James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course) Page 9

  “I’m not going through some damn garbage bucket,” Keith objected.

  Curt chastised him. “You don’t have to talk like that around here.”

  “What do you think I am, some homeless, black shoeshine boy?”

  “Cut it out, Keith,” Justin said.

  “We decided to try to keep things as environmentally friendly around here as we could,” Curt patiently explained. “The aluminum cans go to the recycling center and the plastic bottles go to a different recycling place. The other stuff is garbage that gets thrown out.”

  “It’s not like there is a lot of stuff to go through,” Justin simplified. “Look what is in this pail. There’s one Snickers wrapper, a plastic cracker and cheese wrapper, a Bud Light can, a Diet Coke can, a plastic bottle of water, and a Styrofoam coffee cup.”

  “We’ve spent more time arguing about the work than doing it,” Curt said.

  “I’m not doing it,” Keith complained. “I’ll go along for the ride.”

  “And coast into the finish line I presume,” Curt concluded. “Let’s go Justin. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  Curt proceeded to drive to every tee box. Justin hopped out, emptied the contents of each pail, sifted out the recyclables, and hopped back into the John Deere. He hardly spent more than thirty seconds on each stop while Keith sat in the compact bed and pouted.

  As they pulled up to the end of the job, which ironically was the first tee box, Curt turned to Justin and commented, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “That was nothing. The toughest thing about it was waiting on the golfers to hit a shot. That’s what slowed us down,” Justin remarked.

  “Keith, you said something a while ago that I’d like to warn you about,” Curt started off.

  “What was that?” Keith said.

  “You mentioned that you weren’t some homeless, black shoeshine boy, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “We brought BowTye in here to help out with the odd jobs. Not only that, but he cleans everybody’s shoes. Shines them up, you know,” Curt said softly.

  “That’s his business.”

  “Yeah, but it became our business, too. He was left homeless by the Hurricane Katrina disaster and we took him in.”

  “Yeah, well, you know what happens,” Keith stammered.

  Curt went on. “I just wanted to warn you that BowTye is a homeless, black shoeshine boy, so I would watch what you say around the clubhouse. In a short period of time he’s made a lot of friends around here that like his positive attitude and lively spirit.”

  “Different strokes for different folks.” Keith said borrowing a phrase and not fully realizing what it meant.

  “I saw you wipe your hand off after you shook his hand in there at lunch. Where did you get that from?”

  “My parents told me to stay away from those types and don’t have anything to do with them,” Keith said brazenly.

  “Then you’ve got an attitude problem that is far bigger than I can fix,” Curt cited. “This is only your first day around here, but you better change your tune real quick or we won’t have you stay around very long. Since you didn’t do this job I’m going to dock your pay too.”

  Keith glared defiantly at Curt out of the corner of his eye. He heard and measured every word that Curt had spoken.

  Curt stood his ground. “Come on, Justin. We’ve got a little bit more planned for today.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Curt was hoping that what he said on the first tee had registered with Keith. All in all the day had gone fairly well. Not only was this situation going to give the boys an opportunity to work, but it would help to develop their personalities and social skills. That’s what Curt had discussed with Tina and he felt that this environment provided all of that.

  As he pulled the utility vehicle up to the cart barn he remarked, “No day would be complete if it was all about work. You’ve both done a fine job today, with the exception of the garbage incident, so I think that it’s only fitting that we grab some clubs and go to the driving range. After all, we’re on a golf course. How does that sound?”

  “A lot better than work,” Keith muttered.

  “You’ve been hitting from the left side of the plate in Little League haven’t you?” Curt questioned Justin.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve been smacking the ball,” he answered back.

  “So you want to stay over there for golf, correct?” Justin nodded in agreement. “We’ve got a left handed set around here that you can use. I’ll load a right handed set in for Keith.” Curt continued into the cart barn and emerged with two sets of clubs. He threw them into the back of the utility vehicle and yelled for the boys to hop in.

  League play was in full swing for the summer and some of the nine-holers were straggling around and still hanging out on the practice tee. Curt located a spot over by the side of the range and pulled the vehicle to a stop. “You know, we should feel privileged this afternoon.”

  “How come? What’s so special about it?” Keith grumbled.

  “I don’t know if there is much I can say to get you in a better mood,” Curt started. “But do you remember when we were down in the maintenance shed and I mentioned that maybe we’d get an opportunity to see where Bogey was buried?”

  Justin shook his head up and down. “I remember.”

  “This is why it is a special time. See that mound over there?” Curt pointed to a mound covered in grass that was about eighteen inches higher than the tee. “That is where Bogey is buried. And we’re going to get an opportunity to hit from the very same spot where J Dub practices. I think that this is his favorite place on the whole golf course.”

  “Well whoop-dee-doo,” Keith chimed.

  “You know Keith. You are one smart-mouthed kid. One of these days you’re going to smart off to the wrong guy and get your head smacked pretty good,” Curt said as he tried to hold onto his patience.

  Justin was getting the opportunity to see his friend in a whole different light. “We’ve been given a second chance, Keith. I wish you’d look at things differently.”

  Keith shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t seem like anything was going to appease him for the rest of the day. Curt emptied the range balls onto the tee box. “Why don’t you go over by Bogey’s grave Justin? I’ll have Keith stand to your right. That way you two will have your backs to one another and we can try to get in some good practice.”

  The boys started hitting balls while Curt climbed into the front seat of the John Deere. The simple walk from the range to the driver’s seat tuckered him out. He plopped down and took a huge breath. From his vantage point he could keep a close eye on the boys and give them tips along the way. “It’s probably best to start off with something like an eight-iron or seven-iron,” Curt suggested.

  “Why?” Justin asked.

  “You probably need to practice with a club like that so that you can develop your eye-hand coordination and take steps to groove your swing,” Curt advised.

  “What do you mean by groove a swing?” Justin asked.

  “What you’d eventually like to do after years and years of practice is to develop the same swing for every club in the bag,” Curt proposed as he started to preach the nuances of the game. “After you get comfortable out here, then we can teach you the chip shot and sand shot as well as the pitch and run. If you want to play the game when you get older, then you’ll have to learn the proper way to hit the various shots.”

  Curt sat back and watched as Justin attempted to hit his eight-iron. He really didn’t want to get into the basics of the grip and stance and ball position on this initial trip to the range. He just wanted the boys to get a feel for the motion of the swing. The white sphere wasn’t moving and Curt wanted to see if they would get frustrated and struggle with their ability to hit the ball.

  Justin appeared to be a ‘natural’ hitting the golf ball. He struggled at times, but it was his first time out in quite a while. When he was four years old Curt
had gotten him a plastic club and ball and let him hit it around Tina’s yard, however, he had become interested in other things growing up and had migrated away from the golf course. Maybe now he’ll have a whole new appreciation for the game, Curt thought.

  “Keith, Keith, Keith. Whoa, whoa. Slow down!” Curt shouted. Keith was trying to hit the balls as fast as he could. The quicker and harder that he swung the more upright his swing became. He wasn’t releasing his left side through the ball. If he wasn’t missing the ball and taking a divot, then he was decelerating and shanking the ball. “Haven’t you ever hit a golf ball before?”

  “No, this is my first time,” Keith answered.

  “Alright. I’ll have to work with you some and show you the basics. Otherwise you’ll do nothing but frustrate yourself and then you’ll want to quit the game altogether.”

  Keith was already feeling discouraged and the aggravation was oozing out of his pores. “Maybe I’m not meant for this sport,” he proposed. “I probably should take up wrestling or boxing or something like that.”

  “You can do what you want, but this summer you ought to take advantage of these surroundings. You may never get a chance like this again to learn how to play,” Curt advised. “Just take it slow and don’t try to kill it. Golf is a game of opposites.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Keith asked.

  “It seems like the easier you swing the farther it goes. When you swing hard, sometimes it doesn’t go anywhere. You want to aim left to make it go right and you want to aim right to make it go left. But those are principles that we can save for later on,” Curt recommended.

  “Hey Curt, did you see that one?” Justin hollered.

  “No, I missed it. What happened? Did you hit a good one?” Curt smiled.

  Justin shook his head up and down. “Ripped it,” he boasted.

  Curt couldn’t help but chuckle. “Stay with it and do it again. Remember that perfect practice makes for perfect shots.” He could see that Justin was bearing down and making an effort to do the best that he could. “Say, you know what, something just occurred to me.” Curt thought out loud.

  “What’s that?” Justin asked.

  “We’ve had the same theme all day long and maybe we should apply it to what we’re doing right now,” Curt said.

  “You mean the finish line?” Justin guessed.

  “Yeah, the finish line,” Curt repeated. “Everything has a beginning and an end. Even the golf swing does. At the beginning you start real slow, and at the end you finish strong. That should be our goal guys. And we should just take one swing at a time and try to reach the finish line on each and every one of them.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Justin commented as he rolled a ball into place and readied himself for another swing.

  “Maybe that’s a concept that we can use in everything that we do,” Curt continued.

  “How so?” Justin asked.

  “Let’s stop and think about it, Justin,” Curt said deep in thought. “Everything has a beginning and an end. Let’s apply it to golf. The swing has a beginning and an end. So we can reach the finish line with it. Every hole on the golf course has a beginning and an end. That would be the tee box and the cup. So we can reach the finish line with each hole.”

  “And the golf course has a beginning and an end. That would be the first tee box and the eighteenth hole. So we can reach the finish line there too,” Justin concluded as he bought into the theory.

  “You guys are way too far out for me,” Keith stammered.

  “But to complete the task at hand we have to reach the end of it. That’s our finish line,” Curt speculated.

  “It makes sense to me,” Justin agreed. “You can’t finish something until you reach the end.”

  “I realize that the idea is sort of wild, but maybe that will help you two on the golf course sometime or for that matter maybe somewhere in your life,” Curt lectured. “Nothing is complete until you reach the finish line.”

  What Curt had to say was food for thought for the boys. They stopped hitting balls for a second and took a minute to absorb what was said. Keith reached out with his club and scooted a few balls toward him and began swinging as slowly as he could. Justin took his time to get set up properly before he started practicing again. Together the boys smacked balls until it was time to go home for the day.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tina loved cooking for her family. The weather had become ideal as May turned to June in the St. Louis area. That made it ideal for Tina to fire up the gas barbeque grill on the rear deck of her home. The legendary horrid humidity in St. Louis only hovered briefly over the area in June before bearing down seriously during the summer months, so the weather remained pleasant during the early evening hours. She slapped a few hamburgers on the grill as well as a couple of hot dogs and chicken breasts. After lowering the hood she went into her bedroom to change out of her work clothes, thankful that the school year was coming to a close and her school term duties were ceasing.

  Ms. Ventimiglia, as her students called her, had maintained her glorious figure well into middle age. She made it a practice to jog a few miles every day and bike twice as many. She had gone to a state college, gotten her elementary school teaching credentials, and settled into the comfort zone called Middle America. When she eased into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and slipped a tank top over her augmented breasts, it was as if even the birds and the bees in the back yard took notice. Two hours in the sun would magnify her olive complexion and intensify the color of her blue eyes. Whether she wore her hair tied up on top of her head or dangling at shoulder length was insignificant. No one seemed to focus on that attribute anymore.

  “Mom, I’m home!” Justin yelled as he barged through the front door.

  “How did it go?” Tina shouted from her bathroom. “Hold on a second. I’ll be right there.” She finished applying the last touch-up brush of makeup. “Was it exciting?” she asked as she exited her room and walked down the hall.

  “Oh, Mom, we had so much fun today,” Justin said.

  “Well I hope that Curt made you work a little.”

  “He did, Mom. Curt is so cool. We worked a little and then took breaks. He made sure that we didn’t get burned out right off the start,” Justin gushed. He went over and hugged his mom. “This is going to be the neatest summer job any kid could ever hope to have.”

  “So tell me what you did,” Tina said wanting to hear more.

  “Right after you dropped us off we pulled the carts out of the barn,” Justin started.

  “He let you drive a golf cart!” Tina screamed. “You’re too young for that!”

  “Mom, we only drove them about twenty yards or something like that.”

  “He shouldn’t have let you do that. I’m going to have a talk with him,” Tina frowned.

  Justin rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  “I hope that the work got harder than that,” Tina commented.

  “It did later on, but after we parked the carts Curt took us out to the irrigation lake and showed us how he thought we should start each day,” Justin continued.

  “You didn’t go swimming did you?” Tina questioned.

  “ . . . Mom!” Justin whined. “No, we didn’t go swimming.” He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’m thirsty,” he said taking a healthy swig.

  “I can see,” Tina noticed. She went to the sink and started husking several ears of corn. “So tell me what you did.”

  “We ran several laps around the lake,” Justin said.

  “ . . . At six-thirty in the morning!” Tina shrieked.

  “Yeah, it might have even been before that,” Justin observed.

  “For Pete’s sake,” Tina said as she shook her head.

  “He said that being in shape would help us through the work day or something like that,” Justin went on.

  “Did he run with you?”

  “He tried to, Mom,” Justin replied, “but he could only go a lit
tle way before he had to stop. He said that he was really getting out of shape.”

  “I hope that he didn’t let you out of his sight,” Tina fretted.

  “No. Curt pointed to this monster piece of grass on the other side of the lake and told us that it was the finish line and that we were free to run around the lake as much as we wanted. So Keith and I ran around the lake four times I think,” Justin said proudly.

  “And I suppose you were all hot and sweaty by that time,” Tina remarked over her shoulder. She headed for the deck to check on the meat. Justin was on her heels.

  “But that was okay because he let us take a shower after that,” Justin reported.

  “Quick! Give me your bottle of water!” Tina screeched as the flames shot high up from the grill the minute she opened the hood. After dousing the fire, she carried on. “That was nice of him to let you take a shower.”

  “Yeah, Keith and I thought so too. We even had our own lockers,” Justin clamored.

  “Where is everybody!” a voice yelled from the kitchen.

  “We’re out here,” Tina shouted back. Justin frowned at his mom.

  Dave had just returned from his afternoon workout. He was a perfectionist and religiously lifted weights at the local gym. “I thought I smelled something the minute I pulled in the driveway,” he said as he poked his head out the door.

  He began to lift heavy objects when he was a teenager on the South Side. The kids in the neighborhood were too poor to join a health club so several of them stole sewer lids off of the storm water drainage systems. With some ingenuity they amassed a wide variety of lids covering all different sizes. With a borrowed power drill they drilled holes in the center of the lids, obtained a steel rod, and assembled a makeshift workout room in the garage of one of the kids’ parents. It was during those years that Dave Galati perfected his massive upper body via repetitions on the bench press.