Smokers Path
2:40 P.M. Only ten
minutes to go before the end of the school day. All I could think about was,
how fast could I get out of the building. Not that I was looking toward the
rest of my day that I would have to spend at work, but how fast could I get out
of the building, so I could beat the obstacles of going home. It was the start
of spring, and I’m not talking about the day we call the beginning of spring
when there’s snow still on the ground and everyone is cursing the groundhog who
didn’t see his shadow, that told us ‘6 weeks before spring’. I’m talking about
hearing the birds chirping in the nice cool air, and the sun shining past the
clouds. It is beautiful but too beautiful. This type of weather is perfect for
the retired, elderly folks to bust out their dusty golf clubs that’s been
sitting in the back of their garage where all their past hobbies lay. 2:45 P.M. five minutes before I must walk
home and enter the war zone on the golf course.
It is no man’s land, instead of barbed wire there are sand pits, instead
of bullets and gas bombs coming your way its golf balls and the dirt that gets
clubbed. I bring my hand up to my upper shoulder and try to rub away the
phantom pain. This time last year I was hit by a golf ball while crossing the
golf course, a giant welt appeared almost immediately. There was no remorse in
the golfer’s eyes.
A
loud hum brings me back to reality, the end of the day bell. Everyone is
rushing to get out the classroom, down the hall and a few stairs to the front
entrance doors. The crowded hallways bring us all together, we all have one familiar
goal in these halls. It’s to get out of here and go home. I pass through the
threshold of the school door and wait outside in the common area, I watch all
the other students walk out from the doors to talk to their friends before the
buses leave, some decide to go straight on the bus to get the perfect seat to sit
in and ride home. Others go to their cars or are already walking. I’m waiting
for my best friend Maddie, we live in the same neighborhood and walk to and
from school everyday. Maddie’s not hard to miss, even with a crowd of people.
Maddie is a tall, light faired skin brunette with icy blue eyes. Maddie makes
her way up to me and before she reaches me she asks, “you ready?” “I’m ready to leave, just not ready for what’s
waiting for us past the tree line”.
We
talk and walk our way through the front oval to an opening that’s called smokers path. It’s not much of a path,
more of a tiny sidewalk through two rows of pine trees. It’s called smokers
path because its where a lot of students come to smoke, smoke practically
anything. Groups of students lean up against the trees, each tree has their own
clique. We pass through an opening in a yard and make our way to the tree line.
It has an eerie atmosphere, reminds me of a border. You can hear the commotion from
the school, kids revving their engines of their cars on one side, and on the
other the little golf cart motors and the sound of a club meeting the golf ball
from a ferocious swing.
We stand looking out on the course, trying to find the
safest route. The golfers weren’t far, but they looked to be at hole 17, just
leaving hole 17 on their carts. Where we stood we were close to hole 20, if we
move fast enough we could possibly go unseen. We would run but the ground was
mushy from the light rain earlier that day, ‘Squish’.
If we run and slip, we would become an easy target. ‘Squish, Squish, Squish’ I know
the sound from my shoes meeting wet ground isn’t loud enough for the noise to
reach the golfers hearing aids, but it still gives me anxiety. Anything could
tip them off to where we were, and I know we would be hit for sure. They obviously
have the time and patience to practice their aim. Were almost to the main road,
only a few more minutes and we would be able to carry on our journey home with
no incidents. I was so focused on the road ahead that I didn’t notice Maddie until
she ran past me, “Run!” she points in the direction of what caused her to race forward.
The golfers are not far from hitting range. I sprint as fast as my stubby legs
let me. It would be hell of a lot easier if the turf I was running for my life
on wasn’t so slick. Why were they golfing anyway if the ground was still moist?
What is their motive to try to hit kids with golf balls? Maybe it was a way for
them to feel young again. I shake my head to not get lost in my thoughts and to
focus on making it to the road. Its fair game on the course, but on the road,
they can’t risk trying to hit us and mistakenly hit a house or a car window. Just
as they got their tee set up and their clubs ready to swing, my feet hit the
pavement. I continue to run till I meet up with Maddie who is already cutting
through Mr. and Mrs. Evens yard. once I catchup we stop and catch our breath. Drop
our bags and take our hands to our knees. We both look up at each other,
breathing heavy. We finally break into smiles and laughter. We did it, we made
it with no incident. As scary as it is, its quite a thrill sometimes.
Maddie
and I pick up our bags and make our way through the rest of Old Country Club.
Its Old Country club because it was once a rich community before they relocated
and now the middle class reside here. A little bit past the golf course is
where new Country Club stands. We don’t live in Old country Club, we live in a government
housing complex. Its kind of a tease really, those of a lower-class family must
walk their way to and from school every day through each class community,
lower, middle and then finally upper class. We might not be fortunate enough to
be apart of either of these Communities but we at least get to have an
experience of what each class live and act like. Maddie and I everyday after
school endure the torment of the upper class and their golf course, we then
make our way through middle class where there are some nice people we connected
with such as Mr. and Mrs. Evens who don’t mind us passing through their yard,
and sometimes in the winter Mrs. Evens makes us hot chocolate. We even get to
have a few fury neighborhood friends. A black cat named Nala
Whitney Maddie 
