The Cycle

Hole-in-One

June 31st, 2011

(Carter and Ashley’s First Date)

The sun reflected off the giant rainbow golf ball on top of the Mini-Putt-Putt. Wherever the light hit it, it seemed to glow iridescently and I couldn’t help but to wonder about the substance that it was made of. What would make a golf ball gloow like that? Plastic? Glass? Cardboard?

“Carter! Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”

I hadn’t. “Yeah, of course. You were saying something about the Bro-do’s right?”

“BOR-DEAUXS. It’s really not that hard. And yeah, I was telling you to make sure you don’t walk on your toes, I don’t want any creases in them.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can we go now, bro? We’ve been sitting out here for half an hour going over all your stupid rules.” It had really only been about five minutes but when you have a beautiful girl waiting on you, time seems to stretch. I could already picture her radiance, like a movie unfolding in my mind.

She would be holding the golf club, her slim waist tilted slightly forward. I would suavely come up behind her and offer to help her. Pressing my body against her and wrapping my arms around her, I’d help her line up her shot perfectly, and then with a little swivel of our hips, we’d swing and send her ball flying straight into the hole. She’d let out that cute little excited giggle of hers, the turn around, throwing her arms around my neck and we’d share our first kiss right there on the fake mini-golf turf.

 “Yeah, bro. I don’t have time for this stupid shoe talk!” I cut Lars off from whatever he was saying—something about ‘just-in-case napkins’--and opened the car door. Inside the mini-golf building Ashley was waiting—my future was waiting, and I wasn’t about to let Lars postpone what would later become an amazing ‘first-kiss story’ to tell our children.

 I walked through the parking lot briskly and just as I was about to grab the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Lars was breathing hard like he’d been rushing after me. He pointed an angry finger at me. “Don’t ever…call…the Jordans stupid!”

“Whatever, come on. I have other stuff to worry about than a pair of shoes.”

He let out a girl-like gasp and covered his mouth. “It’s a brand of shoes!  The best brand-- they’re so much more than shoes. You know what!? I revoke my shoe gift!  Take em off.”

This was the problem with Lars, whenever he got high he became so dramatic. “Okay bro, ha-ha. You’re hilarious, come on though, let’s go. Ashley--”

Lars, moving faster than I had given him credit for, had grabbed my pants leg and was holding it hostage under his arm, while he unlaced the shoe. I tried to protest and at the same time not draw too much attention to us. But, when two teenage boys are standing in front of the entrance to a mini-golf building fighting over a shoe, people tend to look.

“You’re acting like a child!”

 “Say that they’re more than shoes!”

“Okay, okay! They’re more than shoes! They’re the best shoes ever! If Mila Kunis was a shoe, she’d be a Jordan.” He dropped my foot abruptly with a big smile on his face.

“You’re right bro. Mila Kunis would totally be a Jordan. You really do get them, huh?”

No, no Lars, I don’t. I just said what I thought you wanted to hear, I thought to myself, but said, “Of course bro! I am from Chicago after all, home of #32! Jordan himself.” aloud.