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He tells Avery to park in front. “When I was a kid,” heexplains, “this was the best place around. Like, if you were really good and did all your chores, Mom and Dad would take you here. You’d play all the mini-golf you could, and then there’d be ice cream and video games in the hut over there.”
Avery takes it all in. “So what happened?”
Ryan shrugs. “One day it was here, and then the next day there was a sign saying it was over. It’s sat here ever since.”
But still,Ryan wants to say,it’s kind of the same. Like an old stuffed animal. Just because it’s now a ragged version of itself, you don’t stop loving it. You might not keep it with you like you used to, but you’re still nostalgically happy to see it.
“Do you come here often?” Avery asks. He makes it sound like a line from a dive bar.
“Only with special people,” Ryan replies. It sounds sarcastic, but it’s actually sincere.
“Oh, gee. I’m so flattered,” Avery deadpans.
“Let’s go,” Ryan says. They leave the car and walk along the fence until Ryan finds a gap big enough to slide through. He pretends to be a gentleman holding a door open for Avery.
Inside, everything is broken. Toppled windmills, fetid moats, bottles left smashed and cans left crushed.
“Want to play?” Avery asks.
Ryan looks at the torn-up greens, the holes filled with cigarette butts.
“I’m not sure that’ll work,” he says. “There aren’t any clubs anymore. Or golf balls.”
Avery has what can only be called a mischievous gleam in his eye. “So?”
“So…it’s hard to play mini-golf without those things.”
“Use your imagination!” Avery walks to the base of the first green and puts down an invisible ball. “This is the most amazing mini-golf course ever created. For example, this hole is patrolled by live alligators. If they swallow your ball, it’ll cost you three strokes. If they swallowyou,it’s five.”
Avery takes an exaggerated swing with a nonexistent club, then makes a production of watching the ball soar into the air and drop to the green. “Comeoncomeoncomeon,” he murmurs. Then he sighs. “Not a hole in one, but at least I dodged the gators. Your turn.”
Ryan wants to kiss Avery on the spot, for sending their day on this diversion. But he doesn’t want to interrupt the imaginary game, so walks over and puts down his own invisible ball. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the pink one,” he says.
“I don’t mind at all.”
Ryan swings at the ball. They both watch it rise and drop.
“Not bad,” Avery says.
“At least I didn’t hit a gator.”
Ryan thinks Avery will stop then, will want to leave this desolate place. But he heads right over to his ball and makes the putt, then steps out of the way for Ryan to take his imaginary turn. Ryan follows his lead, but misses the shot. He gets the next one in.
Avery makes a gesture of gathering the golf balls from the hole, then walks to the next green.
“Your turn,” he says. “What’s the story?”
“Are you kidding? Do you mean to tell me you haven’t heard of the Famous Fondue-icular Folly?”
“Wait!” Avery gasps. “You mean to tell me that’shere?”
“Yes! You might not be able to see them with your very limited human sight, but this green is riddled with troughs of gooey chocolate. If a golf ball falls in, it will taste better, if you’re into that kind of thing, but will also slow you down. Which is why we’ve switched our golf balls out for golf-ball-sized gobstoppers. They’re not as aerodynamic, but theyareeasier to clean with your tongue.”
“Excellent. I’ve only played with marshmallows, but gobstoppers should roll better.”
Ryan lets Avery go first, go ahead. For a moment, it’s like the greens are greens and the flags are aloft.
The thing is, at this point Ryan’s used to it being wrecked. He’s evenappreciatedhow derelict it was, when he was feeling pretty derelict himself. In the past couple of years, there’s been some catharsis in seeing his childhood so visibly trashed, as if there was some confirmation here about what growing up should feel like. He wasn’t lying when he told Avery he’d only brought special people here—but he could just as easily have said he’s never brought anyone here, not since it closed. This is also true. He’s only come by himself, once he had his license and his truck and neededa destination other than his house. He’s always been careful to make sure there weren’t any other cars around, so he could experience the park in solitude, as if he were wandering around in the inside of his head. It makes him feel less alone, to feel his aloneness so powerfully. Mostly because it’s a confirmation that this town is a place he needs to leave. It isn’t him that’s broken. He still lives, breathes, hopes. It’s just that the landscape is dead around him.
