The Back Nine: A Novel About Life After Fifty

by E. A. Briginshaw

  Cheech sucked in his gut and pounded out a few more drives. The first three he hit were perfect, but he pulled the fourth one and then over-corrected and sprayed the next one to the right.

  “Let me see you hit a few with your seven-iron,” Patti said.

  She stood behind Cheech watching closely while he hit four or five more shots. Then she faced him while he hit a few more. Cheech felt surprisingly nervous and was trying to make sure he didn’t lay the club off on his backswing, like Stryker had told him.

  She watched him hit almost twenty shots before she spoke. “Okay, I think I see what’s going on.”

  Cheech stopped swinging. He felt like he was waiting for the doctor to give him the bad news that he only had six months to live.

  Patti gave him a sympathetic look. “As we get older, we can’t do the shoulder turn the way we did when we were younger.”

  Ouch! Did she just call me old? His jaw dropped and his gut flopped out to its usual positon.

  “You’re getting across the line at the top, which is going to cause you problems at impact.”

  “But Stryker told me I was laying the club off,” Cheech countered. “I’ve been trying to fix that.”

  “Well, now I think you’ve gone too far the other way. Take your backswing and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Cheech slowly took his backswing and stopped part-way back. Patti moved in and put one hand on his right shoulder and the other on his left elbow.

  “Ideally, you want to keep turning your chest and shoulders to get a full backswing,” she said as she tried to pull his arms to a full rotation around his body. “But since you don’t have the flexibility you did when you were younger, you’re no longer able to fully rotate your body. You’re just raising your arms and getting across the line at the top.”

  There she goes again with the “as we get older” crap. Cheech sighed. “So what do I do about it?”

  “If you can no longer fully rotate your chest and shoulders, then you should just shorten your backswing. It’ll cost you some distance, but it will improve your consistency. Maybe do some exercises to improve your flexibility.”

  Cheech hit a few more shots with his seven-iron using a shorter backswing. He was definitely hitting them better and it looked like it was only costing him a few yards in distance. “I’d like to try a few with my driver again.”

  With the shorter backswing, his drives were going about twenty yards shorter. I can’t afford to lose that much distance. He tried lengthening his backswing just a little bit.

  “Hold on,” Patti said. “You’re starting to raise your arms again.” She moved in behind him and put one hand on his back and the other on his right arm. “If you keep raising your arms independent of your body, your club will start to rotate and you’ll get across the line at the top.” She pulled up on his arms to demonstrate. “Let’s start over from address.”

  She moved in front of Cheech and put her right hand in the middle of his chest. He became aware of how good she smelled and sucked in his gut again.

  “Okay, now slowly take the club back,” she said. As he did so, she pushed on the right side of his chest. “It’s important that you rotate your chest along with your arms in a connected fashion.” She moved to his side and was almost hugging him as she demonstrated the proper turn.

  “You smell wonderful,” Cheech whispered.

  Patti immediately stepped back and gave him a stern look. “I think you just crossed the line again.”

  Cheech felt his face flush. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.”

  Patti studied his face for what seemed like an eternity before she spoke. “Let’s try this a different way.” She grabbed the head cover from his driver. “Put this under your right arm.” It was like a command from a drill sergeant and Cheech did exactly as he was told. “Now when you take your club back, it’s important that the head cover not fall out from underneath your arm. If it does, then it means that you’ve gone too far and your arms are starting to separate from your chest.”

  Cheech followed her instructions precisely for the rest of the lesson and Patti didn’t come within ten feet of him after their little incident.

  After she left, Cheech just stared at the ground. I am such an idiot. What the hell was I thinking?

  * * *

  When Cheech was sorting through his mail later that evening, he was surprised to see three letters in the pile, one from Ford, one from Chrysler and one from Toyota. It had been less than two weeks since he submitted his applications for marketing positions with each of those companies. He was expecting to receive calls requesting that he come in for interviews about now. He opened the letter from Toyota first.

  “We have reviewed your experience and qualifications in relation to the position and at this time we will not be proceeding with your application. We will, however, keep your resume on file and consider your qualifications for suitable positions as they become available. We wish you success with your future endeavours.”

  He read the letter again, and then a third time. It didn’t make any sense. The position had asked for more than five years of sales and marketing experience to weed out the junior candidates. He had over twenty. He had a Bachelor of Commerce degree and an MBA. How much more fucking qualified could I be?

  He opened the letter from Ford, but could instantly tell it was a form letter. Thanks, but no thanks. The letter from Chrysler looked like a photocopy of the one from Ford, but with a different logo and letterhead.

  He slumped into his chair. He wondered if he would ever work again. All of these companies complain about not being able to find qualified people. He was more than qualified, yet he couldn’t even get an interview.

  He pulled a copy of his resume out of his desk drawer and stared at it wondering what the problem was. It detailed all of the successful marketing campaigns he had run over his career. It showed he had graduated from the University of Western Ontario in 1979 and then obtained his Master’s degree a few years later. It showed page after page of the positions he had held over the years, progressing from junior positions to middle management, finally leading to a position as a senior vice president of sales and marketing. The first page of his resume showed the same picture of him that had hung on the wall at his old company, along with all of the other executives. He looked smart, distinguished and successful.

  And then it hit him.

  It also showed how old he was. It looked like the same pictures he saw every day in the newspaper – under obituaries.

  He pulled out his laptop and opened the document containing his resume. First, he removed the picture. Then he removed the dates showing the years he graduated and got his MBA. It still showed his education, just without the dates. He left the dates for his most recent positions, but summarized the older ones under a heading of “Prior Positions”.

  His resume was now down to just three pages. It would look just like all of the ones from applicants in their thirties. Why make it easy for them to move his application into the “too old” pile?

  Chapter 5: One is A Lonely Number

  Jerry was once again up before daylight, even though he wasn’t scheduled to work that day at the golf course. For some reason, he found himself waking up earlier and earlier these days. He made himself some breakfast, turned on the TV, and sat down in front of it to watch the latest highlights on “SportsCentre”. When he realized he was watching the same looped program over and over, he started flipping through the channels until he came to “The Price is Right”. It was one of his favourite shows when he was a kid, but it somehow didn’t seem the same without Bob Barker hosting.

  He turned the TV off. It must be almost time for lunch. He glanced at the clock. Nope, not even close. It wasn’t even ten yet.

  He headed into his den and fired up his laptop to check his email, but there was nothing new in his inbox. He remembered the days at work when he used to get so many emails that he couldn’t keep up with them. No
w, he actually looked forward to getting those unsolicited emails from vendors inviting him to their online webcasts where they could pitch the latest and greatest features of their products.

  But Jerry’s work days were done, and good riddance. He didn’t have to worry about hitting deadlines and quotas any more. He was now supposed to be living the good life.

  He picked up the picture of him and his wife posing in front of the camper-van they had planned to use for their world tour. Well, North America, anyway. The vehicle was over ten years old now and had barely made it out of the driveway. He headed out to the garage and ran a chamois over it, even though he could already see his reflection in it. I should probably sell it. I’ll put an ad in the paper tomorrow. But he knew he wouldn’t.

  He headed back inside and made himself lunch, even though it was barely eleven. Then he cleaned the kitchen until it was spotless. She had always liked it that way.

  Shortly before one, Jerry headed out to the Shady Oaks Retirement Home where he volunteered several times a week. Sometimes he played cards with the residents, or a game of Scrabble. Other times he would play the piano. He wasn’t very good and he only knew four songs, but they didn’t seem to mind. His wife was the talented one of the family.

  When he arrived, he saw Elena waiting for him just inside the door. Elena was in her forties and coordinated all of the volunteers at the home. They all referred to her as the den mother as she was very protective of the residents and wouldn’t stand for any nonsense from the volunteers. But it was obvious she had a bit of a soft spot for Jerry.

  “Good afternoon, Jerry. You’re right on time, as usual.” She turned and waved at two young women to come over. “This is Jessica,” she said as she pointed to a blonde girl who looked about seventeen-years-old. “And this is Emily.” Emily had jet black hair and looked to be in her early twenties. “Ladies, this is Jerry, one of our longest serving volunteers.”

  “Ah, you must be the new candy stripers,” Jerry said.

  Both girls winced at the moniker.

  “Junior volunteers,” Elena corrected. “Jessica is in her last year of high school and is thinking about going into nursing. Emily is already in nursing school. They’ll both be with us part-time.”

  “Welcome,” Jerry said. “I look forward to working with you.”

  Jerry headed into the main hall, went over to one of the storage cupboards along the wall and pulled out a cribbage board and some cards. He spotted a table with three ladies sitting at it who didn’t appear to be doing much of anything. He introduced himself.

  “Anyone interested in playing some cribbage?”

  “Oh that would be wonderful,” one of the ladies said. “I love cribbage.” She was one of the younger residents at Shady Oaks and looked to be in her late sixties. Her silver hair had that poofy hairspray look to it that seemed to be prevalent in nursing homes.

  “Shirley, you’re looking lovely today. Have you been to the beauty parlor?”

  She blushed. “Oh, you’re too kind. Are you new here?”

  One of the other ladies at the table scowled. “Oh, Shirley. You know Jerry. He comes here every week!”

  Jerry sat down at the table and started to deal the cards. “Not to worry. Shirley, why don’t you and I be partners and see if we can skunk these other two.”

  The ladies were actually pretty good at cribbage, although Jerry had to help them a few times count up their points at the end of each hand. Jerry and Shirley won two out of the three games, although they didn’t come close to skunking the other two. After the third game, Jerry noticed their attention waning.

  “Anyone interested in hearing a few tunes?”

  He headed over to the old upright piano on the other side of the room and started to play. His first tune was an up-tempo jig that had several of the seniors clapping along. Next, he played a slow waltz and sung the words, although he wasn’t a very good singer as they could barely hear him.

  “What a lovely song,” Shirley said when he finished. “What’s it called?”

  “The Tennessee Waltz.”

  “Would you play it again?”

  Jerry noticed that she seemed off in her own little world as he played it the second time. Most of the other seniors began to wander off as it was now time for afternoon tea. By the time he was finished, the only one left was Shirley.

  Jessica came over and listened to the last few bars of the song. “Shirley, are you going to join us for tea today?”

  The interruption seemed to jolt Shirley back to reality. She looked at Jessica with a confused look on her face.

  “It’s time for afternoon tea,” Jessica repeated. “Would you like to join the others?” She helped Shirley out of her chair and escorted her to the dining room.

  Jerry gave a heavy sigh as he watched them walk away. Once again, he was left alone.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Jessica was standing beside Elena, her supervisor, as they watched the seniors finish their lunch. “Some of these people don’t seem to get any visitors,” she said. “It’s so sad. Why don’t their families come to see them?”

  “Various reasons,” Elena said. “People lead busy lives these days, so it’s harder and harder to find the time. Most of our residents have someone come to check on them every week or two, but some of their kids have moved away to other cities, so it can be months and months between visits.”

  “It’s so sad,” Jessica repeated. “I haven’t seen anyone visit Harold since I started working here, but he seems to sleep most of the time anyway. Shirley seems like such a nice lady and a bit of a social butterfly, but no one’s come to visit her either. What’s her story?”

  “She’s an absolute dream,” Elena said, “but she’s fighting dementia. She’s been with us for a few years now and she used to get lots of visitors, but they stopped coming when she didn’t even know who they were.”

  “I noticed that she never remembers my name,” Jessica said, “but her family shouldn’t just abandon her and leave her here to die.”

  “It’s not our job to judge people,” Elena said. “We’re just here to make our guests as comfortable as possible.”

  “But Shirley doesn’t even have any pictures of her family in her room,” Jessica pleaded. “It’s just not right.”

  Elena turned and took both of Jessica’s hands in hers. “We can’t start meddling in their personal lives. We’re here to take care of them, that’s all.” Elena could see that she still hadn’t convinced her. “If it makes you feel any better, I know for a fact that Shirley’s family loves her very much. All of her family pictures have been put away. It’s too frustrating for her to look at those pictures every day, realizing that she should know them, but not have a clue who they are.”

  “They should still come to visit her,” Jessica protested. “She’s so friendly. She seems happy to meet everyone.” Jessica leaned in to whisper. “Have you noticed how she lights up on the days when Jerry is working?”

  “Yes, all of the residents seem to like Jerry. But Jessica, I want to make myself perfectly clear. Don’t start meddling in their personal lives. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” She understood completely, but she did not agree.

  * * *

  The next day, Jessica placed tea and cookies on the table in front of Shirley.

  “Thank you, Jessica,” Shirley said.

  Jessica smiled. It was the first time Shirley had remembered her name in all of the time she had worked there. She noticed Shirley had a troubled look on her face. “Is your arthritis bothering you today?”

  “Same as always,” she replied.

  Jessica knew that every person in the retirement home suffered from one ailment or another. Some complained constantly, others hardly at all. Shirley fell in the latter category, but Jessica could tell that something wasn’t right.

  As Jessica carried a tray with empty cups back to the kitchen, she passed by Jerry who was just arriving for his shift.

  �
�Make sure you spend some time with Shirley today. I think something may be bothering her.”

  She really didn’t have to say anything. Jerry always made sure to spend some time with Shirley on every shift.

  Jessica was kept busy in the kitchen for about the next half hour. When she came back into the dining room, she headed over to stand beside Elena, waiting for her next assignment. She noticed Shirley in the far corner of the room crying. Jerry was trying to comfort her.

  “Oh my God,” Jessica said. “What happened? Should I go over to help?”

  “No, I think Jerry can handle it,” Elena said.

  They both continued to watch. Jessica had never seen Shirley so upset.

  “I could tell this morning that she was having a bad day.”

  Elena put her hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, today is actually a good day.”

  Chapter 6: Nobody Said It Was Easy

  After Ray finished his round of golf that day, his fifth of the week, he walked the short distance to his condo which bordered the eleventh fairway.

  “Back so soon?” his wife, Candice, said when she heard him come through the door.

  “I missed you too,” he said as he reclined into his La-Z-Boy. He noticed some grass had adhered itself to his socks and the back of his legs and brushed it off.

  “I just finished cleaning,” Candice scolded. “Maybe you should go take a shower.”

  She came over holding a Dustbuster and began vacuuming up the bits of grass that were now on the chair and the area rug surrounding it. She saw a few blades of grass on Ray’s legs and started to vacuum those up as well.

  “All right, all right,” Ray said as he got out of the chair. “You win.”

  As he stood in the shower, he mumbled to himself. “I feel like a visitor in my own home.”

  When he was still on the police force, their marriage had been wonderful. He worked long hours and brought home a pretty good paycheck and she raised their daughter, Amanda, and took care of the house. They had a good social life and treasured their time together. The first year of his retirement had also been good as they had done a lot of travelling together. But since then, he felt like he was constantly in the way and getting on her nerves. She was definitely getting on his.