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

by James Ross

  “Mista Pork Chop, where is it you will be goin’ to lunch?” the rich, deep voice of the entertainer asked.

  Pork Chop had taken a seat in the booth that Fred had vacated. For some reason the springs had been readjusted there to accommodate their bodies more comfortably. He looked over the top of a racing form. “I don’t know. Do you know anything about horses?”

  “Only that they’re fun to watch. I neva do any good at da track.”

  “None of us do,” Pork Chop said with a laugh. “But I need to entertain Pops a little. Today is my day to take him out of the old folks’ home and watch him.” He looked to the neighboring table and saw Pops turning playing cards over and playing War with Pabby. The two of them laughed. Whenever one of them won it was a race to see who could scrape the cards to their side the fastest.

  “No lunch wit’ da owner of da New York Yankees?” BowTye asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Pork Chop chuckled, “but I may find someone over there to introduce as the owner.” He stared at his dad and lamented the dementia. “That really gives me something to look forward to.”

  “War!” Pabby yelled as each guy turned over a six. The combatants put three cards face down and turned the fourth card over.

  “War again!” Pops yelled as each guy turned over a jack.

  Pabby threw his fist in the air. “Yeah!” He focused intently on the top card on his stack and inched his face closer to the pile. Deliberately he grabbed a card and placed it on the table until three more cards lay face down. Sheepishly he looked up at Uncle Woo, his mouth open. The winner was to be determined by the value of the next card. He placed his hand on the top of his stack and declared, “Together.”

  Uncle Woo grabbed the card on top of his stack. In unison the pair turned over a card. Uncle Woo had a five. Pabby had a queen. “Yeah!” the boy cried. Faster than a prairie dog could scamper into a hole Pabby reached for the cards and hoarded them to his side of the table.

  Uncle Woo pounded his fist on the table. “I quit!”

  “Pops, it’s just a game,” Pork Chop scolded his father.

  “I can’t stand to lose.” He looked across the table and watched as Pabby reveled in his success. The boy’s smile spread across his face. His stack of cards dwarfed the few cards that Uncle Woo had left. He made a move to get up from the table.

  “No,” Pabby said. “Not done.”

  “Yes we are,” Uncle Woo declared. “I give up.”

  Pabby reached across the table and counted the cards that remained on the table in front of the old man. “Nine left.”

  Uncle Woo pushed them toward the youngster. “You can have them. I quit.” He got up from the table mad.

  “Maybe it’s time to go outside for a while,” Pork Chop said. He was surprised at the reaction from his father. “We can check with J Dub and maybe go fishing.” He laid the racing form on the table.

  Pabby glanced over and noticed a picture of a horse on the front page. He reached for the paper. “Horse.”

  Aieshia saw it coming. She reached for the paper. “No, not now.”

  “The horse. It’s a four-legged animal…”

  “Pabby, no! Dat can wait.” She interrupted then tugged on the paper. Pabby yanked back. The racing form ripped. “Let’s go outside. We can go wit’ Poke Chop.”

  “No! I want to talk about horses!”

  “We can do that,” Pork Chop said. He tried to intervene. “But first let’s go out around the lake.”

  “I know horses!”

  “Pabby! Duz ya wants me ta give ya mo’ medicine?” Aieshia interrupted. Her size alone served as an intimidating factor.

  Pabby folded his hands and bowed his head. He stuck out his lower lip and meekly replied, “No.” Then he glanced at Uncle Woo and broke into an infectious grin.

  “Den ya needs ta behave,” Aieshia said. “Can ya’s do dat?”

  Pabby shifted his attention back to Aieshia. He exchanged three quick glances with Uncle Woo then looked over his shoulder and nodded at Aieshia. “Yes.”

  “If ya’s don’t den ya’s eitha gonna get mo’ medicine or we’s will go home. Understand?”

  Pabby shook his head up and down as Shae approached the booth. She reached out and handed him an apple that she had taken out of the fruit basket that was on the counter. “Here. You can have mine.”

  Once again Pabby broke into a grin that was contagious. He reached forward, grabbed the apple and uttered, “Thanks.” Then he put his arm around Shae’s shoulders and pulled her close to his body. During the hug he smiled at everyone near him.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Pork Chop, you and BowTye can drive the two Gators out to the irrigation lake,” J Dub said as he pushed open the door to the cart shed. B2 was on his heels. The green and yellow, four wheel drive, all-terrain vehicles had two front seats and a bed with sides and rear hatch. The pro handed keys to both men then continued to the corner. “Here are some fishing poles and tackle boxes. It’s a slow day on the course. Just get on the far side of the lake and stay away from the golfers.”

  “Are these safe?” BowTye asked.

  “Sure, just don’t drive too fast. Remember that you have people riding in the back.”

  “I may need a seat belt to strap my dad in,” Pork Chop quipped.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  Pork Chop placed the fishing gear in the back and hopped into the driver’s seat. Pops climbed in next to him. Aieshia and Pabby got into the bed of the vehicle. BowTye started his Gator up as Carla and Shae climbed in the back.

  “Do you need something to drink?” Julie asked as she came through the front door of the clubhouse with a cooler. “Here’s some bottled water.”

  “Dat remin’ me,” Aieshia said. “I betta grab da sack lunches.” She hopped over the side board and headed for the Footprints of Hope van.

  “And I need to get my digital camera,” Pork Chop said. He pulled the Gator up to his car.

  “You guys have fun fishing on the lake,” J Dub said. “BowTye knows where to take you. We’ve been out there before.” He turned and headed back toward the clubhouse. “I’ll be out to check on you.” B2 sniffed the ground. He made a straight line for the shrubs and started digging, dirt spraying through his legs.

  After the lunches, camera, fishing paraphernalia and riders were secure BowTye headed for a gravel road that circumvented the property with Pork Chop following. It was a path that the grounds crew used. The dirt road directed the maintenance equipment around the course away from the golfers. It weaved through trees, across the creek and skirted waist-high grass.

  Pabby squirmed when Pork Chop headed down a dirt road in the trees. Spider webs stretched across the path from tree trunk to errant shrubbery. Mosquitoes hovered in the shade. Dragonflies, joined in twos, buzzed through the air. The sounds of the locusts and crickets made anxious moments for him as well. The smaller the living creature the more petrified he became.

  In due time, Pork Chop parked the Gator on the far side of the irrigation lake well away from the golfing public. J Dub and Curt had built a small fishing dock that jutted out into the water. On many a summer day someone from the grounds crew or clubhouse could be spotted casting a line into the water off the platform. The rock placed on the banks of the lake provided perfect spawning areas for the fish. It was not unthinkable to land a six-or seven-pound bass out of the large watering hole.

  “Now Pops, I want you to stay right here in this seat,” Pork Chop said to his dad. “I don’t want you near the water.”

  “What are we going to do?’ the elderly man asked.

  “We’re going to watch the kids fish.”

  “Ain’t it time for lunch yet?”

  “It will be shortly. We’ll spend some time out here then we’ll get something to eat.”

  “With the guy that owns the New York Yankees, right?”

  “You bet,” Pork Chop said as he got the fishing gear out of the back of the Gator.

  BowTye looked at the l
etters on the front of Aieshia’s sweatshirt. “Is that where you’re from?”

  Aieshia smiled. “You mean A-R-K-A-N-S-A-S?” she asked mindful that Shae was within hearing distance.

  “Yeah,” the tiny black man said.

  “I suppose,” Aieshia said. “At least part of the time I reckon. We wuz po’ an’ moved ’round a lot,” she started. “I ne’er knew my daddy. He wuzn’t ’round too much. Momma took care of us. She worked three jobs ta feed her family.”

  “Really?”

  “Da bes’ dat I can ’member is she wuz on food stamps. Den she babysat an’ on da days she didn’t do dat she sat in a produce stand by da highway. An’ she taught Sunday school an’ da church choir ev’ry Wednesday night.”

  “What part of Arkansas?” BowTye asked Aieshia as he experienced a slip of the tongue.

  “We finally settled in da po’ part. Right ’cross da border from Kennett,” the large young lady answered. “Awes dat be aroun’ us wuz chicken legs, waddermelon an’ bales o’ cotton.”

  “That’s in the boot heel,” BowTye clarified.

  “Arkansas was admitted as the twenty-fifth state in 1836,” Shae began after hearing the state mentioned. “The mockingbird is the state bird.”

  “Shae,” Carla butted in, “do we have to go into all of that?” The girl flashed an annoying look toward her instructor.

  “The white-tailed deer is the state mammal. The apple blossom is the state flower. As for the tree,” the girl paused, “well it’s the pine.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Carla urged in a gentle tone.

  “It’s important for Pabby to know that the honeybee is the state insect.” Shae cupped her hands together and held them at waist level above her beltline. She was proud to display her knowledge.

  “Thank you for being considerate of our feelings,” Carla said.

  Shae made a rebellious face. “There’s at least one other thing you should know,” she started. “The Diana Fritillary butterfly is the state butterfly.”

  “That’s interesting,” Carla said.

  “It gets more interesting,” Shae added. “The males are dark brown with orange markings. The females are larger,” she said with a smile, “and I think much more beautiful. They are black with bright blue markings mixed with white spots.”

  Carla forced a smile. She could never predict what sort of factual tidbit would come out of Shae’s mouth. The pair glanced over to Pork Chop and BowTye. One had opened the tackle box while the other held the fishing pole. Pork Chop rummaged through the various lures. “Let’s try this,” he said as he reached for a rubber worm.

  Pabby put his head down and sprinted for the Gator where Pops was seated. “No!” he shrieked.

  “Oh, crap,” Aieshia said as she hustled over to console her student. “It won’t hurt you. Dat worm be fake,” she explained.

  Pabby was shaking. “Get it away.”

  “Maybe dis ain’t gonna be a good idea,” she said to Pork Chop and BowTye.

  “Do you think that worm is some snake or something?” Pops asked.

  Pabby shook his head negatively. “He can handle dose,” Aieshia answered. “It’s dem little ones dats he be afrai’ of.”

  Shae put pressure on the ball of her foot and drug the other behind as she managed her way over to Pork Chop who was still kneeling on the deck trying to put the rubber worm on the hook. She grabbed the worm and held it between her index finger and thumb as her middle two fingers remained pressed against the palm of her hand.

  She continued over to Pabby who was huddled with Aieshia in the back of the Gator. “This won’t hurt you.” She held the bait in front of his face. “Quit being such a wuss.” Abruptly she turned around and limped back to Pork Chop.

  “Pops! What are you doing?”

  “Petting the fox,” the old man replied. He had wandered over to the side of the water and rubbed the mane of a clay fox that had been anchored there to act as a deterrent to the geese.

  “For crying out loud,” Pork Chop with a laugh. “Get back over here. Maybe we should get a picture and call it a day,” Pork Chop suggested to Aieshia. “Get the group organized and I’ll set up the camera.” He quickly closed the tackle box and grabbed the fishing poles from BowTye. In a continuous movement he deposited the gear in the back of one of the Gators and grabbed his digital camera. “Line up with the lake in the background. That will make a nice setting.” He fiddled with the tripod.

  “Whatcha be doin?” Aieshia asked.

  “This is a digital camera. I’ll put it on the tripod and hit a button. The automatic setting will take a hundred and twenty pictures or something like that. I’ll be able to get in the picture too.” He looked at his dad who was now sitting in the front seat of the Gator. “Go ahead, Pops. Stand next to BowTye.”

  “Who’s that?” The old man looked around. “Is that the owner of the New York Yankees?”

  Pork Chop started laughing. “No, no. That’s the short guy over there.” He turned to BowTye. “Can you help him while I get this set up?”

  BowTye helped Pops over to the group and held his elbow as the pair joined the two youngsters and their aides. “Where do you want us to stand?”

  Pork Chop looked through the lens of the camera. “Have the kids stand in front of the girls. BowTye, if you could kneel in front of Pops, then I’ll hit the automatic timer and run over and get in the picture next to him.” He selected the setting on the digital camera. A few seconds later he waddled over to join the group. “Everybody smile. We’re going to take a bunch of them and hope that a few turn out.” The camera clicked away.

  Two minutes later the task was completed. As the group headed for the Gators Shae quipped, “Arkansas is nicknamed the natural state.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “Prairie Winds,” J Dub said as he answered the phone. It was a daily occurrence to see him reaching into the beer cooler, ringing an item up on the cash register and walking behind the counter multi-tasking. With his head tilted sideways and the phone between his ear and right shoulder, routine activities would take twice as long without a long extension cord. “May I help you?”

  “Yeah,” the caller began, “I need to get some information from you.”

  “Sure, go for it,” the pro replied.

  “First off, is this your correct number?”

  “This is Prairie Winds. What are you looking for?”

  “The golf course,” the voice on the other end answered.

  “Yeah, you got us.” J Dub gave Julie a look that told her another whacko was on the line. He paced behind the counter. “Go on.” People were standing in line to be waited on. “We’re busy.”

  “Do you have one of those areas where you can buy a bucket of balls and hit them for practice?”

  “You mean a driving range?”

  “No, that’s not it. We know how to drive.”

  J Dub grabbed the phone with his right hand and gestured with both hands to the ceiling. He clenched his jaw and snuck another look at Julie. “The practice area on the golf course is called a driving range.” Exasperated he continued, “That’s what they’re called.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure, I’m sure.”

  “Well how much is it for a bucket of large balls?”

  “We’re out of large balls right now,” J Dub quipped, “but we’ll sell you twice as many small balls for the same price and to make you feel welcome we’ll put them in a large bucket especially for you.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Twelve bucks.”

  “Then how much is it for half as many balls?”

  “You mean you want a small bucket?”

  “No, just half as many balls.”

  J Dub stopped and silently counted to five. “Look, if you don’t want to hit as many balls, then we’ll sell you a small bucket of balls.”

  “How many balls would that be?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. I never stopped to count how many fill up a smal
l bucket,” J Dub said. “Why does it matter?”

  “I’m doing some comparative pricing.”

  “Everybody around here ought to have the same size buckets,” the pro assured the caller.

  “Yeah, but what I’ve found out is that different places put a different number of balls in a bucket.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” J Dub replied. “What difference does it make?”

  “Well, I want to make sure I get my money’s worth,” the caller said.

  “I’ll tell you what, you come on out and hit a small bucket of balls. If you think you need to take a couple more swings to get your practice in then I’ll give you a few more balls to hit.”

  “At no extra charge?”

  “That’s right,” the pro announced through the phone. “We want to make sure that you don’t feel cheated.”

  “I still wish I knew how many I’d be starting with.”

  J Dub glanced at Julie and started laughing quietly. “You just come on out and we’ll take care of you.”

  “How much is that smaller bucket?”

  “That goes for four dollars.”

  “Then it’s not quite half as big as the other bucket,” the caller surmised.

  “No, that’s right,” J Dub said. “I don’t want to sound too difficult but we have a medium sized bucket of balls too.”

  “Oh you do,” the voice said on the other end. There was a pause. “How many balls are in that?”

  J Dub started laughing. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but I honestly don’t know.” He took the phone off his ear and then returned it. “Is this a crank phone call?”

  “No, not at all. I’m simply trying to gather information.” Silence occupied the line. “You wouldn’t buy anything unless you knew what you were paying for, would you?”

  “You come on out and we’ll see to it that you’re happy.”

  “How much is it for the medium sized bucket of balls?”

  “We split the difference between the two. That would make it eight bucks.”

  “But you still don’t know how many are in each sized bucket.”

  “No,” J Dub said. “We just fill them up until they start running on the floor.”