Free The Sand Trap by Dave Marshall

investing, and now our family is quite well off you
might say. However, even after they made lots of money, Mom and Dad
both felt they were still considered those “upstart Jews from the
garment district”. They figured that if we all joined the country
club and all played golf and tennis as soon as we could walk, and
graduate later in life to lawn bowling, we would become one of the
gang. My older brother Herb was the designated tennis player. Don’t
ask where he lives now. I was the designated golfer. Took lessons
from the time I was five. Did all the junior tournament stuff, the
club champion stuff, dressed the way I should and to my family's
relief, I turned out to be pretty good at the game. By high school
I was one of the best young women prospects in the state. My
parents already had made a big enough donation to ensure my
admission to an Ivy League university.”
    Rebecca paused to take a swig from the can
of beer that she held between her legs.
    “Blah. Blah. I know all of this,” Melanie
said. “You’ve told me many times how rich and good you are. How you
only ended up at Clapshorn because you blew the president of the
country club’s fourteen-year-old son in the garden shed and
followed that up with some sort of scandal at the private school
you went to. But none of that explains why you quit playing.”
    “Thanks for that reminder,” Rebecca stayed
serious. “I guess what I’m trying to say Melanie, is that playing
golf was never something that I chose to do. It seemed that my life
was orchestrated for me either by my parents or some coach or
other. The only thing I actually did have control over was what I
did with my body and I liked that control and still do. But playing
golf? It was just something I did, not something that burned inside
me that had to be nurtured and fed. Until I met you and watched you
play I didn’t think it was very important. It's just a game after
all.”
    Melanie had the BMW cruising along the empty
back road at over eighty mph. Trees and scenery were whipping by
them in a blur while the long straight road seemed to lay
unchanging in front of them. Soon they would be in the foothills of
the Rockies and while the speed would go down, the twists and turns
and elevations would partner with Melanie’s driving skill to make
Rebecca shriek with either fear or excitement. But for now the road
was straight and wide and they could talk as well as drive.
    “I don’t understand Rebecca? How do I fit
into this?”
    “You mean apart from the fact that watching
you helped me realize I will never be good enough to make golf a
lifetime avocation? My poor parents will have to wait for some
grandchild to have the next great golf hope. To be truthful, I’m
not sure I totally understand it either Melanie. But now I know
that I do indeed have something burning inside me that I need to
feed. I feel the urge to know how you are so good at what you do,
and I need to know how good you can actually get.”
    They were both lost in their own thoughts
for a moment, the silence inside the car blending with the warm
thrum of the car’s engine.
    After a long pause, Rebecca added. “And
without me on your bag you would be a royal fuck up!”
    Their laughter broke up the seriousness of
the moment. Melanie had never heard Rebecca speak in such a
thoughtful way when either describing herself or golf. She had
simply thought Rebecca just didn’t want to play anymore and helping
out with the team was a way of staying socially active as well as
keeping some of her scholarship. She needed to know more.
    “So your quitting the team was my fault?”
Melanie was astonished.
    “Right. So let’s talk about you Melanie.
Maybe you will understand a little more,” Rebecca offered. “Why do
you think you are so good at the game?”
    They had often talked about how Melanie
developed her swing and they had a good laugh over Andy Bean and
Hale Irwin. It was only recently a student sports reporter from
Montana