Birdie

(Signs of the Times is a work of fiction based on true events. Views expressed are the characters’ own. Viewer discretion is advised.)

Eddie plays golf every Wednesday at the municipal course on the outskirts of town. The grass is rarely green, but there’s never a wait to tee off.

On this particular Wednesday, Eddie arrives at the clubhouse at his usual time. The morning sun shines through the willows by the water hazards. The parking lot is empty. The stars and stripes fly at half-mast.

Eddie gets out of his car. He stretches his arms high over his head, letting his belly feel the cool air. He takes in the empty environment. An uneasy feeling creeps over his body, starting at the nape of his neck and sliding down his spine, pooling in his stomach. He reaches into his pocket. Pops two antacids.

He walks towards the clubhouse across the vacant parking lot. It’s a two-story white wooden house. The green awnings that cover every window and every entrance are faded, bleached by the sun.

When he opens the door, the familiar entry bell chimes. Voices from a TV ring out in the clubhouse. Eddie’s eyebrows furrow. No one greets him. He looks towards the cash register. There’s no one there. Amongst all the polos, visors, putters, and boxes of tees, he is alone.

He looks at the TV.

He drives home half an hour later. He didn’t play golf. He didn’t see his friends. He sits in his driveway dialing his wife.