by Eric Schenck
“Think you can beat me today?”
I don’t have to think about my answer.
“100 percent. Might even break the course record.”
It’s three weeks before Christmas. Overly happy music is everywhere and everybody is out shopping. In this time of jolly tidings, my older sister and I have decided to have the ultimate showdown:
18 holes of mini golf.
Hannah has dubbed herself Princess Putt-Putt, but I’m not impressed.
It’s time to win.
*
Hannah is the closest to me in age. In a family of four brothers, she’s the only girl. And, as luck would have it, the middle child.
Surrounded by sibling relationships built on farts and sex jokes, the relationship I have with my sister is different. A little classier. A bit more refined. In a loud family, Hannah is a breath of fresh air, and she’s been there for me more than just about anyone.
But today none of that matters, because I have one goal and one goal only:
To destroy her.
*
Hidden Valley Miniature Golf is where it’s happening. The place is extra charming because it’s the same name as our hometown.
When we get there, though, it’s locked up.
We are about to drive away when our salvation arrives. An old man is shouting at us, walking down the steps of the motel next door. He drags his foot when he walks and has a lazy eye.
“Glad I caught ya. Don’t get many folks out here this time of year.”
I reach inside the car and give Hannah a thumbs up. Apparently an old guy sits on a motel balcony and just waits for people to show up. This has serial killer written all over it.
It’s all very weird, but somehow, for a place specializing in putt-putt, it’s exactly what I’d expect.
We don’t ask questions. All that matters is that he’s letting us in, because we’ve got ten bucks on the line.
We’re taking it seriously. Still, that doesn’t stop us from using fake names on the scorecard. Today Hannah is Rambo, and I’m Big Jonny.
The quote at the bottom of the card applies to other people, sure. But me and my sister? Not a chance:
“Twenty years from now no one will remember whether you won or lost, but they will always remember if you are a good sport!”
Fuck that.
I’m here for blood.
*
One of my first memories of us together (if only briefly) is my dad dragging me out of Hannah’s room. She has friends over and I’m trying to join the fun.
Hannah asks me to leave. I refuse. She tries to usher me out but I’m having none of it. Finally my dad gets involved. He’s pulling me by my legs and I’m digging my nails into the carpet, screaming bloody murder.
All the girls are probably terrified, and my sister is undoubtedly dying from embarrassment. I’m too young for social norms to mean much.
Almost 30 years later, and we still laugh about it. Even as a four-year-old I realized how cool Hannah is.
How unfair life can be as a child – I just wanted to hang out with my sis.
*
The course itself is a delight to look at. And thank goodness – three weeks before Christmas, the last thing I need is a hit of depression.
I’ve noticed this about mini golf courses: they either fill me with joy, or crush me with a strange sense of sadness. The way I see it, there are only two kinds of people that come to play at one: people that are high on life and aren’t afraid to laugh at themselves, or divorced dads that can’t figure out how to spend their weekend with the kids.
Surrounded by windmills and miniature bridges, we both take our first shots. Rambo and Big Jonny are off to the races.
We are the only ones there until a pair arrives. It’s a fairly attractive older woman and a young guy. We hear him talk a bit too loud. He slurs his speech, and I look at Hannah. She shrugs her shoulder.
“Make-A-Wish dating, probably.”
It’s messed up but hilarious. I snort and the woman looks over, frowning. It only makes me laugh harder.
It’s always like this. Something that is almost certainly innocent and normal turns into gossip and dark inside jokes. It’s one of the best things about Hannah: you can throw out absurd theories anytime you want, and she’ll take you seriously. No topics, no matter how immoral, are off limits.
If you want a respectable game of putt-putt, pick somebody else. But if you want to laugh your ass off?
Hannah is your girl.
*
My first day of middle school Hannah walks me over. She’s a senior and wants to make sure I have things figured out.
At this point our relationship is changing. We’re both getting older. I’m 13 and am realizing that Hannah is my sister, not just another brother.
She asks me if I have any questions. I shake my head. I play it cool, but I’m nervous on the inside.
Hannah give me a hug and walks away.
She’s not Princess Putt-Putt quite yet, but the leadership skills are certainly there.
*
The obvious question: “Why mini golf?”
At least now, its a way for us to slow down time. 2024 feels like it just started yesterday, and we’re already in December. Seeing Christmas lights as a kid filled me with anticipation. Now it’s something closer to disbelief.
The year is going to be over before we blink. Mini golf gets us outside, laughing about the silliness, and even just for a few hours, makes the clock tick a little slower.
But it’s also about what mini golf gives us: a way to be competitive without being an asshole.
Normal golf is fun but stressful. Your inconsistency makes you feel small, and every shot you mess up is its own little tragedy.
But mini golf? The complete opposite. On a putt-putt course you are, quite literally, a giant. And for every terrible shot things become a little funnier.
That happens to me on hole #6. Somehow, I end up off the course entirely and in a pile of rocks.
We’re forced to come up with an impromptu set of rules:
- Drop the ball back on the course
- Take a stroke penalty
- Try not to do it again
It’s my first mistake of the day, but Hannah is struggling. Six holes in and I’m in control. Ten bucks is mine for the taking.
*
Van life with my girlfriend sounds wonderful. We’ve split the cost of a campervan, and the plan is to make our way from Texas to Panama over the next six months.
We don’t even make it out of the U.S. Things start breaking, and what was left of our relationship crumbles. We were lying to ourselves about how much we liked each other.
Nina leaves to visit a friend in Chicago. A week later it happens. She calls and breaks up with me over a video chat. That night I sleep at Hannah’s place. I pretend I’m relieved, but really I’m broken.
I do a giant (most likely laced with something) weed gummy and it’s one of the worst experiences of my life. I’m convinced my sister is a demon. Her face looks distorted, and as we watch a movie I curl up in a paranoid lump, hiding under a blanket. My brain is in overdrive.
The next day Hannah is back to normal. She’s my older sister again. She holds me as I sit on her couch and cry my heart out. When I’m done, she’s full of encouragement, advice…
And a healthy bit of “fuck her she doesn’t deserve you.”
“You know I thought you were a demon last night?”
She laughs.
“That doesn’t sound too fun.”
My world has blown up in my face – but Princess Putt-Putt has come through yet again.
*
Halfway through I’m up by eight shots. The overconfident shit-talking has begun.
And thus starts my downfall. On hole #14, my first shot gets stuck at the top of hill with about an eighth of an inch on both sides. Give me a thousand tries and I couldn’t do it again.
It’s a tricky spot because I’m right next to a huge drop off. Even the most gentle putt is probably too much, and will send the ball smashing off the back wall and further away from the hole. My next shot that’s exactly what happens.
Princess Putt-Putt has her opening. She sinks the next shot to score a birdie. I finish with a triple bogey. Just like that, Hannah has closed the gap, and is now down four.
Maybe mini golf and life in general aren’t so different. You try as hard as you can, plan everything out, and go forth with the best of intentions…
And it fucks you all the same.
*
The last two years I haven’t had an address. I’ve spent a lot of time in Texas where three of my siblings live, and most of the time it’s been at Hannah’s house.
Some of my favorite memories revolve around 90 Day Fiancé. I never expected to get sucked into a show, much less one about dating. But alas, here we are.
We watch it together at the end of the day and shout at the screen. It’s completely obvious what these bozos need to do, but apparently spending 100,000 dollars on a woman you’ve never actually spoken to face-to-face is the highest form of love.
Hannah and I revel in being single. We may not have found the loves of our lives yet, but at least we’ll never be these people.
*
By the time we reach hole #18, Hannah is one shot behind.
We see the old guy through the window. He’s watching something on a screen. Before our fate is sealed, I ask one final question.
“So what’s the worst thing that he could be looking at?”
Hannah knows I want another dark answer. She thinks for a moment.
“Like…secret footage of prisoners. Something messed up like people that he has locked up in his basement.”
This is our brand of humor. So much of our lives are nieces and nephews and Christmas movies where everything works out perfectly. But a lazy-eyed serial killer that manages a mini golf course in his spare time?
Now that’s what I came for.
I go first. My first putt is a solid one. I’m not trying for a risky Hail Mary – my strategy is to get close enough for an easy second shot so I can put the pressure on Hannah. And that’s exactly what I do. I drain it, and turn to face my sister.
I might not have broken any course records today, but it’s going to take a miracle to keep me away from ten bucks.
She lines up her shot. Three weeks before Christmas, before she inevitably dishes out the best gifts of the family, Hannah is no longer Hannah.
At this moment, Princess Putt-Putt has a mission, and she will not be denied.
It’s all focus now. This endgame is why she’s here. If we had a crowd, now is the point they go silent. She gives it one last look…
And lets it fly.
Rolling away from us…
Under the watch of windmills and bridges…
In a moment frozen in time…
Hannah’s golf ball travels the one true path, and 40 feet away, down the last strip of green at Hidden Valley Miniature Golf…
In it goes.
Princess Putt-Putt has prevailed.
It’s the perfect ending. Two hours and 18 holes later, we’ve tied, and it’s all because of a last chance hole-in-one.
A shot that’s one-of-a-kind. A shot that can make miracles happen. A shot that, in so many ways, is too good to be true.
A shot, in other words…
That was always right there exactly when you needed it.
Just like my sister.
***
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