On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community.
I played golf with my friend Nancy last week, and I'm happy to report that my drive was going really well for the first several holes. Despite the orange leaves on the course that made it tricky to spot my orange ball if it was anywhere but in the fairway, I continued to play with it. For whatever reason, I resisted the easier-to-spot white balls.
I'm not sure which hole it was when the Drive Demon struck. I set up, took my practice swing, and focused my eyes on the little Callaway insignia that helped my keep my eye on that ball. I guess I didn't. The ball skimmed off the toe of my driver, right into the creek in front of us. Maybe it went a few feet, a far distance from the soaring 250 yard rocket I'd been envisioning.
"Hit another," Nancy said, words that rarely come out of her mouth.
I did (a white ball this time), and she scooted toward the place on the bank of the creek where the orange ball had entered.
"There it is," she said. "I can get it."
I encouraged her to leave it-- I had plenty of balls in my bag-- but she was already flexing her quads to scale the creek cliff and retrieve the orange Callaway.
"Pass it to me," I said, reaching my hand toward her. "And don't fall into that mud."
Nancy handed me the ball, and, just as she set the ball into my hand, her fingers slipped, and mine failed to close, and the ball... that ball plunked right back into the creek into an even deeper and steeper spot.
Once I was able to stand straight after laughing so hard, I retrieved it. And I played the white ball for the rest of the round.
Sometimes people go to great extremes for small things.
Melanie, I'm with you every step of the way on this post. I lived on a golf course on Hilton Head for many years, and we saw all kinds of antics with people trying to retrieve golf balls from lagoons. To this day, my father's shed has hundreds of egg cartons filled with golf balls - - my brother used to run the golf ball retriever and hope he ended up with golf balls and not alligators, and he made a teenage business of this. I'm so glad you got your orange golf ball back. You really took me down memory lane here with this, and I was able to imagine the scene and feel the laughter with you and your friend. Moments like these make me wish there was a hidden camera somewhere.....
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