James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  Opur maintained his lead. The entrance to the parking lot was less than fifty yards away. “I’m going to find out!” His speed increased. It was obvious that he was going to beat Johnnie to the gravel pile. “Watch this!”

  Seconds later Opur raced into the first pile thinking that it would catapult him into the air and over the piles. The front tire sunk into the loose gravel. The bicycle came to an abrupt stop. Opur flew over the handlebars and through the air. He landed in a heap on the third pile of loose rock.

  “Wow!” Johnnie cried in awe of what he just witnessed. Then another gear shifted in. “Opur! Opur! Are you okay?”

  A series of groans were audible from the distance. Opur was sprawled across the gravel. His head was scraped and bleeding. He shook his head to knock out the cobwebs. Stunned, he whispered, “What happened?”

  Johnnie knelt beside his friend. “You were way up in the air.” He took off his t-shirt and wiped the dirt and dust from Opur’s face. “At least ten feet I’d say.”

  “My shoulder is killing me,” Opur fussed. He winced as the pain shot through his upper torso. It was tough. His face contorted, but he didn’t want to start crying in front of his buddy.

  “What do you want me to do?” Johnnie asked.

  Two other kids in the neighborhood that had been riding their bikes ran to the scene. One of them asked, “Do you want us to call an ambulance?”

  Opur shook his head back and forth. “Nah. Just get me home.” He closed his eyes and made a face. The pain was excruciating.

  The kids looked at each other. Johnnie reached behind Opur’s back. “Let’s see if we can get you to sit up.” He pushed Opur’s back off the rocks while another kid pulled on his arm.

  “Aaah!” Opur yelped. “Don’t pull on it.” His shoulders slumped. “Easy.” Then he shook his head again. “Mom’s gonna kill me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “What happened to you?” Julie exclaimed as Opur walked through the front door with his arm in a sling.

  Opur’s first response was to shrug his shoulders, but then grimaced and quickly withdrew that reaction once the pain shot through his shoulder. “I had an accident.”

  Julie looked puzzled. “Were you in a car?” She was concerned and then glanced at Rayelene who had followed her son through the door. “Was anybody else hurt?”

  “It was a bike accident,” Opur went on to explain.

  “Oh,” Julie said as a tiny smirk spread across her lips.

  “I met something that didn’t move.”

  “What was that?” Julie pried.

  “A pile of gravel,” Opur stated. “I was acting like a daredevil and came out on the short end.” He sauntered over to a bar stool and eased his way onto the seat. “I wanted to fly through the air and make a jump with my bike,” he paused, “but the only thing that flew through the air was me.”

  A couple of small Band-Aids plastered his cheek and forehead. “I see that you got scraped up a little too,” Julie said.

  Rayelene went to her son and placed her arm around his shoulder drawing his head close to her body. She rubbed her free hand through his hair. “My poor baby.”

  The action embarrassed Opur and he gently jerked his head away from his mother. “Mom, do you have to do that in here?”

  Rayelene pulled back just as J Dub walked out of the office and joined Julie behind the counter. Her eyes glistened at the sight of him. “I’ve been eavesdropping,” J Dub said. “How bad is it?” He walked from around the counter and approached Opur.

  In an awkward move to make room for the pro Rayelene turned and brushed her breasts against his bicep. “I got something for you,” she blurted.

  J Dub was happily married. He treated Rayelene’s advance as a nuisance and inspected his pupil’s shoulder. “What was the damage?”

  “It’s broken,” Opur said. The pro’s hands rubbed across Opur’s back, neck and shoulders.

  “What is? Your shoulder?”

  Opur shook his head. “My collarbone.”

  Rayelene reached into her carrying bag and produced a present. She placed it on the bar. “I made it especially for you,” she said beaming at the pro. “It’s his favorite and I’m sure you’ll like it too.”

  “What is that?” Julie asked as she examined the contents.

  “Banana nut bread,” Rayelene replied as her attention shifted back to the loaf on the counter. “Opur wanted it for lunch so I made enough to share with all of you.” She turned to J Dub and smiled again. “Want me to butter some for you?” She reached across his body for her purse, brushed against him again and grabbed a plastic knife.

  J Dub was standing where Opur couldn’t see. As Rayelene cut the bread J Dub mouthed words to Julie and raised his left hand ring finger in the air.

  Julie made a face at him and shook her head negatively. Then she turned her attention to Rayelene’s efforts cutting the bread. “What color is that nail polish?” She reached forward and grabbed her hand.

  Rayelene stopped and looked at Julie. “Do you like it?”

  Julie nodded her head. “It matches your tan so well.”

  “Well I’m not nearly as dark as when I was a teenager.”

  “But the contrast still works.”

  Rayelene blushed. “It’s cherry blossom.”

  “I wish I could keep my nails that nice.” Julie let go of Rayelene’s hand and examined her own. “I bust mine opening beer cans for the regulars around here.”

  “That’s something that I’d never do.”

  “Yeah, she always made dad open up his own beer cans,” Opur chimed in.

  Rayelene winced at the thought of Nada. She raised her hands and pressed on the sides of her head at the temples. “The thought of it makes my head hurt.”

  Julie changed the subject back to the original topic. “Who does your nails?”

  Rayelene was aghast. “I do! Do you think that we’ve got the money to afford a manicurist?”

  “Yeah, she works on her toes probably an hour a day,” Opur interjected.

  J Dub and Julie exchanged glances then their attention shifted to Rayelene’s feet as she propped a foot up on an empty bar stool. “They’re beautiful,” Julie chided. “What do you think J Dub?”

  “Don’t bring me into this,” the pro said as he attempted to dodge the question. “The only thing that I know about feet is that mine hurt by the end of the day.”

  “She does them when she eats,” Opur said.

  Rayelene blushed again, this time more noticeably. “Opur!”

  “You do. That’s when you have your chocolate covered cherries.”

  “Oh, now I get it,” Julie said as if a light bulb went on in her brain. “That’s why you got cherry blossom.”

  “Yeah,” Rayelene said, “so that my nail polish would go well with the chocolate covered cherries and the MooseMart clothes.” She took her foot down and grabbed a piece of banana nut bread. “And maybe if I eat this it will go straight to my hips.” She took a bite and turned for the door. “You three are making my head hurt worse than it has all morning.” She furrowed her brow, placed her hand on her forehead and headed out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Opur followed J Dub out of the clubhouse as Rayelene drove off the lot. “What are we going to do?” he asked as the pro headed toward the cart barn.

  “We’re going to try to keep you busy, and one look at you tells me that you’re kind of limited,” J Dub said. He slid the door open on the metal cart barn. Once inside the pro fumbled through assorted odds and ends.

  “What are you looking for?” Opur pried.

  “The shag bag,” J Dub answered. “This works for me because I can gather the balls without bending over to pick them up.” He dropped a couple of balls on the gravel floor, inserted the tube over the sphere and pushed down. The ball rose in the tube and filled the bag. “Now grab your putter.”

  Opur followed instructions and took the putter out of his golf bag which had been stored i
n the corner. “That’s embarrassing.”

  “What is?” J Dub asked.

  “That my mom acts like that sometimes,” Opur replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She gets mad at the smallest things and then walked out the door,” Opur said.

  “Don’t even worry about it,” J Dub shot back. “She’s a woman.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ll learn as you get older,” the pro began. “They change their minds all the time and men have a tough time figuring them out.” J Dub walked out of the cart barn with his pupil by his side. “Don’t let stuff like that bother you.” He continued to the putting green. “You’ve got the rest of your life to have a female around. Right now you’d be better off not worrying about how they think.”

  “But she’s my mom.”

  “I understand. What I meant was that you should stay away from the ones your age right now. Let’s make you a golfer. I don’t want you thinking about girls and how they think. That will be a lesson in frustration.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because you’ll never be able to figure out how they think.” J Dub emptied some balls on the putting green. “Just when you think you have them figured out they’ll come out of left field with something that you never thought of.” The pro arranged the balls in a line about four feet from a cup. “Right now you keep focused on practicing. You can think about girls later in life.”

  “What are we going to do?” Opur asked as he looked at the line of balls.

  “We’re going to take advantage of adversity,” J Dub said.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re going to try to take a negative and turn it into a positive.”

  “What do you mean?” Opur wrinkled his nose trying to understand.

  “You broke your collarbone,” J Dub began. “That’s the negative. So now we’re going to take advantage of that bit of bad luck and work on your putting. You can’t raise your arms above your head and swing a club, so we’ll work on that part of your game where that isn’t necessary. Hopefully when we’re done you’ll be a better putter. That will be the positive.”

  Opur positioned himself over a ball and drew the club back. He winced. “I can’t move my arm that way.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It hurts.”

  “You broke the right one, correct?”

  Opur nodded his head. “Yep.” He tried once again to pull the putter back from the ball, stopped and reached up with his left hand to grab his shoulder. “I can’t do it.”

  “Okay, you tried.” J Dub paused. “Look, you’ve had some bad luck—some adversity. It happens. Not everything in life is going to go your way and on the golf course it’s the same way. We’re going to have to adapt and battle through it.”

  J Dub scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well,” he drawled, “why don’t you stand on the other side of the ball? It’s a Bulls Eye putter.”

  “What do mean by that?”

  “Both sides are flat. You can hit the ball from either side of the club.”

  Opur walked around the ball and assumed the stance of a left-handed golfer. “This seems different.”

  “It should,” J Dub agreed, “but maybe we can get you in a comfortable position that doesn’t hurt your shoulder.” He stood behind his prodigy. “Let’s try right hand low.” The pro took the putter and demonstrated how he wanted Opur to hold it.

  Opur took the Bulls Eye putter and mimicked his mentor. “It feels odd, but it doesn’t hurt as much.”

  “Try to keep your right elbow straight and don’t break your right wrist,” J Dub coached.

  “It feels more comfortable like this,” Opur said as he held the putter. At least eight inches separated his hands on the grip. His left elbow was bent at a ninety degree angle so that his left forearm rested across his beltline.

  “It looks unorthodox,” J Dub concurred, “but if it works then we won’t mess with it.” He peeled the tape off of the putter. “I’ll take the lead tape off and put it on the other side later tonight.”

  Opur turned his right hand counter clockwise so that the palm of his right hand was toward the hole. “It feels more natural when I hold it like this.” He took the club back and putted the ball smoothly away.

  J Dub shook his head in disbelief. “That’s radical,” the pro said, “but if you’re comfortable and your wrists don’t break down, let’s practice it.”

  Opur once again positioned himself over the ball and effortlessly stroked the ball into the cup. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  J Dub guffawed. “Oh Lord, does that look silly or what?” Opur knocked three more putts into the back of the cup. “It kind of corrects the other problem that you were having too.”

  “What was that?”

  “You had a tendency to peek a little. It looks like this stance forces you to keep your head down,” the head pro said. He stepped off to the side and watched as Opur putted one ball after another into the cup. “We can’t argue with success. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “It seems so easy this way,” Opur cooed. “After reading the line of the putt I pick my spot, line up the putter and close my eyes. I take a deep breath to relax and open them slightly just to see the back of the ball.”

  J Dub grinned. His understudy had started to figure out one of the nuances of the game. “You know what I’ve always said.”

  Opur nodded his head. “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Perfect practice makes perfect,” J Dub corrected. He shook his head as Opur kept knocking the ball into the hole. “Tell me, what made you get that reckless on your bike?”

  Opur looked down at the ground. “I don’t know if Mom said anything,” Opur started, “but Dad is leaving us.”

  The comment caught J Dub off-guard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I was mad and wanted to race my bike.”

  J Dub searched for the proper words. “Look, the golf course isn’t moving and you can bet I’ll always be here for you.”

  Opur walked over to J Dub and hugged his friend the best that he could. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  J Dub smiled. “Let’s battle through that bit of adversity too.” He looked down at Opur. “We’ll adapt and turn that negative into a positive the same way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Fred looked out the window of the clubhouse as Easy Earl reached into the cup and took the ball out of the hole. BT and Rollie sat on a bench alongside of the practice green. Turning to Julie he said, “I haven’t seen him miss in nearly an hour.”

  “Who? Opur?” Julie asked.

  “Yeah,” Fred said.

  “They take turns emptying the cup and rolling them back to him,” Julie said. She was at the sink wetting a bar rag to wipe down the counter. “I think his record is around 550 in a row.”

  “That’s the goofiest setup I’ve ever seen,” the overweight golfer said. He was in awe. “And I thought that I was a good putter. That kid doesn’t miss.”

  “J Dub worked with him until they got it figured out.”

  Fred walked to the lost-and-found barrel and pulled out an errant club. He dropped a ball onto the floor and approached it from the opposite side. “Heck, I can’t even use this club from that side of the ball.” He returned it to the container.

  “J Dub said that it was lucky that they had a Bulls Eye putter.”

  “Yeah, but still.” Fred’s voice dropped off as he returned to the window. Rollie was rolling a handful of balls back to Opur.

  “Look at those guys.”

  “It gives them something to do,” Julie said, “and it keeps them from arguing with each other in here.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Fred repeated. “Left side of the ball. Right hand low. Split grip. And he’s got his hand twisted at an impossible angle. You wouldn’t think that a broken collarbone would make you a better golfer, would you?”

  Julie shrugged. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

  F
red grabbed a doughnut out of the box setting on the counter. “Maybe if I eat four of these today instead of three my golf game will improve.” He laughed, took a bite out of the pastry and jerked his head back as crème filling squirted out the back.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Six years later, June 2000 . . .

  Through adolescence Opur sprouted like a weed. At six foot two his lanky frame was made for swinging a golf club. His passion to excel at the sport had grown even stronger.

  Like every high school senior, change was staring him in the face. He and Rayelene had adjusted to life after Nada, but for Opur the next step in life was not well defined. He wasn’t much for school books and didn’t want to go to college. Even though some scholarships were available, Opur struggled to get past the entrance exams.

  “When are you going to do something with your life?” Rayelene bitched one day soon after graduation.

  “I dunno,” Opur said with a shrug. “What’s wrong with golfing every day?”

  “That doesn’t pay the bills,” Rayelene shot back. “It’s about time for you to get your own place. Get out on your own and get some responsibility.” She was sitting on the couch in the living room. One foot was propped up on the cushion. An emery board lay nearby. She held a bottle of nail polish and deftly applied a chic color to her toenails. Rayelene waved her free hand rapidly over the polish in an attempt to get it to dry quicker. Then just as quickly she reached for another chocolate covered cherry. Her habitual snacking had gone from one treat a day to nearly a half box.

  “What’s for dinner?” Opur asked.

  “Why don’t you go get a pizza and bring it back? I don’t feel like cooking.”

  Opur reached into his pocket and pulled his pocket inside out. “Do you have any money?”

  Rayelene put her polish down and brought both hands to her temples. “I can’t take any more!” She pressed on her head. “My head throbs every day! We’re running out of money! You need to get a J-O-B!” She took a deep breath and covered her eyes with her hands. After a pause she sighed, “I’m sorry, Honey.”