Lily
THE MIDDAY SUN beat against my face and made the October day in Pelican Bay unseasonably warm. Temperatures were high in almost the sixties, but everyone promised it wouldn’t be that way for long.
"I have to be honest with you," I said to Jerome as he handed me a thin, short stick—a putter.
He had two balls in his hand, one pink and one green, and when he held them out to me, I selected the green one and smiled. "What is this terrible confession you need to make?"
I stuck my teeth against my bottom lip and moved to the golf ball between my fingers. "I’ve never done this."
Jerome stopped immediately, and his expression fell. "You’ve never been mini-golfing?"
I shrugged in response. "We didn’t have one close to us in Michigan. It wasn’t like a thing." I don’t think I even knew anyone who played mini-golf. When Jerome picked me up that afternoon, he said the closest course was in Clearwater.
Mini-golf was a pastime that was way past my time.