Page 118 of Playworld
Everyone cackled, so I followed suit.
“—and kicks right,” Tanner continued.
“Oh my stars and garters,” Squi said.
“And lands smack dab in the middle of the fairway.”
“Most excellent,” said PJ, and slapped my shoulder so hard I almost covered up.
“So I’m one twenty-five to the pin—” Tanner said.
“Let me guess,” PJ said, and then pointed at him: “Punch nine.”
Tanner shook his head and tipped his beer can toward him. “Cut eight. I hit itsopure—”
“Candy,”said Croker.
“And it holds its line,” Tanner continued, pointing his flat hand skyward, “it’s right on the flag”—he tilted his flat hand downward—“and then it one-hops”—he clinked his beer to Brett’s—“right in the hole.”
“Jarred that bitch!” Brett said.
“No!” everyone said.
“No!” I echoed.
“My first eagle,” Tanner said.
Everyone clinked drinks.
I followed them out to the first fairway. Several of them lit cigarettes while the rest stood arrayed along the green’s collar, aimed toward the hole, and pissed in its direction. Two of the boys disappeared and then reappeared in a pair of golf carts. “Gentlemen,” Croker said, “your rides have arrived.” We hopped on the carts and drove. The sand traps looked like snowbanks; the water hazards, like black ice. I was reminded of the last time I was on a golf course, this past winter, once again dressed in clothes that did not quite seem as if they were mine, the whiteout conditions limiting visibility as much as the darkness now, and me, even then, dreaming of a girl. And yet there was once again the feeling that I was not the same person. That beneath this outfit, there was another self I was becoming, emergent, powerful—dare I say calm?—ready to burst from beneath my skin because he was somehow larger than this form could accommodate. “August,” Squi said, shouting to me over the motor, “always seems like the longest and shortest month. Know what I mean?” I did now. We stopped at a body of water. “Penniman Creek,” Squi said when I asked. Croker handed him a nine iron and dropped a ball at his feet. Squi lined up his shot. “It feeds into the canal that runs parallel to the ocean. We are right now facing due south”—he swung, and the sound of the strike was pure, and the white orb disappeared into the night—“of Bermuda.” He looked at his audience and smiled. “Depending on the alignment of your clubface.” Lights of spectacular homes lined the creek’s perimeter. To achieve such luxury, I wondered, must one imagine it? Squi produced a joint. When he smoked it, he pinched it with histhumb and index finger and then pressed his lips to these like the bars of a Jew’s harp. “So we don’t swap spit,” he said when he offered it to me. I declined. Everyone else took several hits, and we loaded back into the carts and drove back to the field house. I felt strangely wistful as the cars sped along. I was certain I was the only one here who was sure I’d never see these people again. When I found Tanner and returned his father’s jacket, it was like returning a costume on the last night of a performance.
Amanda was seated at a table. I touched her shoulder and she looked at me, blearily, and said, “I think I need to go home.”
Claire appeared. Unlike Amanda, she seemed alert, awake, and when she bent between us, she said, above the music, which sounded louder now that the dance floor was nearly empty, “Where’s Vince Voelker?” And then, wickedly: “I want to fuck.”
So we left her there.
In Dr. West’s car, in and out of dozing, Amanda gave me perfect directions back to the house. When we arrived, I killed the engine, pulled the keys, pressed the headlights knob to off, and we sat for a moment, staring at the stars and listening to the frogs sing. I turned to her, hoping we might have a minute or two to ourselves, but she was asleep. When I finally shook her arm, her skin was dewy. “Home?” she asked, and got out of the car. Amanda was a bit wobbly, so I caught up to her and steadied her by the elbow and waist. “You’re a gentleman,” she mumbled, and nuzzled my neck before we entered, her breath smelling of vodka and cigarettes. The living room was dark. We walked up the dark stairs, Amanda ahead of me. She held her dress’s skirt in one hand as she climbed, running her hand up the railing with the other. If, during any part of the evening, we might have one moment that was going to be meaningful, this was it. But over her shoulder, she said, “Good night, thank you for driving,” and went to her room. I watched her door close, although not completely. In mine, I stripped to my underwear and got into bed. I stared at the ceiling; the floorboards creaked. The house was so old it was almost never completely silent, which was a way, I thought, that such places made you feel a bit less lonely.
—
The sun announced a glorious morning through my window. I could hear the sound of the sink running in the kitchen. I recall wakingdetermined to be patient. I was certain that at some point before my departure, Amanda and I would spend some time together, so I would occupy myself until then. I rose and put on only my bathing suit and sneakers, and I padded down the stairs as quietly as I could manage. The kitchen had just been cleaned, but the scent of last night’s meal still clung to the air. The small television sitting atop the counter was on, sound off; the meteorologist stood before a satellite image of Long Island and pointed to the symbol of an incoming front: the bowing band of low pressure was fanged with triangles and bent toward the island’s tip. When I exited the front door, I saw that Dr. West’s convertible was gone. I walked down the driveway to Dune Road, aware of the distance I was putting between Amanda and me. I jogged until I arrived at Rogers Beach; this early, its parking lot was empty, sand sidewinding in discretely connected bands across the blacktop and then dispersing in its cracks and gaps. There wasn’t a soul here, no flags adjacent the lifeguard stands signaling the conditions. I jogged west on the hardpack until I worked up a good sweat and, after perhaps twenty minutes, I turned around, this loop, albeit smaller, no different from my bike ride, a sad bid for agency, for a schedule.
Back at the Wests’ house no one appeared to be up. Dr. West’s car was still gone, although on the dining table small plates had been put out, along with croissants and butter and jelly and marmalade. I ate one pastry standing, then I rinsed my plate and put it on the sink’s drying rack. I went up the stairs, and there was Amanda, just emerging from the bathroom.
“Good morning,” I said, and she said so back. We both paused, and then I went to kiss her cheek and she did not resist.
“You’re sweaty,” she said.
“I went for a run,” I said, in a tone that suggested,I can keep myself busy until you’re ready to…no verb forming that infinitive.
“That’s nice,” she said. And then, “It’s all yours,” as she hurried to her room, and once I was in the shower, I pressed my head against the tiles until I felt the past twenty-four hours had been rinsed from me.
From that point forward, I realized I was not tethered to Amanda; rather, I was moving at a distance from her at her silent command. For most of the morning, she remained in her room, reading on her bed,but kept her door open, and when I pretended to need something in mine, she eyed me above her book with such impatience that I hugged the walls, slipping through my door’s crack and exiting just as quickly. By midday the wind was up. The sun was still out but hazed by cloud cover. To keep myself busy, I worked on myDungeons & Dragonscampaign on the dining room table. When Amanda passed through the room, I dared not look up from my maps, and at lunchtime I joined Dr. West and Sylvia at the bayside table. From my chair I spotted Amanda in the kitchen window eating an apple and considering the water. After I was finished and got up, I excused myself to sit on the small dock, and when I looked over my shoulder Amanda had joined her father and stepmother, replacing me. When I returned to join Dr. West, Sylvia and Amanda had gone for a walk, he explained. He was reading alone, so I took the seat across from him.
He asked me, “Are you going to watch the All-Star Game tonight?”
The baseball players’ strike had pushed the event back until now, but I knew what he was really inquiring about was the timing of my departure. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. He seemed to sense this.