Chapter 6
Hittin' n' Chasin'…
THEN
(Leith)
Smoke. Break.
My two favorite damn words in the English dictionary.
I wiped the sweat off my brow and looked across the rolling hills of the perfectly landscaped golf course. This was my office. It was mostly quiet which gave me a lot of time to fuck around in my own mind. Which was both good and bad.
I had a job interview for a teaching gig which would finally get me off this damn golf course and into a classroom.
Did I belong there?
Who knew.
Did I even want to be there?
Maybe.
It all still felt way up in the air.
The days of writing the perfect short story or the most beautiful visual poem in the history of mankind seemed to be long gone. Hell, I hadn't even bothered to submit something new to a publication in almost a year. My focus had been on work. How about that? Actually giving a damn about a job.
There is something to be said about taking care of the golf course even though I had never golfed once in my life. It was just nice to be outside and enjoy the weather when it was nice. And when the weather was shit, there was plenty to do inside to keep time moving along.
I took the maintenance cart all the way to the edge of the tree line. It was at a little bit of a height that overlooked the rest of the golf course and the clubhouse. For how nice the weather was the golf course was quiet.
I backed the cart into a spot where I wouldn't be seen.
Bob showed me the spot. He had been the grumpiest man I had ever met. He called golf hittin' the ball n' chasin' it . I couldn't argue with him but a job was a job.
He died of a stroke last winter.
I cursed him out the following week when all of his responsibilities were given to me.
You old bastard. You kicked on purpose. So you could relax. And now I'm left ordering people around.
I knew Bob would get a kick out of it.
But in a way having this new role really made me want something else.
It was one thing to just be there and work. Collect a check. Piss it away on a cheap life. Rinse and repeat.
But the second people started coming to me because it was my job to tell them what to do… my mindset changed.
I didn't like it.
At all.
And one night while digging through the only closet in the shit apartment I called home, I knocked over a box that had some old stories and ideas. I got drunk, read a bunch, and then decided I wanted to be a teacher. A high school teacher. The kind where I could just mess around, find fun ways to teach the kids, and then meet some others in my field.
The last thing I thought would happen would be a third grade teaching position opening up for me to interview for. I didn't look the part. At all. I didn't even look the part to work on the golf course. Hell, if I walked through the clubhouse in my hoodie and jeans and head down, you'd swear I was going to start robbing people.
I lit up a cigarette and put my feet up on the steering wheel of the cart and just took it all in.
Life would wiggle and look like something else, like it always did.
I looked like a mountain man at the moment, but nothing a haircut and a shave wouldn't fix. I couldn't control my size but a nice suit and firm handshake would do the trick too. And maybe if I got lucky, I'd meet whoever and they would offer a position other than third grade.
If it took me away from this damn golf course, then it was worth it.
My phone started to ding in the cup holder where I once had an ice packed lemonade. The last few sips weren't worth it because they tasted like bitter water.
When I saw the screen from my distance, I shook my head.
Then my right hand shot out and I grabbed the phone.
The screen…
Beth.
"What the…"
I opened the text message.
My mind was already scratching back dates to find the last time we talked. In person. On the phone. Through a text message.
And believe me, it wasn't easy to scratch away days. You needed a calendar to tear away months. Years even.
I read the message and shut my eyes.
Her father was dead and she wanted me to come to the funeral.
You didn't mess with Tim.
That was well known around town.
He didn't give a shit about the law or rules. He worked in his own way. Almost like some kind of outlaw cop. And when he got really pissed off, he'd walk with this swagger, his thumbs hooked into his belt, looking like a guy in a cowboy movie ready for a shootout.
That man hated me in a way that I could laugh about. He never gave me the time of day. In reality that was the biggest sign that Beth had feelings for me. Because everyone knew she snuck out of her house whenever she wanted. And everyone knew she would do anything with anyone. Whatever she felt like doing, the world was hers to steal. There was nobody like her. Ever. The craziest girl I ever met. The girl who had a lot of broken hearts following her like empty tin cans attached to a car that read JUST MARRIED . Except with Beth the window would have read JUST DUMPED .
But never me.
There was no dumping .
There wasn't even any going out. Or going steady .
I think that pissed Tim off too. Because he didn't know my intentions. Or his daughter's.
Now the guy was dead.
And of course Beth would text me.
And of course it was the day of the funeral.
Meaning she had gone through getting the news, facing the news, making the arrangements and all that. That was how she did things. Staying strong. Staying tough. Never faltering for a second. But the moment it felt too heavy, she knew what she could do to get help. Without judgement too.
I drove the cart as fast as it could go back to the clubhouse and found Larry, the owner of the golf course. He was in a fancy polo shirt, hair slicked back, looking like a cheap car salesman, ready to mingle with anyone with a few bucks in their pocket. I told him there was an unexpected death in my family and I had to go.
I replied to her text that I was coming.
I never heard back from her.
Before I could really think about Beth for more than three seconds, I was showered and putting on the only suit I had. The same one I planned on wearing for my interview.
I didn't need any directions.
I knew where this was happening.
Her father only ever went to one little church, even though he wasn't a religious person.
I saw the large collection of vehicles. Regular cars and whatnot. And then the line of police vehicles. There were a lot of people there too.
I parked a little bit away and took a long walk with my hands in my pockets, all the way to the cemetery.
I kept my distance one more time as the funeral continued.
The mood was somber, as expected. It sort of surprised me that Tim would have so many people at his funeral. Then again, it just proved that pushing the boundaries sometimes got you respect. So maybe in a way he respected me. For the way I felt about his daughter. No matter how things turned out, everyone knew that we loved the hell out of each other. It was like two storms meeting and turning into something wild. Kind of like the way they explained how bad thunderstorms and tornados and other natural disasters formed. That's what we were. That's what we always were.
I stood there and spotted Beth.
In a black dress.
I didn't intend to look at her the way I did, but it was always my first reaction to her. Everything about her was always perfectly curved. Even when those curves changed with her age, it was as though they were tailoring themselves for my touch. My desires. My needs. My wildest wants.
God, she's driving me fucking crazy at her own father's funeral.
Her arms were exposed. She had some kind of black scarf or shawl around her shoulders that slowly slid down, exposing more skin. Those shoulders were stained with kisses from my lips. They were all invisible though. But the miles I traveled there… and everywhere else…
I wanted to touch her.
I wanted to hug her.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry about her father.
But I knew if I did that, we'd both end up laughing.
Because I hated her father. Just the same that he hated me.
And Beth was always in between, understanding both of us.
She was perfect.
I slid my right foot maybe two damn inches when her head slowly turned.
The first time I met her, my adolescent voice screamed that I was in love with a girl with black eyes. The darkest eyes. The evilest eyes. The prettiest eyes.
Those same eyes stared right at me.
We didn't need to say a word to say anything to each other.
She was ready to explode. I could read it all over her face. This entire thing was too much. The people. The scene. The fact that her father was actually gone for good. Getting hit on all sides all at once. And if it got built enough, Beth would freak out. There were two sides to her crazy, both of which I loved, but one more serious than the other.
I moved my right hand, wanting to wave.
I saw her chin quiver.
That's when someone slid their arm around her and pulled her close.
I had been so locked on Beth and that dress and her shoulders and her eyes and her pain that I forgot about Joel.
Fucking Joel.
The most cliché version of a rebound I ever saw in my life. I knew why she ran to him. I didn't think she'd stay with him though. I didn't think I'd see him standing next to her at her father's funeral. And I didn't think I'd see her put her head against his arm.
I was taken back for a second or two.
If she was here and with Joel and they looked like this, then why the hell text me? Why tell me she wanted me there?
Just to fuck with me?
To show me she was happy?
Or was it so I could get one last laugh at her father's expense?
He was gone. I was alive.
I had no idea what the hell this was.
And as I watched Joel's hand travel along places that were clearly meant for me, I curled my fists up tight.
Last thing I needed to do was pick a fight at a funeral.
Because raging through my heart I felt like knocking Joel in the jaw and asking Beth to marry me.
But that would have been crazy.
That would have been us.
But that was no longer us.
Beth moved to get Joel's hand away from her.
Her fingers interlocked with his.
That was almost worse than him touching her.
I started to walk away.
Part of me said to wait. To get a chance to talk to her. To clear the air a little.
I screamed in my mind to look back in case she was looking back.
Because all it took was one look from her eyes and my eyes to make everything feel right again.
The voice was the adolescent voice. The young boy who never felt the feelings he did when he saw the girl with the dark and beautiful eyes. The black hair. The wild grin on her pretty face.
I didn't look back.
I looked forward.
Even still, I just wanted her to know how sorry I was for what happened between us.