print previewback JAMES TATE
In The Rough
Hovering over me all night was some kind of spirit. I didn’t know
who or what it was, but it made me uncomfortable. When I got up in
the morning, I felt drained and beaten. I looked around, but there was
nothing there. I needed something, but I didn’t know what, a rock, some-
thing to bang my head against. I drank a glass of water, then another
glass, then another. Then I felt a fly buzzing inside me. I needed to
kill it. I stood on my head and managed to spit him out. Then I walked
into a wall and fell down. I lay there for a while dreaming I was
in a bumper car, banging this way and that. Then I stood up, shaking my
head. I walked to the couch and sat down. Everything was clear and
bright. I was OK now. I looked out the window. A dark cloud came over.
I sat there twiddling my thumbs. I knew I was supposed to do something,
but I couldn’t remember what it was. Oh, yes, I was supposed to buy my
mother a birthday present today. I tried to think of something. I could
buy her a parrot, or a monkey, or a snake. None of them seemed right,
because my mother had been dead for ten years, or was it twenty? Oh well,
forget about the present. I was supposed to do something else, but what
was it? I was supposed to go to work, that’s it! But what was my job?
I didn’t know. A carpenter? A plumber? I didn’t think so. I went
back to twiddling my thumbs. I was pretty good at it, but nobody was going
to pay me. I decided not to worry about it. Maybe I was senile. I knew
my name and address. I didn’t think so. I knew my mother’s birthday.
I was an out-of-work genius! There was a knock on the door. “Hello Jack.”
“Hi Bob.” “Have you got your golf clubs?” “Oh yes, I’ll get them.” And so
we played golf and everything was back to normal. 