viloletta divot

the club face dug deep into the fairway when he swung. just a practice swing, but still a large swath of grass flew up and away. a patch of exposed earth remained like a fresh wound even after the second swing connected with the ball. like a rocketship, the tiny white ball exploded in an exponential curve out of sight and then reappeared some three hundred yards away. her eyes were trained to follow the path and she waited expectantly for it to land. far away from where they stood, it made an inaudible thump on the green, rolling closer to the hole than either of them imagined it would. "hmmm, nice shot there." the very feel of grass under her feet reminded her of twenty five years prior. dressed in black slacks and a yellow collared shirt, she strode to the tee. every male eye followed her steps, wondering if they might see something different today. it was a crisp afternoon, about 60 degrees and lightly breezy. the club felt light in her hand and she held the ball in her hand with the tee protruding betewwen her gloved fingers. head down, eye on the ball, easy swing, let the club do the work. her grandmother's voice melded with her father's in her head. the group behind held their breath like little children on christmas.

as if in slow motion, her left arm stiffened and drove downward in an arch. her grip was comprised of two hands intermeshed perfectly at the pinkies. the titleist number 3 swam into the sky, flying like a crescendo until it took a downward toll. thump. it landed not far from the green and the spectators exploded in appreciation. not bad, even for a woman. a smile graced her lips as she deftly grabbed the broken remnants of her tee. i guess i still got it, she thought. in a swift motion she returned the club to her bag and held the top of the golfcart, swinging into the seat. it had been a few years since she'd played, and yet it came flying back. the cart lurched and they took off for the green. seconds later, nine iron in hand, she recounted the taste of reward. flashing back to age nine, she grasped the nine iron and looked around at the semi circle of students surrounding her. with an inward knowingness, her joints staid loose and she choked up on the club. the motion was swift, with a short backswing and a quick follow through. it felt almost like a hatchet, she thought. the ball sailed dead on toward it's target, knocking over the tin can in the center. astonished, the pro came over and congratulated her. the wooden spoon was shaped like a spade and she dug into the tiny cup of strawberry and vanilla swirled icecream. the willows on the course swayed in the lakewinds, and she felt so proud. approaching the green, she could almost taste that icecream again. this time there was only her colleagues, but it felt the same. choking up on the club, she debated using a pitching wedge. what i didn't know then won't hurt me now, she thought silently. creating a mental space, she sent the ball in a gentle arch and it fell a foot from the hole, rolling in and sputtering against the plastic.

they howled in approval, and she felt crowds cheering from a different strain of reality. the fork in the road reappeared in her head, sending her into an old place of decision. "you could go pro," they said. "keep at it and you could be on tour by the time you're eighteen." as a nine yeart old girl, the pro tour seemed farfetched. and even so, it seemed far less glamorous tha being an author, a poet, an artist, an actress, an anchor on channel four.

the chemical smell of fertilizer brought her back out of deep thought. she just birdied the hole and it was the first time she's done that in years. fuck, man. it got her to recounting the favorite sounds in her life. the clarinet, first heard on the disney channel. the colors of the cartoon were still etched in her memory. what was that cartoon movie about hunting the wolf, anyways? all she knew was she had to capture that sound.

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the stage lights burned down on her heavy black concert dress. god this thing is fucking horrendous, she said to herself. her armpits dripped with pubescent sweat. the lights swelled and the audience disappeared. her legs reacted before her mind, conditioned to his appearance onstage. "good evening, ladies and gentlemen. it is my priveledge to present to you this year's final concert." with that, he motioned for them to sit and stood facing them next to his podium. a flitter of amusement creased his lips, and he inhaled sharply. she knew what that meant. a thin cool ribbon of precision moved through the air, tuning the ensemble to concert c. he stomped his foot in approval as he mounted the podium, raised his baton and looked at her. inhale. the tip of the baton cut down like a knife and she began...
the music flowed like a river of feelings out of a lovestruck bard and the bottom of her clarinet moved in slow circles as if to coerce it out further. eyes closed, he spun the air into a fevered pitch, horns protesting as cymbals crashed. timpanies moved like thunderclouds as the orchestra groaned, much like sailboat at storm. lost now were the feelings of being chucked into her locker by the jocks. gone now were the sneers of passing cheerleaders as she made her way with clarinet case in hand. tears started warm and thick as lights poured down and he stroked the air and brought such beauty from the band. evoked such beauty from her, just a child.
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"and how is everything," she asked. her pseudo tuxedo had a few butter stains and her smile was wearing thin at eleven p.m. the restaurant had closed an hour prior, but they still managed to squeeze every last drop out of her patience. "oh, it is wonderfull," her guests babbled. "and you were so right about the blue cheese crust!" she inwardly rolled her eyes and choked back the bile rising in her throat. she had been vegetarian for years now. " i knew you'd enjoy it," she forced the words out of her mouth with a wanton smile. turning away, her arms felt numb from the eighteen holes of golf the day before. she had only been able to play fifteen, as the carpal tunnel had been setting in from years of waitressing. she walked despondently toward the kitchen, wondering where life was really going. one hand grasped her opposing wrist firmly and alleviated the pain. suddenly the restaurant was filled with a familiar sound and she slowed her pace. glenn miller's orchestra was playing one of her all time favorite songs....moonlight serenade. in her mind her fingers danced on a bed of keys long forgotten and she sighed. what a journey, she thought. maybe i'll buy a clarinet on ebay tonight.

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the trees moved languidly in a shadowy semi-tropical gust of wind. they looked like a painting, she thought. i should paint. instead, she brought her wine glass to her lips and inhaled the aromas. a deep bouquet for a white, she thought. my, how things have changed. long gone were the nights of scotch and cigarettes. now she was watching the rain and drinking white wine (alone). the top of her sweater rested on her lips and she brushed them against it. how i'd like to share any of this with someone who would get it. the thought made her rethink her choices in men. in women. her mother had apologized years ago, telling her she might just be ruined. i've loved you as no partner ever can, nor will. i've given you everything i could give, she said. the top of the fleece felt rough and warm. if i exist, then there must be someone out there who will undertstand me, too. the rain drove lightly into her leg at an angle. it feels good to be alive.