Page 85 of Sweet Spot
Needless to say, I’m tired during Wednesday’s practice round. I take the course at a slow pace, trying to figure out the best way to play each hole. My anxiety grows with each swing, and by the time I make it back to my room, I’m a mess.
My phone rings, and Lincoln’s name on the screen makes my weak heart race. I’m too tired to be angry.
I take a deep breath and force myself to wait until the third ring to answer. “Hello?”
“Hey.” His deep voice rumbles, and I close my eyes, trying to fight off the emotions it stirs in me. One word, and it all comes crashing back. I want to be mad, but it’s really a deep hurt and sadness I feel without him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks sounding upbeat and optimistic. “Ready for tomorrow?”
“I think so.”
The awkwardness that hangs between us is unfamiliar and painful.
“You’re gonna be great. Just go out there and have fun.”
Fun.
I haven’t had a lot of that over the last few days. For a guy who’s so serious and work-focused, Lincoln became a big part of the joy and excitement I’ve had playing recently. Loving golf and having fun while playing haven’t always gone together for me.
It’s silent again while I struggle with what to say. I don’t want there to be this weirdness between us. I respect him too much, and he gave me a lot. Too much and not enough.
“Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I hope I can do your coaching justice.”
“You already have. It was my absolute pleasure, Keira.” He sighs into the phone, and I can picture him running his fingers through his dark hair. “I just wanted to wish you luck and let you know that I’ll be rooting for you. Gram too. She asked me to bookmark the live scoring website so she can follow along.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, you made quite an impression on her. Keira, I . . .” He curses lightly away from the phone and then clears his throat. “I should let you get some sleep.”
Disappointment and resolution center me, and I finally feel like sleeping. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for calling, Lincoln.”
Ending the call, I curl into a ball on top of the scratchy comforter and fall asleep, wishing Lincoln’s arms were wrapped around me. When my alarm goes off early the next morning, I rise like the dead, shower, and get ready.
Conditions aren’t great today. It’s sunny, but dark clouds in the distance threaten rain. It’s also hot and muggy, making it hard to breathe. But I can’t let that stop me. I’ve done all the work. Today is about battling my head. There’s no room to wish or hope for any aspect of my life to be different.
Me, the ball, and my golf clubs. They’re all I focus on. They are all I need.
I’m in a later starting group, so I’m able to watch some of my competition. Among them are girls I’ve played against, girls I’ve looked up to, and a few I’ve never heard of before.
A senior at Arizona State, Martha, is putting up a strong performance. Each swing looks better than the last. She’s unbeatable, or that’s what everyone whispers as they watch her dominate for the first hour of the day. She has skill and confidence that makes others feel timid and weak.
In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have watched her because, by the time it’s my turn to tee off, even I’m shaken by her strong showing.
I step up, place my tee and ball, and let out a deep breath. I stare down the fairway to the flag, visualizing my ball exactly where I need it to be—where I know I’m capable of hitting it.
This is it.
I scan the crowd without realizing I’m looking for him, but when I don’t see Lincoln’s dark head, frustration and anger sets in. Not at him, but at myself for being disappointed about anything during the biggest moment of my life.
I’m angry for most of the front nine, but it works for me. I hone it into a focused desire to do well despite his absence, to do well for myself.
It’s so disgustingly hot out and that pisses me off too, so I add it to the list and let it drive me to work even harder.
I first notice Coach Potter walking along the course at the tenth hole. I shouldn’t be surprised he decided to deign me with his presence. He’ll want to be here in case I pull off a miracle so he can pretend he’s a loving and supportive coach.
I falter at twelve with a bogey, but I’m able to recover on the last five and finish five under and tied for second place.
I sign my card in the clubhouse and make my way toward the player rest area. I have a short break before my second round, and I need to eat and drink a gallon of water. It’s only gotten more humid as the day progressed.
