OBLIGATION

by Donald Stilwell

  "Anything you want to do today?”

  "No.”

  Kevin wasn’t going to push. All the time in the world, all the time he needed would be fine.

  "I need to go to the store later. Will you come with me?”

  Ethan shrugged.

  "I know this sucks, pal, sucks as hard as anything in this world could suck. I just hope you know you can talk to me, about anything.”

  "Okay.”

  With that Ethan shuffled back down the hall to his bedroom and closed the door.

  Kevin retired to his best friend’s favorite chair. It had been his bed for the past few nights. He couldn’t bring himself to lie in Peter’s bed. Most nights were spent on Ethan’s floor. He would read with him, talk about anything, then settle in there, just below his bed and wait until Ethan fell asleep. Ethan cried in his sleep sometimes, and Kevin tried not to hate himself.

  After a week had passed Ethan was back in school. Kevin took the time apart to manage his life, the life left for him and Ethan. He had turned in his resignation. There were several half-hearted attempts to make him reconsider. None were that convincing. All knew the damage had been done and for that there was no coming back. Kevin had received Peter’s survivor benefits.

  He placed most of it into CD’S and diversified funds to grow over time and ensure Ethan a lifetime of security. Ethan would be able to do whatever he desired. Money would never be an issue.

  All that was left was the raising of this little boy. Kevin knew he had to sell Peter’s house. He didn’t know how to tell Ethan, or how Ethan would react.

  Kevin had already visited the same law firm that had sent Mr. Moorenger to see him so many years ago. He named Ethan his sole beneficiary entitling him to the house, cabin, and all of his savings.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Two more weeks had passed.

  Ethan was eating again. His sleep was still disturbed, but the traits found in all little boys were slowly returning.

  Kevin found the time with him satisfying in a way he could have never imagined. His fear of seeing only Peter in this boy, and therefore hating himself with each moment of guilt, was subsiding. Kevin kept Peter alive in stories and memory. He shared abundantly with the boy tales of his childhood and the friendship he and his father had known.

  In these stories he intermixed the tragedy of his own loss and the capacity for healing and belief. It was during one of these stories he drove Ethan to his home. Ethan was unfamiliar with the place. His father had brought him here only once. The other times were spent at the cabin or at their home.

  Kevin parked the jeep and walked to the open expanse between the house and the barn.

  “You want to see something?”

  Ethan nodded that he did.

  Kevin walked to the barn and opened the large sliding doors. He moved inside with Ethan right behind him.

  "This is where you and my dad learned to fight, isn’t it?”

  "Your dad told you about this place?”

  "About a hundred times, he said it was the one place he always looked forward to being, said you and him would box and punch the heavy bags and tell stories till all hours of the night.”

  "Did he tell you about my grandfather?”

  "Yes, he said he was the biggest man he had ever seen, said he was afraid of him, but in a good way, a way that taught him respect.”

  "My pops was a big man, but your dad wasn’t afraid of anyone.”

  Ethan smiled just a little.

  "You want to try?” Kevin held the heavy bag, looked out from behind it the way his grandfather once did.

  Ethan walked over to the bag and studied it; he remarked that he didn’t know what to do.

  "You and your dad never messed around throwing punches?”

  "My dad said he didn’t want me to be like him, that I should use my head and learn as much as I could so I could be a doctor or an astronaut or something.”

  Fathers always wanted better for their sons. Every good dad wanted to protect his kids from the harm in society, the dirty end of the field as Peter liked to phrase it. He wasn’t surprised by Ethan’s statement.

  Kevin was moving from around the bag, saying something to the effect of maybe they should just go in, when Ethan took a shot at the bag.

  It was like staring into a mirror from twenty years ago, the broken little boy reaching out to something to make the hurt go away.

  "I want to learn Uncle Kevin; I want to know the things my father knew.”

  Kevin stifled the impulse to cry. It was the most honest statement he had ever heard. The boy’s eyes were sincere, his bearing far greater than any ten year olds should ever be. Kevin didn’t speak, not yet anyway; he moved back to the bag and threw several short precise punches. The bag rocked as it always had, making its familiar creaking with the aging of the beams that held it. He looked to Ethan and explained what he had done. Children were so different from adults. They needed little explanation. They watched and repeated, little human computers.

  After an hour or so, they emerged from the barn, both better for the time spent there. It was just possible things might one day be alright. They had remained throughout the night. The next morning, Kevin cooked scrambled eggs and toast. Ethan joined him without having to be woken up. The boy ate with purpose and seemed okay with the night spent in Kevin’s home.

  After breakfast, Ethan asked to walk around the grounds. Kevin gave him the guided tour. There were so many spots on that property that brought back memories and tales to relive. Kevin found it therapeutic, and Ethan didn’t seem to mind.

  It was during this walk Ethan brought back a memory that had been sealed since Kevin left. “Uncle Kevin?”

  “Yes.”

  "I know I wasn’t supposed to, but when you were asleep last night I walked around the house.”

  "Everything I have, you have. Of course it was okay if you walked around.”

  "I found a room with a bunch of trophies and stuff in it. A lot of them had little golfers on top of them.”

  His grandfather’s den, all of his awards were stored there. Kevin should have put a lock on that door.

  Kevin was momentarily miffed, but then thought to himself, Why? So Ethan found his old trophies, so what?

  "Okay.”

  "Did you win those?”

  "Yes, I did.”

  "You must be really good; there were a lot of them.”

  "It was a long time ago, buddy, and I was okay.”

  "I don’t know why, I guess seeing your trophies made me remember, but my dad used to tell me you were better at golf than he’d ever been at anything. He said you could have played professionally if you’d wanted.”

  "Your dad was a very kind man; he liked to make other people feel good about themselves. In this case he may have been pulling your leg just a bit.”

  "My dad never lied to me, Uncle Kevin.”

  "You got me there, pal.”

  "Could you teach me?”

  "Teach you? What? Golf?”

  "I’ve seen guys do it on T.V. It looks easy.”

  Jesus, where had he heard that before? “You think so, huh?”

  "Sure, you swing a club at the ball and the ball flies for a mile.”

  Kevin laughed out loud. “Sure it does, pal, sure it does.”

  "So we can try it then?”

  "I don’t know Ethan; I haven’t held a club in fifteen years.”

  "But you won all of those trophies; it’ll be easy for you.”

  "You learn that from your father?”

  "What?”

  "Persuasion.”

  "What’s persuasion?”

  "Never mind, c’mon, we’ll give it a try.”

  Kevin found his old clubs right where he had left them all those years ago. At least he had cleaned them before retiring them to the den’s closet.

  Right next to his clubs were his first mismatched set. They were cut to fit him when he was just a year older than Ethan was now. He brought both sets out to the f
ield near the barn.

  "I’m going to warn you right now, what you see in the next few minutes may convince you never to ask about this silly game again.”

  Ethan knew Kevin was joking, so he stayed quiet and smiled, waited to see one of those little white balls fly into space.

  Kevin took a 7-iron from his bag. The grip felt odd, hardened by time; he placed his hands upon it as he’d been taught as a child. He swung the club back and forth; his back gave pause, ached in places it never ached as a boy.

  "Hit one, Uncle Kevin.”

  "I guess I have too, huh?”

  Kevin threw a ball down in front of him. He set the clubface behind it and settled into his posture and swung. The ball took flight, a hundred and fifty or so yards straight down the field.

  "Wow--, that was awesome, can I try?”

  Some things in this world never leave you, no matter how you abandon them, or deny their place in your life. Kevin felt oddly amused by the ball’s flight. Here, after fifteen years of forgetting, the swing which was his from birth he supposed was back like a jilted lover, upset, perhaps, but still accepting.

  "Sure you can.”

  Kevin set a ball down for Ethan. He attempted to show him proper grip and stance, but it was no use; Ethan was a boy with little time for instruction. He was going to swing at it and that would do fine.

  Ethan’s first attempt saw the ball skitter ten yards, never leaving the safety of the ground. His second was no better.

  "This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

  "It never is.”

  "Why didn’t my ball fly like yours?”

  "It will. My grandfather used to say this was a game of a lifetime. Do you know what that means?”

  "Not really.”

  "Well, it means you can play it your whole life, and it takes time and patience to get good at it. A lot goes into swinging the club properly.”

  "Can you show me?”

  "That’s entirely up to you, pal. It would kinda be like we were both starting from the beginning.”

  "I don’t think so, Uncle Kevin. I just saw you hit yours out of sight.”

  Kevin placed another ball down and took a rip. Again, the ball took off straight and true, landing no more than a few from the first -- crazy game.

  Ethan actually listened to Kevin as he spoke of the basic fundamentals of the swing. He wasn’t crazy about not hitting another ball for thirty minutes, as Kevin had him take thin divots in a straight line to build repetition, but when it came time to tee one up, Ethan was surprised, pleasantly, as the ball left his clubface and traveled seventy yards before touching down.

  "Did you see that, Uncle Kevin?”

  "I did, buddy. That was great.”

  Ethan hit balls until there were none left in the bag. After retrieving the ones hit, he brought them all back to the original spot and started over. On the third cycle Kevin finally had to call halt so they could grab some lunch.

  The game had Ethan. Kevin had seen it before. For some the game grabs hold and never let’s go, it was like that for Kevin. It was a connection; the silly game played with sticks and little white balls was opening a space big enough for both of them to crawl into.

  That night Kevin made dinner at the house. A simple meal of spaghetti and French bread, Ethan filled the half hour with questions about golf, and whether his father had played. Kevin explained to him how his father was far too athletically gifted to settle on such an easy paced sport.

  "It doesn’t seem to easy-paced to me, it seems like it takes a lot of skill and effort.”

  "Well it does, it just doesn’t seem that way to everyone. Your dad liked to run and jump and throw and you know, anything that needed speed and endurance he was in, the game didn’t grab him like it did me.”

  "You think he would be upset because I like it?”

  "I think your dad would be proud of you no matter what you chose to do.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy him.

  After dinner Kevin built a fire as his grandfather always had. He dished out two bowls of chocolate ice cream and asked Ethan to join him by the fire.

  He was a good kid, a really good kid. He was mature and composed and truly special. It was hard for Kevin to look at him, especially here in this house and not see his father in every movement.

  "Ethan, would you be okay with maybe moving in here?”

  He sat there quiet for a minute. Kevin was beginning to think it was just too soon when he said it would be fine.

  "It’s not going to be too weird for you?”

  "Can I bring my stuff from my dad and mines house?”

  "Of course you can.”

  Ethan didn’t say much more, didn’t try to fill the emptiness with unnecessary words.

  He was a lot like Kevin in that regard. For a long time Kevin and Ethan sat there, watching the flames, submitting to silence.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The next couple of weeks saw Kevin moving what needed moving and placing Peter’s house on the market. It sold quickly, the area being what it was and the price being a little less than fair market value. Like Kevin’s grandfather had for him, Kevin drove Ethan to school and picked him up every day. It was Kevin’s favorite task of the day; it was the in-between that found him at a loss. Kevin had never had this much free time, this much space to fill without a clear plan. It was during those free hours that memory came to call. Most people never really appreciate loneliness for what it is until they are completely alone. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad even if Kevin hadn’t killed his best friend. He was there around every corner; Kevin swore if not for Ethan he would have ended his miserable existence long ago. Kevin was not afraid of dying, never had been, why would he be? He had seen death so many times. It was peace, the final chapter of unknowing; it seemed calm and serene, at least in its finality. Perhaps Kevin’s perception was one of indifference and understanding, more than truth and wisdom. Whatever it was, one thing was undeniable. The dead have no thoughts, that pain is reserved for the living.

  Had Kevin always thought this way? One random tracking thought leading into the next? All spiraling down into a cloud of blackness, thickened by an illusion that at some point an end would present itself that made sense, that revealed a peaceful repose? Really, was Kevin that deep a thinker or was he just nuts? He shook his head as if the action would rattle free all of the rhetoric from his brain.

  Simple creatures, field mice with a capacity for remorse, all skittering about the maze of this world looking for the next serving of feel good, but alas, to some the feel good has run dry. If Kevin had a fondness for drink he would have gotten smashed then, but he didn’t, never had, so instead he grabbed his clubs. Stupid things, how had he ever dreamed of a life where the most important moments were measured by how well he swung them?

  Ethan loved it, though, as much as Kevin once had, so for Ethan, Kevin would try, would immerse himself back into a world where childhood memories ran thick and plentiful.

  That day after school Kevin drove Ethan to the course of his childhood. It seemed smaller, dingier. As Kevin parked, he tried to recall what he felt for the place; the magic it had held not so long ago. It was the same place; save the new addition to the driving range, they had added a second level to hit balls from. The need to golf had found the nation. Ethan was overwhelmed. He had only hit in the field behind the house. Now, with all of these other players hitting balls and the distances measured out with different colored flags, and real greens and bunkers, well it was a moment he would remember, a good moment.

  Kevin purchased the balls and walked him to the western end of the driving range. He had to smile at the sight of it now. It was the same spot from where Kevin had truly learned the intricacies of the game. This place had been left untouched. The same thick green trees held court to the right, the fence line as high as any Kevin had ever seen finding its way to the end of the range floor, and the golfers finishing up on the 7th green walking towards the eighth tee box. Ethan looked p
leased; he asked so many questions it was hard to keep up.

  "This is where it really begins Ethan.”

  "What’s that, Uncle Kevin?”

  "The relationship. Your acceptance of what will most likely always be a part of you. This game is different, pal. It’s not something you play as a kid and forget, maybe watch on T.V. from time to time, it etches a place in your soul, it becomes a friend.”

  How much of that he really understood Kevin didn’t know, but Ethan smiled as Kevin said it, so Kevin was sure that Ethan felt it. Kevin saw Ethan’s eagerness was getting the best of him so he dumped the balls out near their spot.

  "Ready to get to it?”

  "Yes, I am.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It had been a little less than a month since he took his first swing; already he was forming a natural rhythm, a melody of movement that would be his and his alone. That's what the best in any sport, any field for that matter, have -- a measure of artistry already inside of them that no one could ever teach. Kevin watched and listened to the sound of the club tracing its way through the air. One after the next, each a different and yet similar song finding Kevin’s ears, his soul. Kevin offered little advice.

  Ethan didn’t seem to mind, he was aware of his swing and not much more. The balls were finding the same place on a regular basis; he was good, very good for the short time involved. Would the adults stop to watch him hit soon?

  When he had finished off the bucket, Kevin gave the praise he was due then led him to the putting green. Putting had been Kevin’s favorite part of the game as a child. It was the easiest thing to master; at least that’s what one believes as a child.

  After some rudimentary tutelage, Ethan was ready. He had good hand eye coordination, he easily found pace and green speed.

  In time, line and proper aim would follow. They played a game then, the one most children play with their elders. Kevin would pick a hole and putt to it, Ethan would try to get his ball closer if not in the hole. He was fiercely competitive. He wanted to win every time, even though he was new to the form, it didn’t matter. By the ninth or tenth hole, Ethan was actually getting inside of Kevin sometimes; it was fun and required all of Kevin’s concentration to beat Ethan.