Yesterday

 Yesterday 

About noon: we were looking for a place to eat.

     “Stop the car,” Molly said suddenly. “Here!” he practically shouted. I pulled off onto the shoulder. He got out. “Where are we?” he asked. I told him. “I know someone here,” he said.

     “Yeah?”

     “But I’m not sure who.”

What we didn’t count on, that we’d be off our meds.

     It hasn’t affected me too much; I was only taking valium and something-else-I-don’t-know-what. But Molly had been on a fistful of stuff, and he was getting increasingly odd and anxious. Now he sniffed the air – to the right and to the left and with his nose pointed at the sky. “It has something to do with . . . with . . . ,” he looked confused. “Golf,” he said finally. “I’d almost forgotten. I used to play golf.”

“Let’s see if there’s a course anywhere around,” I said. We stopped at a drug store. I got some sinus medicine and asked the woman at the register, “Faye”: “Is there a golf course anywhere around here?” There was. She called Tommy, the manager. “Yeah,” he said, “one of the best in the state.”

     I got directions. Tommy gave them, and Faye wrote them down for me in big round letters.

I gave them to Molly to read. He said: “I used to be able to read, but . . . .” He shrugged.

     “You were reading last night,” I said. “Try.”

And we got there. We got to “Country Club Drive,” then we got to the sign to the club house. Then we got to the club house, and we got out.

     “Yeah,” Molly said.

     “Yeah, what?”

     “I know a guy here.”

The pro, it turns out. They played together at North Carolina State.

     “You guys should play now,” he said. “Let me get you some clubs.

     “You stay here,” he said to Molly. “Ted –right?” I nodded. “Ted will help me find some clubs.”

     “Okay,” Molly said.

“Where did you find him?” he asked me, when we got into the next room.

     “I didn’t,” I said, “not exactly. We were in Bedlam together, and then we got out. His sister had a car for us.”

     “Pam,” the pro said. I nodded. “Jesus,” he said. “Listen . . . .” And he told me what to do.

He got Molly a gin and tonic from the bar, a tall one – in a to-go cup. He put us in a golf cart. “Do you know anything about this?” he asked me. “Golf?” I asked. “Yes.” “I do.”

     He sent us off to play nine, while . . . “I’m going to make a couple of phone calls,” he said. I thought: “The shit’s going to hit the fan now; but I did what he said, and it didn’t.

to be continued

12.28.16