The owner didn’t even live in the country. The club was his investment or some bullshit. I’ve only ever seen him once and I didn’t know I was talking to him until after.
It was a dare. We were racing the golf carts through the course. We had a set rout down hole five, four, we cut back through hole 8 and across what we called the suicide plank. We did this race weekly. The entire rout is the roughest terrain to stretch over that land. We came close so many times of flipping and hitting each other. It could have been so bad. The best part was that it was all down hill from where we started so the golf carts go five times faster than normal and the bridge at the bottom was only wide enough for one cart. On one race it was so close against Colby and I. He managed to win every time and it was my chance. I was getting that paralyzing feeling you get when you are on a roller coaster. The bumps were making me nearly bounce out of my seat and I was terrified that if I let go I’d slide sideways and start flipping. I could have died for sure. We were so close I knew that he would shove me for the opening in-between the railings so I panicked and turned away from the bridge. I had no idea what I was doing. It was straight communication between adrenaline and my body.
I drove straight into the pond and sunk the cart beyond sight, or so I thought. The wind had made the water murky that day.
Some golfers were cruising towards us so I jumped on Zach’s cart to flee the scene but before we could make it anywhere one of them waved us down. My heart was pounding with fear that he witnessed what had happened. When we made it to him he just small talked a bunch of useless words. I could barely follow anything he was saying and before any of us had a chance to speak he would cut us off. I got so frustrated I just went and sat in the passenger seat of Zach’s cart while they continued talking for a bit.
When Zach hopped back in the cart he asked me, “Do you know who that was?”
“Nope.”“That’s the owner of this golf course.”