A dull hot summer day this day had acted as.  RJ, Gavin, Evan, and I had risen just a few hours prior, and we had nothing to do.  Normally, on a day like that day, we would drive around and fetch some junk food as greasy as New York style pizza, but we would specifically buy sour, red slushes from Circle K.  Sometimes, we would even go golfing because it was free and why not?  We rode in Evan’s apple red Ford Edge, which we called the soccer mom mobile, because at the time only he and Gavin obtained their licenses, and Evan didn’t fancy driving all the way to the golf course.

To try and persuade Evan to take us golfing, I mumbled, “If I was as bad as you, I wouldn’t want to go golfing either.”

“Ohhhhh,” Gavin and RJ hollered as if I had just roasted him like a burnt marshmallow.

He yelled, “What’d you say!”  I knew he had heard me.  I knew he had. 

With a smirk on my confident, pinkish, red face, I replied, “I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s it,” Evan snapped.  “We’re going golfing because Mike’s talking trash!”  I wasn’t really talking trash because he is the better golfer, but I’d never admit it to his face!  Golfing remained free, but a golf cart cost fourteen dollars.  There was no way I planned going on carrying my enormous, black bag around the course, so RJ and Gavin divvied up the price of one.  Evan and I bought another one. 

When someone is driving during golf, everyone is suppose to be quite, and we knew that because we had seen golf on TV before, but just before Evan moved to hit his bumpy, bright yellow ball over the small part of the brown, muddy river, RJ blurted out, “Don’t miss!” and Evan shanked the ball into the warm river water. 

Chuckling, Gavin and I chanted many times, “Evan sucks.”

Evan kept trying and eventually launched the ball over the river.  “It’s about time!” yelled Gavin.  RJ, Gavin, and I all smacked our orange, white, and green golf ball into the river as well, but then we abandoned that spot and went to the next starting spot, which is on the other side of the river.  We were only playing nine holes, and no one kept score because we are all horrible at golf.  Although, we all talked like we were supreme. 

Across the course I blurted, “Man, I just hit par.”
Gavin screamed back, “No, you didn’t.  I was in front of you!”  Through the rough gravel we drove, and I just laughed.  Everyone talked his usual amount of trash. 

RJ knocked the ball nowhere near the hole, and Evan sarcastically blabbed, “Great hit, Rick.”

RJ howled back, “Shut up, Evan.  I’ll fight you!” Encouraging them to fight, Gavin and I again just laughed.  The day had been like any other day of golf until the final hole. 

By the time we arrived at the final hole, I was done golfing, so I squealed, “Four!” like I was about to slap my ball to the other side of the world, and I whacked my new shiny, silver ball into the river as hard as I could.  I waited for the rest of them to finish golfing.  The ninth hole is on an undersized hill, and Evan and I were in our golf cart getting ready to leave when RJ pulled up on his golf cart.  He stopped behind us, and we all yelled at Gavin to hurry up.  His face showed fierceness because he had had a shameful day golfing.  On the putting green he pulled out his blue driver and tried to hit his ball into the river but completely missed and put a big dent in the putting green, which is not good.  Evan saw this wrinkly, elderly guy get on a golf cart and start speeding his way towards us.

Evan whispered, “Hurry!  Mikey, drive he looks pissed.”

I replied, “We didn’t do anything wrong.  What’s he going to say?”  Then just as the old, offended, obliging guy reached us, Gavin swung the club again and took a huge chunk of the bright green turf up and smacked his ball into the river. 

I had butterflies in my stomach and I was wide eyed staring at Gavin, and then the guy finally said, “What are you aiming for there?”

Gavin responded, “The water.”

The guy replied, “I let teenagers golf for free.  Then, I wait for someone to do something like that and tear up the turf, and I have to go over to them and yell at them.  I don’t want to see it again, or I’ll kick all of you out!”  I breathed a sigh of relief, and we later found out that the old man was the owner.  The guy drove away, and we all fell out of the golf carts laughing our heads off.  Gavin just sat in his golf cart with that little smirk on his face that someone gets when he does something wrong but it’s funny.  He was a mischievous little devil!

We reached the soccer mom mobile in what felt like an eternity, although it was only a few seconds.  That day I declared I would never go golfing with Gavin again!  Tomorrow arrived and Gavin called me, “Hey, Mikey, you want to go golfing with RJ, Joey, and me?” 

I screeched, “Not with you ever again!”