He looked, lids still closed, at the bright red glow. He stood, stuck a tee in the grass, the ball on top. His bare feet matted the grass beneath them. The well grooved motion began coiling back, back coiling a split second pause. Knees, legs, hips, arms, shoulders, hands, and finally the club cracked the ball into flight. He watched it floating floating falling. It fell softly onto the grassy fairway. VOICES, THREE by Leisa Stott I Ain't death I fear 'r pain, ya know? It's jus' Wearin' out Like some old tire Hearin' aids an' glasses an' false teeth, bein' alone Hey, I need my crowd, My friends, ya know? I'll run a coupla races Then pull me, OK? I mean, I wanta be prime When I peel out. II Four sides and top and bottom It's a little small, but comfortable, Once job, once home, once family I've been winding those keys all my life. Let me sit awhile now, Same four sides and top and bottom Same tinkling old song I'm content Lord, Just let me stay Till I wind down. III I built that swing Sir, When I was nine. Been building ever since, House, stores, gas stations, But I'm proudest of that swing. Have you noticed Sir, When a child leaves How it moves by itself? Swinging slower And slower Just never seems to stop. You can watch it forever, But still there's that hint of motion Still that whisper Still 15