{"id":2422,"date":"2014-09-15T18:36:03","date_gmt":"2014-09-16T01:36:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/spclarke.com\/?page_id=2422"},"modified":"2014-09-15T18:36:03","modified_gmt":"2014-09-16T01:36:03","slug":"chapter-vi","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/spclarke.com\/?page_id=2422","title":{"rendered":"Chapter VI"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Billy-Rancher-1981-proof-11small\"<\/a>\u2014I think you\u2019re up, Doc. You par\u2019d out there on thirteen didn\u2019t you?<\/p>\n

Charley Ward looked over at his friend, Doc Granger. Charley had been Doc\u2019s next-door neighbor for eighteen years. Their children had grown up together. His daughter, Corinne, was the same age as Denny Granger. And she had grown up with a huge crush on Denny\u2019s older brother, Billy. Budding landscapers, the boys had built a nice, French-curved retaining wall in his back yard the previous summer.<\/p>\n

Impeccably dressed, Charley wore a navy blue golf shirt and a sky-blue cardigan sweater, hanging, with his generous paunch, over the beltline of his tan slacks. Though the quartet had been meeting for their weekly golf outing at the Rose City course for many years, his white golf shoes were in perfect condition, as if they had never been worn. On his graying head of thick black hair, he sported a jaunty white duffer\u2019s cap. Charley looked every bit the part of the gentleman golfer, though he rarely shot even in the lower nineties.<\/p>\n

Charley and Pierce Granger gathered with Ron Raley, Pierce\u2019s partner in their landscaping business, and with Ron\u2019s friend Paul Messenger every Sunday morning at nine a.m. sharp. Rain or shine. Ron and Paul were competitive golfers\u2014in the twelve-handicap range. But Pierce maintained a five handicap. Despite his back and neck injuries he managed to perfect a smooth, relaxed swing. Still, though accomplished with fairway drives, he was best at chipping and putting.<\/p>\n

Pierce peered down the fairway of the thirteenth hole, a par five dog-leg to the right, which suited his fading slice on long drives.<\/p>\n

\u2014I\u2019m up. Then Paul and Ron. And, you of course.<\/p>\n

Pierce smirked at Charley, who, at that point in the life of the foursome, was readily familiar with being the butt of most of the group\u2019s golf jokes. He didn\u2019t mind the ridicule. He enjoyed the comaraderie and appreciated the fellowship his golf partners afforded him. As Pierce was lining up his drive, Charley inquired.<\/p>\n

\u2014Hey, Doc, Corinne tells me you got the boys guitars for their birthdays. Is it your garage where all that racket\u2019s coming from?<\/p>\n

Good-naturedly stepping away from the tee, Pierce replied.<\/p>\n

\u2014Y\u2019know, Billy\u2019s been pestering me for a guitar since last summer. He\u2019s kind of lost interest in sports in the last couple of years. So I thought getting him a guitar would give him something to apply himself. He\u2019s been floating pretty free the last couple of years.<\/p>\n

Charley nodded.<\/p>\n

\u2014And you know how competitive Billy and Denny are. I couldn\u2019t get Billy a guitar without getting one for Denny, too. So, with their birthdays only six weeks apart, I decided to get them each a guitar. They bought their own amps with some of the landscape money they earned last summer with their little enterprise<\/em>. So it worked out real well, actually. They\u2019ve sort of formed a little combo together with a couple of their friends. They\u2019re not that bad. Has the noise been bothering you?<\/p>\n

\u2014Uh…No. No, Pierce. It\u2019s fine. They\u2019re not a bother or anything. And Corinne loves listening to them. They\u2019re fine. Really.<\/p>\n

Returning to his golf game, Pierce squared his shoulders, addressed the ball with athletic poise and smacked his tee shot smartly, about two hundred and fifty yards up the fairway. Predictably, the ball drifted slightly to the right. Ron cheered him on.<\/p>\n

\u2014Right where you want to be, Plowman. Looks like you\u2019re on the green in three at the most. Good shot.<\/p>\n

Pierce smiled and stepped back, allowing Paul to tee up. Paul sent his initial drive about one hundred and seventy-five yards straight up the middle of the fairway. Ron\u2019s opening shot fell within a few yards of Paul\u2019s. Charley hooked a line-drive near the trees on the left, short of Ron and Paul\u2019s lie.<\/p>\n

The four of them wheeled their carts in the direction of their individual drives. The sun was shining on a warm May morning. Crows dove and swam noisily across the lush green fairway, seeking any morsels of food that might appear in the dewy manicured grass.<\/p>\n

Gathering at the center of the fairway Ron and Paul waited for Pierce to approach his next shot. Ron noticed Pierce slowing down before he had reached his ball. They saw Pierce drop to the ground with all his weight, making no effort whatsoever to catch himself or to break his fall. The two of them threw down their driving irons and rushed in Pierce\u2019s direction. Noticing the commotion, Charley moved in the direction of the activity, suddenly worried.<\/p>\n

\u2014Doc. Doc!<\/p>\n

Ron called out to his unresponsive partner, who lay upon the ground, breathing rapid, shallow breaths. Pierce was in the midst of a seizure, his eyes rolled up deeply into his head. Ron quickly began to perform CPR upon his friend.<\/p>\n

\u2014Paul. Charley. Quick. Get back to the clubhouse and call nine-one-one. Pierce is in trouble. He\u2019s really bad off.<\/p>\n

Uncomprehendingly, Charley asked.<\/p>\n

\u2014What\u2019s wrong with him, Ron?<\/p>\n

\u2014I think he\u2019s having a stroke, Charley, and we don\u2019t have much time if we\u2019re going to save him. Go get help. Quick!<\/p>\n

Charley and Paul rushed off in the direction of the clubhouse, some distance behind them, as Ron returned his attention to Pierce, who had stopped breathing. He was as pale as ashes.<\/p>\n

Trudy didn\u2019t mind that she wasn\u2019t really Billy\u2019s girlfriend. In some ways, she felt lucky just to have him in her life. With his charm and looks, he could pretty much have any girl he wanted. But he chose to be with her\u2014most of the time. She made an effort to keep him keep him coming back. She gave him sex whenever he wanted it and acquiesced to his whims, without ever putting up much of a fight. She let him have his way.<\/p>\n

It was late morning. Billy and Trudy sat in her apartment, making out on the couch. It was a nondescript studio apartment, located on the inner-eastside of Portland, in an old brick building, which faced Hawthorne Boulevard, just at the traffic light at 14th<\/sup> Avenue.<\/p>\n

Billy had unbuttoned Trudy\u2019s white blouse and was sensually moving his hands around her chest, preparing to unhook her bra, when the phone rang. Billy didn\u2019t want to be interrupted.<\/p>\n

\u2014Let it ring, Trude. Whoever it is\u2019ll call back later.<\/p>\n

But Trudy felt compelled to get up from the couch and go to answer the phone, which rang impatiently on the kitchen countertop.<\/p>\n

\u2014Hello? Oh, hi, Denny. Yeah, he\u2019s here. Do you want to talk to him?<\/p>\n

With a look of concern on her face, she handed the phone to Billy.<\/p>\n

\u2014It\u2019s Denny. He sounds upset.<\/p>\n

Billy snatched the phone from Trudy\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

\u2014Hey, Denny. What\u2019s up?<\/p>\n

Denny\u2019s voice seemed detached and emotionless.<\/p>\n

\u2014Billy, Dad\u2019s dead.<\/p>\n

\u2014What?<\/p>\n

Billy\u2019s eyes widened in disbelief.<\/p>\n

\u2014What did you say?<\/p>\n

Stone cold on the other end of the line, Denny repeated.<\/p>\n

\u2014-I said Dad\u2019s dead. I guess he had, like, a stroke or somethin\u2019, playin\u2019 golf with Charley and he died. They couldn\u2019t save him. He died.<\/p>\n

\u2014But, Denny. He was fine last night. He was laughin\u2019 and jokin\u2019, about what a terrible golfer Charley is. How could he be dead?<\/p>\n

\u2014Billy. He\u2019s dead. He died. I know he was okay last night, but he died about a half hour ago. He collapsed out on the course and Ron was with him and gave him CPR and all that, but by the time the ambulance got him to the hospital, he was gone. He\u2019s dead, Billy.<\/p>\n

Billy stared blankly out the window of Trudy\u2019s apartment. From her fourth floor perch he could see cars maneuvering up Hawthorne. His brain could not process the words his brother had just spoken.<\/p>\n

\u2014Are you sure, Denny? Are you sure?<\/p>\n

\u2014Billy, Mom\u2019s over here at the house and she\u2019s hysterical and Elaine\u2019s on her way and friends have been callin\u2019 and sayin\u2019 they\u2019re comin\u2019 over, and everyone\u2019s all upset. He\u2019s dead, Billy. He\u2019s dead.<\/p>\n

\u2014OK. I\u2019ll be home as fast as I can get there.<\/p>\n

Billy dropped the phone onto the receiver. Trudy looked at him sympathetically.<\/p>\n

\u2014What happened, Billy? Is something wrong?<\/p>\n

\u2014Denny says my dad died this morning out on the golf course. I can\u2019t believe it. He was fine last night.<\/p>\n

\u2014What happened, Billy? Was it a heart attack?<\/p>\n

\u2014No, Denny said it was a stroke. I don\u2019t even know what a stroke is. Do you know what a stroke is?<\/p>\n

Billy turned toward Trudy, his face, screwed up into a clenched ball, as chalky white as milk. He looked at her with question mark eyes.<\/p>\n

\u2014I\u2019m not sure. I think it\u2019s like a vein or something breaking inside your brain. I\u2019ve never known anyone who had a stroke, so I don\u2019t know. I know it\u2019s serious. Is there anything I can do?<\/p>\n

Billy just stared at her, his hands at his side, his body quivering in small intense spasms.<\/p>\n

\u2014No, Trude. There\u2019s nothin\u2019 you can do. There\u2019s nothin\u2019 anybody can do, I guess. He\u2019s gone and nothin\u2019s gonna bring him back. I don\u2019t believe it.<\/p>\n

He collapsed onto the couch and put his face in his hands, mournfully shaking his head.<\/p>\n

\u2014I don\u2019t believe it. I just don\u2019t believe it.<\/p>\n


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\u2014I think you\u2019re up, Doc. You par\u2019d out there on thirteen didn\u2019t you? Charley Ward looked over at his friend, Doc Granger. Charley had been Doc\u2019s next-door neighbor for eighteen years. Their children had grown up together. His daughter, Corinne, … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"parent":2391,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"yoast_head":"\nChapter VI - spclarke.com<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/spclarke.com\/?page_id=2422\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Chapter VI - spclarke.com\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"\u2014I think you\u2019re up, Doc. 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