by James Ross
Justin turned to Tina. “Mom, are you ready?” Tina nodded and snuck off behind one of the cypress trees. She returned with an object covered by a blanket. Justin nodded to BowTye who then plucked a few chords. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” Justin yelled. “I’ve got an announcement to make!”
The laughing and joking calmed down for a moment. “Keith and I wanted to thank everyone for being a part of our summer,” Justin began. “But we especially wanted to thank Curt for being there when we needed him.” Tina handed her son the object that was covered by the blanket. Justin unfurled the blanket to reveal a blue flag with a numeral eighteen on it. It was enclosed in a glass case and surrounded by a picture frame. Engraving on a gold tag mounted underneath the flag said The Finish Line at Prairie Winds Golf Course. “The cup on the eighteenth green is the finish line on the golf course. We can hang this in the clubhouse . . . and it’s something we know Curt would want.” He handed Curt the picture frame.
Curt beamed and gratefully accepted the heartfelt gift. He was speechless. After a couple deep breaths he wiped away a tear and uttered, “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Thank you, boys.”
Justin and Tina went over and gave him a hug. “I can’t tell you how much you mean to us,” Tina said.
BowTye plucked his banjo once more. He reached behind his bench and pulled out what looked like a small cloth travel bag. “Mister Curt, I know how much you like to play in polished shoes.” He took Curt’s golf shoes out of the cloth bag. “Here’s a nicely shined pair of shoes to help you reach that finish line.” BowTye handed him the shoes. Then he broke into a rendition of ‘Smack-Jackin’ Back-Crackin’’ for the whole group to enjoy.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
One Week Later . . .
The first day of school brought back a stark reminder of what happens in the real world. Getting up early and being there on time wasn’t the problem for Justin; he had been doing that all summer. He just didn’t like sitting in class or having to study and do homework at night. After the summer he had spent, he was longing to be with the guys in the clubhouse and daydreamed about them sitting at the back table playing cards and joking around.
This was the school year when Justin made the jump from elementary school to junior high. Instead of sitting all day with the same classmates and the same teacher, he changed classes every fifty minutes and heard different teachers lecturing a new roomful of students. Tina was concerned whether he would enjoy it. “How did your first day go?” she asked over dinner that night.
“I hate it!” Justin barked. He pushed his plate away.
“Do you hate school or do you hate not being at the golf course?” Tina explored where he was coming from.
“Both!”
“How are your teachers?” she pried further.
“I only like two of them,” Justin answered. “And I don’t know hardly anybody in my classes.”
Tina was a teacher herself. She realized that she had to try and make school fun or her son wouldn’t get anything out of it. “You’ll meet new people and make new friends,” she started. “I’m not worried about that. You proved that this summer.” She paused for a minute. “Did any of your teachers give you any assignments on the first day?”
He shook his head from side to side. “No, but in one of the classes, the entire grade is based on a semester-long project.”
Tina thought that it might be a science project. “Is it science class?”
“No,” Justin griped. “It’s an English class. We have to write a paper. Our whole grade depends on it and I hate to write.”
A light came on in Tina’s mind. “Then let’s make it fun.” She paused for a second as Justin wrinkled his nose. “Maybe you can write your paper about what you did all summer.”
Justin stopped and thought for a second. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. “That might be fun,” he said. “And I could call it Finish Line.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Tina said. “Then you could write about what you did all summer and some of the neat people that you met.”
“If I could write a story about that, then I might start tonight,” Justin said with a sudden change of heart. “I could tell about Curt and Keith and J Dub and . . .”
“. . . Slow down,” Tina interrupted. “You better get a note pad and jot some of those ideas down.” Justin went to the utility drawer in the kitchen and got a pad of paper and a pen. He returned to the table and started jotting down notes.
“I could talk about Fred and Pork Chop and how fat they are and how they didn’t want to go on a diet,” he laughed out loud. “And how Rollie smoked all of his life and eventually died from it.”
“See,” Tina said happy to witness the change in her son’s attitude.
Justin was on a roll scribbling reminders to himself. “And I could talk about Captain Jer and how much of a drunk he was and how good with animals Dr. DV was and how Pork Chop almost jumped off the bridge because of his gambling.”
“What?” Tina shrieked. “You didn’t tell me about that!”
Justin looked up at her. “Then you can read about it when I’m finished.” He smiled at her. “And I can write about BowTye with the banjo and J Dub working with me on the range when Curt was in the hospital.”
“See how much fun it can be,” Tina said excitedly.
Dave heard the commotion and came into the kitchen. “Can you two hold it down a little?” He glared at Justin and then Tina. “What is all the racket about?”
Justin tapped his pencil on the table. Then he turned his head and looked at his step-dad. “To be quite honest Dave, you wouldn’t understand.” Justin scribbled a note concerning that comment as well. Perhaps Dave would be in his story.
“We’re working on one of his homework assignments,” Tina said in an attempt to cover for the cool treatment her son had dished out.
An idea about how to get Dave out of the room popped into Justin’s head. “Mom, I could talk about how Curt battled cancer and then saved BowTye and Captain Jer.” He paused and turned toward Tina. “I know he’s a hero for doing that.” Justin returned to writing down notes. “And then say how he helped Keith and Pork Chop and almost saved Rollie.”
“I’ve had enough of listening about Curt,” Dave growled as he left the room in a huff.
Justin swiveled the chair and saw Dave’s back, then he turned back around and winked at his mom. “Of course the story wouldn’t be complete unless I said something about Puddles and running around the lake to the finish line.”
Tina smiled at her son as she saw the life come back into his face. “From what I can tell, you might have more than just a story. You might have a whole book!”
“Wouldn’t that be neat?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
November 2007 . . .
The weather had changed again. Gone were daylight saving time and the beautiful fall days where the oak and maple and hickory trees saw their leaves change from summertime green to orange and red and yellow. It got dark around five o’clock. Anyone wanting to play golf at Prairie Winds would normally come bundled up in a sweatshirt and windbreaker and request a plastic windshield to wrap around the exterior of the golf cart.
The guys would normally show up but they wouldn’t stay as long and their appearances became less frequent. It was harder and harder to get a game together, let alone to play gin or backgammon. J Dub and Curt had a chance to get outside and work on the course a little more. Odd jobs like aerating and taking down dead trees took precedence over any other activity on the grounds.
The clouds turned an already dreary time of year into a more depressing event. And now, a slight drizzle put a damper on any sort of outdoor activity. Winds at thirty miles per hour made it downright miserable. The only thing that this particular day was good for was reading a book or a long lunch or maybe a movie matinee. Curt was sitting at the counter in jogging shoes and sweat pants. He was talking with J Dub and Julie and brainstorming about future odd jobs around
the course when the phone rang.
“Prairie Winds,” Curt answered.
“ . . . Could I speak to Curt Schroeder please?” the voice on the other end requested.
“You’ve got him.”
“This is the cancer center at Trinity Hospital. We’ve got the results of your CT scan.”
A lump formed in Curt’s throat. “I was just there two days ago. You’ve already got the results?” He turned and looked at J Dub and Julie then glanced to the heavens and said a prayer. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled as slowly as he could.
“Yes. There were no abnormalities. Everything was clean,” the voice replied matter-of-factly.
“You’re kidding!” Curt shouted as he paused to let the news sink in. “You mean, I’m cancer-free?”
“All indications point to that right now. Dr. Lincke in oncology wants to give you checkups every three to four months.”
“Hallelujah! Thanks for the great news!”
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.” The words were followed by a click on the line.
Curt hung up the phone and gave his brother a hug. He picked Julie up and whisked her off of her feet. “For right now, I’m cancer-free!” he shouted.
“I thought that you’d beat it,” J Dub said with a smile.
“Way to go!” Julie piped in.
Curt went to the coat rack and grabbed his hooded sweatshirt. He zipped it up and tied the hood around his head. Then he abruptly stopped and turned to stare out the window, savoring the good news that he had heard only moments before.
“Where are you going?” J Dub inquired.
“As lousy as that weather is outside, I’m going to go down to the lake, jog a few laps, say a lot of thankful prayers, and enjoy how beautiful this day is,” Curt replied. He headed for the door. “And on my way I’m going to take the time to call Tina and Justin.” He walked out and closed the door.
Early December . . . 2007
One of those unseasonably warm winter mornings had descended upon the St. Louis area. Ten days earlier an eight-inch snowfall had covered the ground. The weather warmed and within five days, all of the snow had melted. The warm southern air that had moved in created a low lying layer of moisture commonly known as radiation fog. It usually occurred when the soil was saturated, and the light wind kept it near the ground surface instead of allowing it to rise into the drier air above. J Dub could barely see in front of himself as he walked across the parking lot to unlock the clubhouse. He knew that his biggest concern was not wrecking the golf carts into each other as he pulled them out from the cart barn to their designated area.
Expectations of a lot of golfers showing up in this kind of weather were low. Even if they came at sunrise, it was sure to be after nine o’clock before they would be able to see well enough to follow the flight of the ball. Plus, any activity on the course under these soggy conditions would severely damage the turf. J Dub thought that it was more prudent to just pull two carts out of the barn and quickly huddle in the clubhouse. The other carts could be pulled out after the rising sun burned off the layer of fog. With any luck, maybe the wind would pick up a little and move the fog off of the ground.
J Dub knew everyone’s habits. He knew that Fred would clock out at seven, make the short drive to the golf course, and always be the first one there. Then he would pound down three or four doughnuts and have a cup of coffee while he shot the breeze with J Dub. When the inevitable moved him, Fred would pick up the morning paper and scamper down the steps to the men’s room.
One by one the die-hard golfers with nothing better to do straggled into the pro shop. J Dub did his best to explain that it would be a while before they could get out on the course. Everyone had been holed up the last several weeks and they wanted to get out and take advantage of the mild weather seldom seen ten days before Christmas. The coffee pot worked overtime as the group congregated, watched the ESPN highlights from the night before, and threw one-liners around the room.
It wasn’t long before Pork Chop showed up with his arm in a sling. “For Pete’s sake, what did you do now?” J Dub asked.
“Oh, it’s a long story,” Pork Chop started.
“No it isn’t,” Fred stated matter-of-factly. “Go ahead and tell him.”
Pork Chop looked somber. He knew that the word would get out and that he was going to be the butt of all the jokes that would fly around the clubhouse. “We went out and played a few holes yesterday. You weren’t around or had already left for the day or something.”
“Yeah, I took off early to do some Christmas shopping,” J Dub said.
“After our gin game we thought we’d try to squeeze in a few holes since no one was out on the course. We knew that we could play pretty fast,” Pork Chop continued.
“Yada, yada, yada,” Fred butted in. “Get to the point.” Pork Chop gave him a nasty look. “Go ahead.”
“Anyway I got a hot dog before we took off,” Pork Chop said as he returned to his story. J Dub shook his head as if he understood. “And you know that hemorrhoid problem that I had a few years ago, right?” J Dub nodded again. “Well,” he paused, “it resurfaced again.”
“Cut the small talk. Tell him what happened,” Fred yelled over from the corner booth.
Pork Chop glared over at Fred. “It didn’t take long. We didn’t even get to the fourth hole. And I mean I had to go . . . right now,” Pork Chop emphasized with a slap of the hands. “I started to run into the woods.”
Fred started rolling with laughter in the booth. “Yeah, you should have seen that. It was closer to a waddle. He was slopping through the mud and trying to hold it back.”
J Dub stifled a laugh and tilted his head down to look affectionately out of the top of his eyes at Pork Chop.
“It started coming,” Pork Chop blurted.
“What started coming?” J Dub asked knowing full well what the answer was going to be.
“ . . . The poop! I couldn’t get into the woods fast enough and it started going everywhere. It was on my shirt, and my pants, and on my shoes.”
Fred and J Dub had tears rolling down their face; their laughter rang throughout the clubhouse.
“I mean, you know, it was cart paths only and it was muddy and then I was squatting there with poop all over the place and I didn’t have anything to wipe up with,” Pork Chop continued. “So, I yelled over to Fred to grab my rain suit and a golf towel.”
The cajoling was reaching new heights. J Dub was howling. “Did you clean him up, Fred?”
“Oh no, are you kidding?” Fred said as he grabbed his stomach from the eruption of chuckles.
“No, the SOB wouldn’t help me,” Pork Chop lamented.
“Can you blame him?” J Dub asked.
“Well, no . . . not really,” Pork Chop stammered. “But that was when the bigger problem came about.” Fred nearly fell out of the booth from all of the laughs. “I mean it was bad enough to be squatting in the woods behind a bush with poop all over the place. But when I reached around to wipe myself I heard something pop in my shoulder.”
“Is that the reason for the sling?” J Dub pried.
“Yeah,” Pork Chop admitted. “I went to the hospital and they did an MRI. The doctor said that I had a torn rotator cuff.”
“ . . . From wiping his ass!” Fred roared.
“It’s not funny,” Pork Chop said attempting to defend himself.
“Well, it is too,” J Dub smirked. “Look at all of us laughing.”
Pork Chop paused and reflected. “I guess. I mean, it is and it isn’t. If it happened to you, it wouldn’t be.”
“It’s a good reason for you and I to both go on a diet,” Fred announced as he shoved another doughnut into his mouth.
“Does Curt know?” J Dub asked.
“Yeah,” Pork Chop acknowledged, “he was the one that took me to the emergency room.”
“ . . . Poop and all?” J Dub queried.
Pork Chop shook his head with embarrassment. “ . . . Poop an
d all. I mean it was everywhere.” He knew that he would never live that story down. “Is he in today?”
“Yeah,” J Dub said. “He was here before me. Ever since he got the good news he’s been feeling real perky. I’m sure he went jogging down by the lake.” J Dub glanced at the clock. “He should have been back by now. Why don’t you grab a cart and go check on him?”
“That’s about all I’ll be good for . . . running a taxi service,” Pork Chop said. With his arm in a sling, he knew his days playing golf were going to be limited. He grabbed a cart key and headed out the door.
“Be careful in the fog!” J Dub yelled as the door slammed.
A Few Minutes Later . . .
Ring-a-ling-ling. Ring-a-ling-ling. J Dub picked up the phone expecting to explain again to a prospective customer that the tee times for the day were running behind. “Prairie Winds, J Dub here.”
“J Dub!” the voice screamed on the other end.
“You got him. That’s me.”
“J Dub, it’s me, Pork Chop.”
“Hey, Pork Chop, what’s up?” J Dub answered.
“J Dub. It’s Curt. I’ve found Curt. He’s down.”
“What do you mean he’s down?”
“He’s down. He’s face down on the path by the pampas grass and I can’t get him up.”
J Dub’s head reeled. “Is he breathing?”
“I can’t tell. Yeah, maybe a little. I’ve called 9-1-1. Get over here. We’re by that white painted finish line.”
“I’ll be right out! Try to roll him over and give him CPR with your good arm until I get there.” J Dub slammed down the receiver. This can’t be! He pounded his fist against the wall and made his way to the door. What the hell! Heart attack, stroke? Some cancer thing broke loose? His mind and legs raced. “Fred, keep an eye on things!”
“What happened?” Fred called back.
“It’s Curt,” J Dub yelled as the door slammed behind him.
Not my big brother. Not now. Not after all this. J Dub’s feet flew over the parking lot to the utility vehicle. Come on Pork Chop! Keep him alive! He stepped on the gas and sped out onto the course. Come on man; you’re in your prime. You’ve worked too hard to beat this thing. You can’t go like this; not now, not when you just got your groove back. Not now, Curt. Please, not now. This is nuts! The John Deere flew across the fairways. Hang on buddy. Whatever am I going to say to Tina and Justin? I mean he just got the good news phone call a few weeks ago. This can’t be happening!
