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Your enjoyment of this story may depend on your knowledge of the scoring involved in golf.
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Bob Segar: "Even now, she's still in my heart, she's still in my soul."
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I have turned into a recluse. I used to be outgoing, and I loved to spend time with friends and family. It's been a year since I emerged from the medically induced coma.
I have been in physical therapy since leaving the hospital. I also meet weekly with a counselor. She's helping me to understand the psychology of getting over the accident. Her approach is to have me tackle my issues, one at a time. Getting them resolved, one by one, will give me my life back. Gone are the days when I felt like taking my life. I guess I'm making progress.
I repeat the same activities, day after day. I start my day at the local cafe, before the sun shines, then push my golf cart around the nine hole course. I have the course to myself until I finish the first nine. Most days I spend the second nine watching three Asian ladies ruining a good walk. I'd like to say they are playing golf, but even saying they look like they were killing snakes doesn't adequately describe how bad their swings are. I could ask to play through, but it's more fun watching them. Fact is, my days need the entertainment they are providing.
Before the accident I was a scratch golfer. I have limited range of motion now, and I've had to change my swing to accommodate. Slowly, my game is returning.
I go to therapy, three times a week, after golf. Some days I shop for groceries. I always retreat to my rented house and read books. I'm not much of a cook so it's usually a can of soup and a salad for dinner. I have no friends here and haven't had a desire to make any. I don't keep in touch with my previous friends. My counselor tells me it's a form of shell shock. I am mentally unprepared to renew friendships, for fear of tragedy.
My name is Adam. I was fifty when the accident changed my life. I was married to Beth and both of our children are in college. What I remember is returning from a business trip. I used to travel about once a month. I was one of my company's best negotiators.
I landed on time and called Beth, who was waiting in the cell phone lot. I stepped outside to wait for her. She greeted me enthusiastically, as always, and we headed for home. Beth always drove. My last memory is a stop light turning green. We were second in line, behind a sedan. When I regained consciousness I was hooked up to several beeping machines. I had been in a coma for close to a month.
I learned that an eighteen wheeler, loaded for a major retailer, had run the red light and T-boned our car. Beth did not survive.
Beth and I were soulmates. We were best friends, lovers, and partners in whatever we were doing. I often dream of our last weekend together. On the Sunday, before I left for my trip, we had a quickie in the morning. After lunch Beth was putting some cookies in the over when I goosed her.
"Stop that. You just got it!"
"I think you have more of what I want."
"Don't you ever get enough?"
"Hmmm, let me think" as I felt a little side boob "Is it even possible to get enough?"
Slapping my hand away "Later big guy, maybe."
Our love making, that Sunday night, is my favorite memory. There are huge gaps in my memory. I don't remember getting married. My counselor says I should not get my hopes up for a complete recovery.
I was naive to believe the offending company would make things right. I eventually hired one of those ambulance chasers to put their feet to the fire. It was worth it. My share tops a few million. Even if I wanted to return to work, I can't. My depression, memory loss, and inability to concentrate still plague me.
I've started getting flashbacks to the accident. I will wake, in a sweat, with a fragment of the accident.
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I find that I'm actually looking forward to watching the Asian ladies on the golf course. Every day they wear matching warm-up outfits. They stretch, assemble their push carts, and load their clubs. They chitter chatter non-stop, in whatever their native language is. They are always friendly but never say more than 'Hello', in English. One day, on the lake hole, one of the ladies slipped and fell into the lake. Her friends were trying to fish her out. She was never in any real danger as the lake is very shallow. I hustled up to the edge of the lake, waded in about six feet, and pulled her to safety.
"Thank you much" in very broken English.
Her friends were laughing, giggling, and I would guess teasing her. She was obviously flustered. They didn't finish their round. I didn't either. My shoes and socks were soaked.
The next day, after my opening nine, the ladies were waiting on the first tee. I really couldn't tell, by looks, which one had done the fish impersonation. Once I made eye contact with each, only one had trouble looking back at me. I embarrassed her further.
"Are you okay today?"
"Thank you. Yes. You play with us?"
Against my better judgement "Sure."
Lots of 'da da da de' 'da da do' 'de di do da', in whatever language that was. The other two ladies smiled.
"This is Sue and Kim and I'm Lisa."
She made Lisa sound like Leeeesa. She was the deep sea diver. All three were dressed about the same with long pants, collar shirt, and visor. None of them were five foot tall and they were all thin as can be. Standing next to them I'm a giant. I'm 6'4 and down to 250 lbs. My doctor tells me I need to lose more weight.
I don't know body measurements all that well, but maybe they were 28-22-30. No need to wear bras, they were all less than A cups. All three were probably my age, maybe older.
"My name is Adam" I said in something other than natural English. What a doofus, no reason for me to speak in broken English.
It was fun playing in the same group. They'd get frustrated, pick their ball up, and drop it on the green.
"You good golfer. Tell us what we do wrong."
I gave them a few tips, but a few tips was about a million short of what it was going to take. It was still fun.
Afterwards Lisa had a lemonade, Kim had an ice tea, and Sue had a diet cola. I drank water. I learned that they were from Korea. They worked, six days a week, as cooks in a posh restaurant. The restaurant was closed on Mondays. They worked from two until closing, at nine. Once they had the kitchen cleaned, they went home. They were friends in Korea. Kim immigrated thirty years ago, eight years before the other two. All three had become citizens about twenty years ago. They each wore an old glory flag pin on their visors.
Kim touched my ring finger "No wifey?"
I simply shook my head no. I realized I was tearing up.
Sue said "You sad?"
"She died. Are you ladies married? I don't see rings."
Lisa spoke the best English.
