18

David West was so taken with his view of the hills that he forgot it was his turn to hit the golf ball. "Looking at the shot won't make it any easier," came a voice from behind. "Study long, study wrong, young man," came another. He smiled broadly, his back to the group in the tee box on hole number 3. To David, the gentle ribbing enhanced the scenery – the overall effect was sublime. 

He took his stance, exhaled fully, and emptied his mind. Then the club seemed to move away from the ball by itself. At the apex of his backswing, his driver spent an instant frozen in time before gravity caught up to it. By the time he afforded himself a thought, the ball was in flight a hundred yards away. The three men standing behind him erupted. 

"Nice shot!" Said one. 

"Good ball...great ball!" chimed another. 

"Perfect,” whispered his dad.

This foursome included David, his father Lawrence West, and two of Lawrence’s closest friends - Carl Smith, an Army Ranger who served in Vietnam, and Dr. Caleb Harris, a retired cardiologist, who also served during the war but was never deployed. For this reason, Dr. Harris went to great lengths to refer to himself as a “Vietnam era Veteran” when in the presence of Smith, which always left the Sergeant somewhere between bemusement and solemn appreciation. Their routine was well orchestrated and tickled David’s funny bone.

David was the youngest man by thirty years and the only one who still worked for a living. He took great pride in being part of this quirky and opinionated foursome and relished his role as the kid. In general, he was in on the joke but would withdraw in deference when these men spoke of heavier things; a spouse who'd fallen ill, an old friend out of touch...the funeral of a colleague. In the twilight of their years, they had chosen to let David in on a secret; to allow him a glimpse into his future.

His place in the group was by proxy at first. Lawrence West, an academic turned university administrator, had accepted a job several hours down Interstate 95 in Washington D.C. Initially, he tried to honor the standing tee time back north, but the round-trip drive was formidable. Against this backdrop, and with a fair amount of trepidation, David West was called up from the minor leagues to take his father’s place. The foursome that David was grandfathered into originally included Mike Sterling, an amiable banker who lived down the street from the doctor. Sterling was a talented golfer whose eyesight was worsening with age. The effect was disheartening. He was left with a good-looking swing that yielded poor results. At the behest of his doctor, Sterling began to sleep in more and play golf less...and David took his place.    

David had planned this outing in early December during the holiday rush. Wanting it to be special, his first instinct was to look at one of the dozen top U.S. golf destinations. Pebble Beach, Pinehurst, Sawgrass, Whistling Straits. He and his father had often discussed making a pilgrimage together. Without fail, life would get in the way. So, while scrolling and clicking against the backdrop of winter in the Northeast, he imagined the opportunity that each course offered to make a statement... Because David’s father was dying. And he needed to say goodbye.  

He had been comforted by the daydreaming that came with planning the trip. He couldn’t wait to experience the euphoria of meeting at the airport with golf clubs and luggage. The excited chatter as they boarded a 737. The luxury of flying first class; reading, eating, conversing, sleeping. In David’s imagination, a scene unfolded while disembarking in which each man in the group thanked each flight attendant and was wished farewell - a cascade of goodbyes that culminated with Lawrence West reaching the captain and thanking him for a smooth flight. Each time he replayed this movie, the captain would shake his father’s hand and say, "I wish I was coming with you guys."

But the grand trip never materialized. Over the holiday break, David spent hours on the phone with Carl Smith and Doctor Harris, discussing courses, flights, and everything in between. He found stepping away from his family to have a meandering conversation with one of his father’s friends to be at once surreal and cathartic. These men he’d looked up to his entire life understood him and now spoke to him as an equal; a friend. He said things to them that he could not say to his father and they listened. They were filled with warmth, melancholy, and nostalgia, and he loved them for it. 

By New Year’s Eve, it became clear that Lawrence West was not well enough for destination golf. He was thin and uncomfortable. He was angry. And although he would never say it to his son, he was terrified. David’s mother, after four decades of marriage, had mastered the art of reading her husband’s tea leaves. She reasoned that Lawrence would be receptive to something closer to home and left the details to her son. 

Disappointed, David again sought the counsel of Smith and Harris. Carl Smith, who believed firmly in connecting two points with a straight line, suggested that they play where they always played; at the county municipal course just off the parkway. All three men found solace in this suggestion and Lawrence West embraced it enthusiastically, as David’s mother had presaged. When the date drew near enough for a reservation to be made through the county system, David booked an early summer tee time for his foursome.

Upon arrival at the course, having parked in what amounted to assigned sections of the lot, these men adhered rhythmically to the decades-old machinations of a 7:50 A.M. tee time at a public golf course in the Northeast. First, the pro shop manager who knew them by name...then sunlight and dew on the putting green. Coffee and conversation in the golf cart. First tee jitters. Inside jokes. Well-worn stories. The drink cart and the poor teenager driving it. The scorecard with their initials that showed more (+) than (-) and a limited amount of (0)...

For 17 holes, this round of golf was like the countless others they’d played together on that very course every summer. 

But the mood had changed as they stood ready to play Number 18. David searched his feelings to find a parallel experience. He was reminded of the way he felt as a child, in the new year, when the Christmas tree was bare. Without the lights, ornaments, gifts, music, food, and family... there was nothing left but the brittle tree and the bitter cold of January. He was always depressed after the holidays, and as an adult, he was ritualistic about removing Christmas decorations on New Year's Day. By this reasoning, he would always be looking forward to the next life event instead of holding onto the past. The problem was that his father would not be here next year, and in that respect, this was, as Wham! had crooned, the last Christmas. The end of this round of golf was suddenly a striking inevitability. He thought of his mother and father standing at the front door, helping usher family members into the night. He would hug his grandmother before she left so that the smell of her coat stayed with him for a while. Then they were gone and the house felt empty; as if his family had taken Christmas with them when they went.

David had placed his tee shot in the fairway. He was standing back watching his father take practice swings and thinking about all the moments they had spent together. Just then, Lawrence West looked up and smiled at his son. It was the kind of smile that only a father could bestow upon a child. 

When his father looked away, he felt the need to make sure he was not alone. He glanced to his right at the old army veteran, who nodded reassuringly. Then Doctor Harris put his arm around David, the boy he had known since birth. This final, simple gesture unlocked an emotional door. From a hidden place rushed an ancient memory from when David was a toddler, sitting proudly on his father’s shoulders. He could smell the amusement park and see over the crowd. In that instant, it was dusk again in the early '80s, and David would’ve given anything to share a cotton candy with his dad. Maybe ride the carousel one more time...

Not wanting to rob his father of a glorious moment, he put his head down, pulled his hat over his eyes, and began to sob quietly. A moment later, with a gentle breeze blowing on his face, Lawrence West hit the last tee shot of his life.