The 19th Hole

by Michael J. Cherkezian

STORY SUMMARY:
 
The 19th Hole is about a father and his terminally ill son playing their final round of golf on an intimate trip together in Scotland. They painfully acknowledge that this trip will be the last time they will spend together alone.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
 
Michael J. Cherkezian was born and raised just a few miles outside of Manhattan in northern New Jersey. When he was a freshman studying at Boston College, Michael had an enthusiastic Jesuit professor named Father Robert Barth who introduced him to great classics and modern literature and poetry. Short stories by Raymond Carver, Kurt Vonnegut, and Jack London sparked his imagination and fueled his passion for creative writing. Michael graduated from Boston College in May of 2006 with a B.A. degree in Communication and Mathematics and is excited for the opportunity to have his writing published in Nuvein Magazine.

They took their time. They spoke few words.   They took turns carrying the single bag of clubs they shared to play throughout the week. He absently spoke to his son dictating the types of paternal advice he thought was appropriate for a father to tell his son. “You need to follow through on your stroke.  You need to finish strong, son,” Don said softly trying to keep conversation trivial and unimportant.

“Yes, Dad. Follow through.” Todd reiterated obediently in a whisper, “Finish strong.” A gust of cold wind whipped up and blew across the fairway. They walked close together matching each other’s slow amble feeling the soft carpet-like grass squish beneath their feet with each step.

“Your form has improved a lot since the summer,” he said feebly.

“Yeah,” Todd said and pulled his the brim of his cap low over his eyes. They walked close together on dewy fairway that belong entirely to the two of them.

The mood between father and son oscillated throughout each day and each hole they played. Often they were able to enjoy the moment and to capture each other’s company fully, but it was difficult to ignore the weightiness of what their time together meant; the last days that father and son would ever spend time together alone.

“God, this place really is beautiful.”  Todd said after a short silence.

“Yeah,” Don said heavily. Together, putting one foot in front of the other, they continued down the fairway.

At the tee box of the 16th hole they stood beside each other evaluating the course. They both teed-off hitting their respective dimpled golf balls through the air and onto the fairway.

“Good drive, son.” Don said.

“Thanks,” Todd said picking up his embedded tee from the grass beneath his feet and father and son again walked together off into the rolling hills.

 “Before I left school, I met a girl.” Todd said suddenly breaking the infinite silence.  Todd had left his university at the end of his fall semester after discovering that staying enrolled in school was becoming too difficult physically and logistically given all the medical attention he required. He left all his friends and the adulthood he was beginning to develop and now he had been home for nearly a month with his immediate family.  Todd’s doctors, family, and he decided that it would be best to be home for what time he had left.

“Really? What was her name?” Don asked with a playful grin.

“April.”

“April, huh? Tell me about her.”

Todd raised his eyebrows trying to figure a way to describe her.“Well, she was really pretty and smart. She traveled and read a lot, too. She even wrote poetry.”

“You dated her?”

“No. I mean we went on one date but that was it.”

“Did you like her?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Todd said.

“Did she like you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her earlier?” Don asked

“I don’t know.”

“So, why didn’t you go out with her more?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?” Don asked continuing to probe.

“It was a lot of things! I think about her a lot though.”

“Why do you think about her a lot?”

“Because she was special to me,” Todd muttered hesitantly exposing his emotions.

“How was she special?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” he said heatedly but eased as he reflected, “She was patient and deep. She was interested in what I had to say but even better she also had a lot to say herself and she wanted to share it with me, you know? I’ve never had that before.”

“So you like her a lot?”

“I guess.  I just have this gift knowing a good thing when I see it.”  Todd paused with his concentration focused on a far memory. “Actually, I don’t want to think about it. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought it up. If I was still in school I would maybe have given it a shot but I knew I was leaving school so I just dropped it because what was the point in getting involved with someone if you know if it was going lead to nothing?” The phrase ‘leaving school’ became a euphemized way for Todd to refer to his slow and certain death.

Don’s heart sunk listening to his son rationality because he could feel that Todd had convinced himself that he was dead already. It hurt Don deeply seeing Todd had become so genuinely defeated and that he lost spark of hope.

“Would you have called her again if you had not left school?”

“Yeah,” Todd admitted.

“Then you should call her.”

“What?”

“You should call her after we get home and ask her out again,” Don said.

“Dad...”

“Son,” Don interrupted, “When we get home I want you to call her and ask her out. You can take my car up to school one weekend and see her again. Take her to dinner or something. Treat her how you feel she deserves to be treated.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said unselfishly.

“No one ever regrets getting to know a wonderful person,” Don reassured his son.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” He said confidently and paused. “So will you call her?”

Todd cracked a smile. “Okay.”

“Good,” said Don. They both turned to face down the fairway and walked their route to each other’s balls that sat a few yards from each other just on the fringe of a sand trap one hundred yard from the pin. “Now, I’ll bet you that I can sink this in two strokes,” Don said spiritedly.

“Two strokes? No chance. You couldn’t sink that in your dreams in two strokes. I mean, I could, but you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell,” Todd taunted playfully.

“Okay, Mr. Tough-Guy,” Don said relishing the challenge, “I’m about to show you that you are still my son.” Don winked at his son. He was just glad to see a glimmer of adventure and excitement in Todd’s spirit which was lately becoming a very rare occurrence to witness. He knew how increasingly exhausting and difficult it was recently to lift Todd to a point where he felt any enthusiasm for just brief moments. But once Todd was laughing, seeking, questioning, creating or challenging again, Don would become filled with joy. As long and tiring as the effort was, brightening up Todd was worth all the effort’s weight in gold. It however rarely lasted.

Don was sick of seeing Todd so beaten.  The problem he realized was that it seemed his illness was quicker and more effective at destroying the human spirit than physical body. Don spent a lot of time with Todd to show him that this was not okay.

The seventeenth hole was a five hundred yard par five. There was a large lake beside the fairway beside that had cattails and crabgrass lining the edge of the water. They swayed in unison as the wind blew over the course.

The excitement and energy dissipated as quickly as it always had. Todd struggled in vain to ignore his morbid fate but simply could not dismiss the reality. It was too barefaced and loud. Todd recognized what he had become: a soul that wanted to live and sing but was tragically confined in a dark cage sinking to the bottom of the sea. His wills or wants were arbitrary regarding the malfunction of his physical self. Often Todd’s bitterness gripped him so firmly that he wanted to throw a tantrum over his inability to control his own life. It frustrated Todd that his body failed him and resented God for allowing this misfortune to occur.  He often would swear that he would not let it upset him because he reasoned that although his disease may get the best of his physical body Todd promised himself to be strong and not allow it to get the best of his emotions. This rarely lasted either.

“Fuck you,” he uttered under his breath directing his frustration at no definable culprit.

“Todd?”  Todd did not respond. “Todd?” Don called out again.

“What?”

“What are you thinking about?” Don asked.

“Nothing,” Todd said coldly.

“You’re quiet.”

“I know I’m quiet. Do I need to always be speaking?” he said shortly raising his voice.

“I guess not,” Don answered absorbing the hostility and let Todd slip away into the depths of his mind.  Don still had not become accustomed to balancing when to giving his son his space and when to give him comfort.  Todd walked several steps ahead of his father and Don chose to keep his silence until Todd chose to speak.

“Dad?” Todd said reinitiating the conversation.

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do when I am gone?”

“What?”

“I was thinking you should maybe adopt a kid,” Todd suggested simply.

“Todd?”

“No, I think you should.” Todd said interrupting his father.

“I don’t want to discuss this,” Don said directly

“Why not? You have to face this, Dad.”

“No, I can’t talk about this right now. I really can’t,” Don said weakening slowly.

“I am going to be gone soon, Dad. I know that. If I can face it why can’t you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

I wouldn’t understand!?’ Todd said in a sudden burst. “Try me! Tell me what you know that I can’t possibly understand after everything I have been through!”

“Yes, Todd, you’ve been through a lot, but, you will never know what it is like to lose a child. That is why I can’t talk about this now!”

“I don’t have much time left,” Todd emphasized angrily, “You need to be okay with that!

“No, Todd! Just because I know what must happen does not mean that I am okay with it. I will not spend my time with you talking about you being gone! Not one minute. I am going to spend my time talking about you being here. Do you understand me, son?” Todd did understand.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Todd said gently.

“Are we clear?” Don asked firmly trying to reinforce his fragile emotions.

“Yes,” Todd uttered.

“Okay. Do you want your nine or your eight? He asked with glassy eyes.

“Nine iron, please.”

Todd took the club from his father’s hands and approached his ball that sat on the fringe of the fairway just over a hundred yards from the pin. The flat gray sky grew darker and the clouds seemed to generate a more threatening texture by what seemed to be hanging more heavily over Don and his son. 

“I’m not mad at you, son,” Don said softly, “I love you.”

“I know,” Todd said and the two walked toward the green.

It was the last hole of the course and the last round of golf on their vacation. There were no more holes to look forward to following this last stretch. This visible end of their time together troubled Don and suddenly caused a series of dark thoughts to flooded Don’s mind at rate and intensity which was far too fast to ignore. Don suddenly could not help but to depress and focus on the reality of him losing his son. They both entered the tee box and peered out to the pin that sat like a golden beacon at the end of the four hundred yard par four hole. “Why couldn’t it be a par five? he thought.  These selfish course designers cheated me. They cheated my time with my son” Don heard these words echo in his head. Don thought what he would do for just another hole and to change the course of things. He found himself pleading for just another few hundred yards.

“Go ahead, Dad,” Todd said encouragingly. He could sense his father withdrawing into the depths of his psyche. “Swing away, Dad,” he said bringing him back into their moment.

“Right. You are right, son,” Don said.  Don swung and watched the Titlist ball he launched arch silently through the sky and then come to a still halt upon the deep fairway just over a hundred yards from the pin. Don waited for Todd to hit his ball then together they walked down the fairway.

“Can I take a picture of you here, Todd? On our last hole?”

“Sure, Dad,” he said obediently.

“Stand beneath that tree there.” Don said pointing at a large tree with weeping limbs dangling over ground. Todd placed his club back in their bag and ambled towards the elegant tree.  Don watched his each step as Todd walk away and ducked under the blowing limbs that provided a shelter for him.  Todd leaned against the tree and squinted across at his father who pointed a small digital camera in Todd’s direction.

“Smile, Todd,” Don said looking at his son through the viewfinder.

“Why?” Todd asked with bitter sincerity.

“I’m not going to force you to smile,” Don said softly.

“I know.”

“Will you smile?”

“For what reason?”

“Do you need a reason?”

“Yes,” Todd said honestly.

“Will you smile because we are together here and now?” Don asked, “Or, how about smiling because we are playing golf in one of the most beautiful places in the world? Is that a good enough reason to smile?”

Todd looked at the soft world surrounding him that belonged entirely just to him and his father. He then saw his father standing a few yards from him longing to be together with his son. He felt the moment and the world was theirs and neither could be interrupted or ruined by, sickness, medication, or death. Todd felt how much his father cared for him. And, he smiled.

The yellow flagged pin flapped against the muted grey clouds sky just a hundred yards from his ball.  Don gently gripped the cold rubber handle of his pitching wedge in his dry cracked hands.  He slowly shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to another.  Don refused to lift his club face from his ball when he considered that with each stroke he took, he was trading another minute with his son.  There was not a direction Don wanted to move.  He could not move backwards and he did not want to move forwards. Don stood in the middle of the fair and dropped his club on the green grass. He turned his back to the golden flag and looked around at their incubated world and breathed heavily. Don thought that if he could keep his son on this course, up in the hills of Scotland, away from the hospitals in Boston, and out of radiation rooms, that Todd could live forever.

Just one more hole,” he expelled through his choked up throat, “I just want to play one more hole with you, son.

“We can’t dad. We are at the last one. There are only 18 holes. We can’t add any more.”


“All I want is just one more hole,” Don said weakly just as a first rain drop tapped on his forehead. “We can just keep missing. We don’t have to finish. We can stay here.” Don thought that if they didn’t leave the course that the moment could last an eternity. Maybe it was possible to stay there forever together there would be no end and no death.

“No, Dad. We need to finish strong. We need to follow through.”  Todd said turning his face away from his father to not show the tears running down his face.  Todd quickly stifled his sobbing, swallowing hard, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. There was plenty of time to be sad later he told himself but now was their brief window of time together to enjoy each other. 

“Am I a good father?” Don asked earnestly.

“The best.”

“I’ve always been proud of you, Todd.  You know that, don’t you?”

Todd answered by just nodding his head because he knew that he tried to vocalize his answer he would begin to breakdown.

“Are you scared?”

Todd nodded his head again.

There was so much Don wanted to say but every word escaped him.

“C’mon,” Todd uttered holding a pitching wedge in his hand. He lifted the club by the cold etal face and presented the grip to his father.

“Okay,” Don said and took the club but refused to look into son’s face. Don approached his Titlist ball which sat delicately on the trimmed blades of grass.  He positioned himself beside the ball and brought the club down a few inches behind his ball.  Don could see Todd from the corner of his eye standing several yards to the side of him. Don’s hand began to shake and his grip weakened. His arms went limp and the club fell to Don’s side.

“Swing,” Todd commanded serenely. Don looked firmly at Todd. “Swing,” Todd mouthed. Don nodded his head. 

Don picked up his club and gripped it gently. He squared his shoulder and brought the shiny club head close to same white Titlist ball that he had played the entire vacation.  Rocking slightly from one foot to another, Don focused his sore eyes on the dimples of his prize ball and in a perfect form sent it soaring towards the dark billowing clouds.