It's Sunday afternoon, and East and I are playing mini golf with Chris and Doug. We were not quite sure how this was going to go, given that neither Chris nor Doug has ever played before.
"Here's the deal," East says. "Try to hit the ball so that it rolls into the hole. Everyone has his or her own ball, and they are different colors. Hold onto the club—that's the stick thing. If you hold onto it the whole time we play, everyone gets ice cream."
We are at hole number one. We've been at hole number one for a good thirty minutes or more. New people are just walking on past us without even a question. We are dug in, people; we are dug in.
We add a new rule: if your ball hits anyone in the head, your turn is over.
We continue fighting that hole until East is sweating through his shirt. I've suggested that we move on, but Doug insists on doing it right. Chris has had to go to the bathroom twice, which I appreciate. There's air conditioning inside.
Doug finally makes the hole, and everyone at every single hole cheers. Two guys up on the paddle wheel house start chanting "Dougie, Dougie, Dougie."
It's finally Chris's turn. Chris walks up to the little green mat and places his ball a little to the left of center. One tap and the ball goes in.
East declares everyone a winner, and we go out for ice cream. I try to think of a lesson that could be learned from this. I float the idea of finishing what you start (as in hole number one), or if at first you don't succeed . . . that kind of thing.
"Just eat the ice cream," East says with a sticky kiss.
YOU ARE READING
The Trouble Is
Teen FictionAnnie has a list for everything. At two notebooks a year since kindergarten, she has thousands of lists stored in her perfectly aligned closet. There's List #27: How to Go Unnoticed in Class. And List # 93: What I Want in a Boyfriend. But let's not...
