Photo by David Beneš on UnsplashGolf balls streak across my backyard sky under the full moon like plummeting planets, vanishing into the woods just yards away. At first, we were concerned about the dangers, but then there were no children left to protect.
Gravel groans from under Elle's tires in the front yard. She wants to talk tonight, once and for all. I sip the last of my tea and slip into the dark woods. Among the trees, I watch as Elle moves through the house, lighting each room as if remembering the shape of what's been lost. There was a time we did that together. Now, I watch from a distance as she rearranges fall-themed pillows on our couch. She grabs her phone and texts. My phone growls in my pocket. She scans the living room, and her gaze appears to meet mine, but instead, I see she's fixed on my glass on the deck railing, glinting in the moonlight.
Golf balls crack against trees behind me. I stopped flinching years ago. I walk deeper into the hail of polymer. Here and there, the moon breaks through branches and shows the way toward the final hole. My phone buzzes again, its final death rattle. Shadows descend from the sky, ricocheting off the ground, slapping my sneakers. One knocks my shoulder with painful precision. Of all nights, of all places, of all holes to be crowded.
Just ahead, the trees vanish and the green opens to a knoll of white light. Not a body in sight, only the silhouette of a child, his hand on the flagstick, staring as if he’s been waiting. The heavens open. The strikes swell. I lift my face. I wait for my turn.
