Magcon BoyxBoy

Hole In One

sam
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"Mom, please don't leave me here," I pleaded, sitting in the passenger seat of her 2009 Lexus. "I hate golf."

I didn't have a job, and I wasn't planning on getting one, but that made my mother think I needed to go get exercise.

"You'll learn to love it," she replied. "Ben enjoys it."

"So? We're different people."

"Just," my mom sighed, "please go. At least one lesson."

I thought of asking why my sisters didn't have to play, but I could tell from the look in her eyes that she didn't want to play that game.

"I don't even have clubs," I said softly.

"They lend you some. Now please-" I got out of the car before she could finish.

She drove off as soon as I stepped onto the curb of the club. The letters above the automatic doors read "Pinetree Country Club," which I glanced at when I walked underneath.

I passed by the front desk, heading to the golf shop. It was chilly in the building, but that was normal.

For only the second time in my life, I pulled open the heavy wooden door that led into the golf shop. My leather shoes stepped over the unfamiliar carpet, walking to the desk.

"Hi, how can I help you?" the man behind the desk said.

"Um, I'm looking for Nate, or Nathaniel. Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, I'll go grab him. Hold on a moment." He walked out from behind the desk and to another door, disappearing after it shut.

I waited for a minute or so. Then, the door reopened and out walked a guy not more than two years older than me wearing a long-sleeved, collared, blue shirt and long khaki pants. His shoes matched mine.

"Samuel?" he asked, coming to give me a handshake. "Or is it Sam?"

"Sam," I said. The only person who called me Samuel was my mother when she was furious. "And you're Nate?"

"That's me. Now, do you have clubs?"

"No," I answered, itching the back of my hand.

"Okay, we'll tackle that first. Then we can head out to the range and get started."

He led me back to the room he came out of. There, buckets of orange golf balls from the range and golf bags stuffed with clubs sat. The man from behind the desk was sitting on a wooden bench, polishing his shoes.

Nate measured me up and matched me with a set, grabbing the bag and his bag and hitting a red button. Suddenly, the garage door on my left I hadn't noticed before started rolling up, bringing in the daylight. He ducked underneath it as it still moved, turning right and disappearing. I ran after him, finding Nate loading up a golf cart.

"So have you ever played before?" he asked, strapping in the bags.

"Does mini golf count?" I said, shading my eyes from the sun.