Par For the Course
A Haruka and Michiru Story, as told by Haruka.
By Kate Butler
Author's Ramblings: Golf is a terribly boring sport. And I am awful
at it. However, I came to a starling realization today: with all her
patience, finesse, and grace, Michiru would make an excellent golfer.
And this idea followed.
Disclaimer: Not again! The reason I write series stories is so I don't
have to admit defeat! ::sigh:: Sailor Moon and all related characters
are not mine. Though, Sailor Stars tapes should be in a few days.
*
"I'm bored," she said.
I was sitting on the couch, reading the morning newspaper. I've
always enjoyed the loveliness of a Saturday morning. So what if there
are daimons about? So what if the Senshi of Destruction is roaming the
streets of Tokyo? So what if the Talismen are sitting in the Crystal
Hearts of three strangers and we can't find them?
Saturdays are my day off.
So, when Michiru entered the room, dressed conservatively in
a pair of nice-looking khaki pants and a button-down flowered shirt,
I folded my newspaper and shot her a grin. "I can fix that," I assured
her, accompanying the glance with a long wink.
"Haruka!" she scolded, hands on her hips as she glared at me.
I chuckled. A girl's got to try, ne?
"I didn't mean it like *that*. I just meant that I want to
get out. Do something." She gestured toward the window, where the
cheery morning sunlight was entering the rather dark living room. "So,
I made an executive decision."
"Huh?"
"Golfing. We're going golfing."
I shrugged and opened my newspaper once again, uninterested.
I didn't know that she was a golfer. She could... Then, my jaw dropped,
and I turned my eyes to glance at her. "We?"
Her smile could have lit the darkest corner of a daimon's soul.
Even if it were a really, really, *really* mean daimon. It absolutely
sparkled, and the room filled with warmth.
Well, I didn't quite fill with warmth. I shivered. "Michi-chan,
I'm not a golfer..."
Somewhere on that girl, there must be a little disclaimer: 'can
go from beaming beauty to whining nag in 2.6 seconds.' Because that's
exactly what she did.
"But HARUKA," she pleaded, placing the emphasis on my name, as
though I wasn't paying attention to her. (Okay, so I wasn't really
paying too much attention. I was trying to think of a way to get out
of the upcoming torture.) "I made a one p.m. tee time at Tokyo's
premiere country club! I shined up my clubs!" She had clubs? Since when?
They must have been sitting in storage from when she first moved in,
because I don't remember golf clubs as part of her effects. "I even
called the local driving range and reserved my favorite grass tee!"
Grass tee? Driving range? What language was she speaking?
So, I did the only think I could. I ignored her.
Suddenly, I felt warm arms encircle my neck (I'd turned my
back to Michi as soon as she started pleading). Her touch sent those
all-too-familiar shivers up and down my spine. I pressed my lips
together as hard as I could. My mind yelled at the rest of me: 'do not
give in! Resist all urges!'
Then, a husky whisper sneaked in my right ear. "Ruka-chan, if
you come with me," it hissed (and let me say, this was one Hell of
a seductive whisper), "I'll make it very worth your while."
Remember my screaming brain? Well, my body glanced at it and
proceeded to beam it over the head with a golf club.
I sighed in defeat. "What time was that grass tee?"
*
"Damn it!" A golf club went sailing through the air and got to
meet the nearby chain-link fence. I'm sure it was having a marvelous
time.
Almost as marvelous a time as I was having.
When I was ten, my father (God rest his soul) tried to take
me golfing. After all, it wasn't too butch a sport, which was good for
me. Supposedly.
Did you know that twenty-seven over par (whatever par is) means
you're a really sucky golfer?
Michiru stood, club resting on the ground, about fifteen feet
to my left . The grass around us was short and very well kept,
considering the fact this place was meant for people to stand on.
Little boxes of wooden toothpicks (tees, I believe she had called them)
were sitting besides large baskets of obnoxiously white balls. And,
for about fifteen bucks a basket, you could push a toothpick in the
ground, set a ball on it, and attempt to hit the ball.
I say attempt because I couldn't do it.
The balls go into this ludicrously green stretch of land, with
little sandboxes (though Michi calls them 'traps') scattered about.
And there are red flags that say '50', '100', and--for the pros--
'400'. And, of course, a bunch of increments in between.
Those flags are, when you hit to them, how many yards your
ball has flown through the merry, happy air of this demonic place
called Hell (or the driving range). My Michiru was having a grand old
time, hitting the balls to the 200-yard marker and beyond. Her club
would make contact and the ball would soar through the air, like a
bird, and then plop down and roll another twenty-odd yards.
Mine... I guess I got a bunch of fraidy-balls. They'd see
the club coming for them, and jump off the tee, rolling a cheery, oh,
ten feet before halting and thanking their golf ball god that I didn't
hurt them...
Oh yeah? Well, if I could have, I would have World Shaken them
to death.
But Saturday is my day off.
A young man, no older (or taller) than me, plucked Michi's 3-
wood off the ground and handed it to me with a sweet smile. "Not a
golfer?" he asked of me.
No shit, Sherlock.
"Iie," I responded with a slight smile, wrinkling my nose.
"This is my first time."
He nodded. "You should ask that woman for pointers," he
suggested kindly, pointing over my shoulder at... someone. "She's
really good."
I turned my head and saw green. Well, aquamarine, actually.
Aquamarine hair, actually. And a short girl attached.
I bristled and nodded to the man. "Arigoto," I thanked him,
trotting over to Michiru.
Plop. 300 yards.
Her blue eyes glanced away from where her ball had landed to
meet my eyes. And I know she was surprised. Whether it was surprise
as in 'Haruka's noble enough to ask for help?' or 'Holy cow, I figured
she'd be good at this', I don't know.
"Michi," I sighed with a shake of my head, "I can't play this
game."
She chortled and nodded gently at me, handing me this big-ass
club that reminded me of...I dunno...a spear you'd see some caveman
using.
I laughed aloud at the idea of cavemen golfing, and she shot
me a look. Placing a ball on a nice, cherry-colored tee, she stepped
back and rested her hands on her hips. "Hit the ball," she commanded
of me.
'Head down. Knees bent. Feet shoulder-length apart. Arms
relaxed. Not too relaxed...damn it Haruka!' I replayed the instructions
she'd first told me that morning. In fact, I felt pretty good about
the stance. I mean, that was easy.
Closing my eyes, I centered my energy. After all, that works
for F-1 racing. I pressed my lips together. I slowly raised the club
and then, I swung it down at the ball as hard as my muscles could
allow.
Plunk, said the ball. Dribble, dribble, dribble, plop. And
it landed about a stone's throw from me.
Not a stone's throw like *I* would throw a stone. A stone's
throw like that annoying Sailor Chibi-Moon would throw. With a broken
arm. On a lousy day.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at Michiru. And
she was smirking. SMIRKING! I sighed and shook my head. And she laid
a kiss on my cheek.
"Ruka," she informed me, batting her long eyelashes, "don't
*kill* the ball. Just hit it. Gently." She shrugged. "Nice and easy."
Okay. So she's telling the Senshi who *enjoys* to fight to
be *nice* to the foul, evil, horrible, blood-sucking white balls of
Hell. Yeah. Right.
She bent over, and placed another ball on another tee. (The
first one had SOMEHOW met the tip of my tennis shoe and had soared
through the air...and farther than the ball went, I might add.) "Try
again," she told me, stepping back.
Nice and easy. Don't kill the ball. Easy for her to say. She
doesn't get that same thrill out of seeing a daimon 'Moon Spiral Heart
Attack'-ed to death, now does she? Well, the ball is not a daimon.
Though, that would make a good fight. 'Oh, no, Sailor Mars! Michiru
had her Crystal Heart stolen by a giant golf ball! Eeek! It has
*fangs*, Mars! Save me!'
Michiru cleared her throat from behind me, and I snapped from
my thoughts. Shoulders back. Head down. And I brought the club up...
And back down...
Whoosh! screamed the ball. Wee! Plop! Dribble, dribble,
dribble! And I beamed at it. I positively beamed.
150 yards.
Have you ever seen a 17-year-old woman prance? Well, I did that
day. Pranced back to my spot and picked up that lousy old club of
Michi's and sent three balls all flying merrily toward the 150 flag.
They didn't make it, but they came close enough for me.
The guy who'd handed me back the club smiled and cocked his
head in my direction. "Is that babe a good teacher?"
'That babe' is my girlfriend. Hands off, creep.
"Hai," I told him. "She's very good."
*
"Kaioh-san?"
I was standing next to Michiru as she waited in an obscenely
long line to rent an ugly white cart. One which, may I add, she wasn't
letting me drive. Anyway, we were in this line, when the guy behind us
leaned forward and tapped MY girlfriend on the shoulder. She whirled
around and her azure eyes went wide.
"Aachikia-sensei?" She squealed (not something very Michiru-
like, I thought. It was all like a bad nightmare. And I wanted, badly,
to wake up. *Very* badly.) and rushed forward, hugging him. I felt
jealousy kick me in the butt and I straightened up considerably.
"Michiru-chan?" I question gently, sizing up the fat, balding,
UGLY man that she was hanging all over. "Who is this?"
The man bowed toward me, flashing a toothy grin. A grin I
didn't take too much of a shining to. "I taught this wonderful girl--"
Michi beamed and turned a slight shade of red-- "how to golf four
years back." He patted her on the shoulder, and I resisted the urge
to run home and grab my henshin pen. "She's an amazing young woman."
"Sensei," she insisted humbly, "I'm not all that good anymore."
"Yes. You are." The smile he shared with her was just BEGGING
for a nice introduction to World Shaking.
Day off. Day off. Day off.
I cleared my throat. "Well, I'm Ten'ou Haruka," I greeted,
mostly because Michiru was choosing to be a lousy hostess.
The man beamed. "Ha! You must be Michiru's caddy!"
I paled and my slight smile faded into an annoyed frown. Caddy?
He thought that all I was going to do was drag her FREAKING golf bag
around all day and hand golf clubs out? Uh... No.
In fact, I was about to tell him just that when I felt a few
razor-sharp nails digging into my wrist. I glanced at Michiru and
raised an eyebrow. She had a 'look' on her face. A 'look' that said:
"Ten'ou Haruka! If you embarrass me in front of this man, I will make
sure you and the couch become *very* close acquaintances!"
I gulped. The couch isn't *that* comfortable.
"Yep," I growled, my voice probably a little lower than it
should have been. "Haruka-the-caddy."
This man--Aachikia-sensei, as my dear Michi had called him--
glanced at the girl I called my own and then looked at me. I didn't
like that look. It was all...mischievous. And full of ideas.
"How about a match, Kaioh-san? If your caddy can handle two
bags--" Bullshit! I wasn't even going to handle the one!-- "then I'm
sure that I could take time out of my busy schedule to play you."
Okay! This is it! The stupid charade has gone far enough! I am
*not* her caddy, I'm her girlfriend. I am *not* lugging her bag
around. I am *not* letting you play her, you filthy old leach with
bad hair! I am...
"Hai, sensei! I'm SURE Haruka would be delighted."
I lowered my eyes at her and said nothing.
The man thrust his bag at me. "Here you go, boy. Hope it's not
too heavy."
Oh, no sir. It just feels like a bag of lead weights.
And then, it hit me. BOY? I let out a long breath and resisted
the urge to punch something.
I was now not just a caddy. I was a MALE caddy.
*
"Eighteen to twenty-four after six holes," I read off the
score card in a low tone. "Par is twenty-three."
Aachikia (that was his name, I learned. Or, his last name.
The first was probably worse.) was killing Michiru's spirit. They were,
what, a third of the way into the game? Yes. A third. And she was
already hanging her head and sighing miserably.
Okay, okay, I admit it. I have a soft spot for her. And, seeing
her as upset as she was... I melted like bad butter.
And so, I decided one thing.
I was going to cheat for my Michi.
I know, I know, it sounds really awful. But can you honestly
expect me to let her lose to the doofus with the supreme lack of hair?
(I'm sorry. It's mean for me to talk like that about the guy. It's just
that his comb-over was bothering me. It was pretty freaky, actually.
Looked like a dead cat had climbed onto his head and decided to sit
there for a while.) I wanted her to win. I didn't care how.
So, it started. Haruka saves the day! It's a bird... It's a
plane! No! It's...
Super Haruka! The defender of girlfriends in trouble!
The next hole was an easy one, Michiru told me. A par three.
Simple as cherry pie. Of course, with all the sand boxes and water
holes all over the place, it looked more like a part of the Tokyo
Zoo. Maybe the African exhibit.
But I shut up and handed her a 1-wood.
Then, that guy (whose name I will not use) stepped up. He had
this wily look in his eye as he asked for his 5-wood. Now, why he'd
use that on his first shot, I don't know. But he did. And I...
I picked out a random club, making sure it wasn't the one he
wanted, and handed it to him.
He swung, and hit the ball. Plop! said the ball. Fly, fly,
plop, dribble, splash. Into the nice little lake it went, spraying
water everywhere. I restrained a smile. So did Michi, though she was
a lot more subtle about it. And that man turned to me, hands on hips.
"Ten'ou! What was that?" he roared, turning the club upside
down and glaring at the little white number on the bottom. "This is
a 5-IRON, boy!"
Boy? Kami-sama, why was he calling me that? I didn't like that!
I scuffed my feet together. "I thought you said 5-iron, sir.
I'm sorry."
He grunted.
*
"Hole 8," I read off the card. "Score twenty-nine to thirty-
one. Par thirty."
Michiru beamed and patted my shoulder, giving it a gentle,
secretive squeeze, and winked. I smiled back.
And that man, sensei what's-his-freaking-problem, just wrinkled
his nose and looked at the next hole. It was a long shot to the little
grassy patch--the green, I guess--and sand traps were liberally
dispersed about the area.
Aachi-baba took out his own club (a sign he didn't trust me--
he'd been doing that since the 5-iron switch) and prepared for his
shot. And I...
Well, Michi was focused on her teacher. So I picked up his
sand wedge, pretended to be polishing it, and launched it into the
nearest set of bushes. There was a loud rustling sound, and they both
turned to look at me.
I shrugged. "Birds?" I suggested with a certain mock innocence
that came across as not so mock.
Sensei-baka just *looked* at me. His dark eyes were a glare,
and I was pretty sure that he was not having such a good time.
What, Aachikia? Not having fun anymore? Is she catching up?
Could you possibly LOSE? Ha ha ha ha ha ha...
"Haruka?" came a soft voice. I turned to meet two blue eyes,
which were both staring at me. "We've both gone, now."
I glanced out at the course and saw, to my delight, the bright
red ball of the annoying teacher sitting in the sand trap. I smiled.
Sand wedge? What sand wedge?
And that was the next thing I was asked for. We made our way
to the sand trap, and Michi hit her ball from the edge of the trap
(it hadn't gone in. Hear that, Aachikia? IT DIDN'T GO IN!) and right
onto the green. Par five. Go Michi!
But the next words to fall upon my ears were "Haruka, sand
wedge."
I glanced at the man, and smiled politely. "Yes, sensei." I
turned to his obscenely large black bag and began to mime rooting around
in it. "Sand wedge... Hmm..."
He glared at me and elbowed me aside. "Damn it, Ten'ou, I know
it's here!"
Oh yeah?
"I don't see it..."
Heh heh. Check the pine bushes back at the beginning of the
hole.
Kicking the bag, he let out a long string of very adult swears,
many of which I don't think I've ever used. Michi's eyes went wide,
and she tugged a club free of her own bag. "Sensei, use mine..."
"SHIMATTA, Kaioh!" he roared, knocking the bag off its stand
and onto the ground. "That was a five-hundred dollar club! Custom
made! One-of-a-kind!"
I felt guilty. I'll admit it. For about two seconds.
Because, then, Michiru's eyes welled up with tears as he yelled
at her, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. If he got one
step closer to her, or said one more rude thing, he'd have to start
swinging. Fists, not clubs.
He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Sorry,
Kaioh-san. I must have..." His dark eyes stole a glance from me. "I
must have forgotten it."
"Must have," I echoed, face solemn.
So he drew out his 9-iron and let the subject drop.
*
"Hole 15. Forty-eight to forty-seven. Par forty-eight."
Aachikia was coming unglued.
As I stood at the large water trap, I could see it in his
mannerisms. Sure, he stood a good fifty yards away, limbering up before
hitting the ball to the green (which was a scant ten feet ahead of me)
and trying to take back his victory.
The victory Michi was stealing.
I felt like a cheerleader, standing there. Michiru had gotten
a hole-in-two (yeah, yeah, I know--it's not a hole-in-two. So sue
me.) and was about to snatch that man's winning from under his nose.
His large, pimply, wart-covered nose. I smiled in spite of myself.
Whoosh! hollered the ball. And it soared. Fifty yards. And
landed on the green.
But it rolled. Quickly at first. And then more slowly.
And stopped at my feet.
This was TOO easy. I felt almost wrong doing it. I mean, the
ball stopped at my feet and just grinned up at me, it's bright redness
mocking me.
Kick me! it pleaded. Kick me and knock me into the water hole.
PLEASE!
And my tennis shoe nudged it three feet. Three feet.
Plunk.
"How'd it do, Ten'ou?" asked a snooty Aachikia lugging his OWN
bag around for once. (His trust for me had slowly died. No, I take that
back--it had quickly died. Died without any smiles or happiness. Died
with a nice big frown. And now... He was his own caddy. I wanted to
smile, but I didn't.) "Did it go on the green?"
How hard was it to see those large, bright, sickly red balls?
"I believe it went in the water."
He dropped the bag on the ground and rushed toward the water.
Knelling on the ground, he glared at the red sphere that was about
a foot under the beautiful, smiling blue liquid.
His dark eyes glared up at me. I shrugged.
And I saw Michiru smile.
*
"To think it!" giggled Michiru, gingerly sipping her coffee
and ignoring the large plate of sushi that sat between the two of us.
"I beat my old sensei!" She reached forward and took my free hand. (I,
unlike her, was enjoying my sushi.) "Thank you for behaving, Haruka."
I choked on my dinner and didn't say anything. Instead, I
just smiled.
"You were very sweet."
You have no idea.
"You didn't go after him."
It was my day off.
"And you helped me win--"
WHAT? My eyes went wide.
"--by carrying my bag and cheering me on."
I let out my breath, which I didn't know I'd been holding. I
put down my roll of seaweed-and-eel and took her hand in both of mine.
"Michi-chan," I smiled at her, "I did it because it was so important
to you."
She beamed back, positively glowing with happiness.
"Arigoto..." She paused suddenly and furrowed her brow. "You know what,
Haruka-chan?"
I froze and cocked my head. "What?"
"Aachikia-sensei is much more nervous and jumpy than he used to
be..."
Despite the serious look on her face, I had to laugh. She
smiled too. But still...
I think I knew why he was so jumpy.
*
"Haruka..."
She clung onto me, like a wet shirt on a dry body. I know, I
know, I did do this because she offered me...something... But you know
what?
My conscience was screaming at me.
'Ten'ou Haruka!' it yelled, little fists clenched at its sides.
'I don't believe you! Why didn't you just tell Michiru and get it out
in the open? Now, she thinks that she actually beat that man!'
Shut up... I begged it, one of my hands gently touching Michi's
arm. I'm not going to listen.
'Yes, you will!' it informed me stubbornly. I could see the
little super-deformed Sailor Uranus of my mind, and it was now waving
a finger at me. 'If she ever found out...'
I imagined a little super-deformed Neptune chasing the little
Uranus from my head. I liked that. And I smiled.
Michiru snuggled closer and her lips made their way toward
my throat.
'Please, Haruka!' the little conscience Uranus begged me, down
on it's Sailor-fuku-clad knees. 'Just tell her before she kills us.'
I sat straight up, and Michi sat up with me.
"What?" she questioned, raising both eyebrows as she pulled her
lacy nightshirt closer to her. "What's wrong with you?"
Sighing, I took her cheeks in my hands and held them for a
long moment, feeling the warmth of them against my palms. And I sighed
a sad sigh.
"I cheated for you."
Her blue eyes went wide, and then she smiled. "You liar," she
teased, playfully pretending to punch me in the shoulder. "You did
not."
"Yes, I did," I told her carefully. And I explained the 5-iron,
and the water-trap, and the sand wedge, and a bit of clever score
fudging that I'd managed--she'd only won by six, not twelve.
She stared at me as I told her all this, face not registering
any emotion. She just gaped at me, not knowing what to say.
There was a long, dull silence over the bedroom before she
settled back down into her spot on the bed and tossed her head
arrogantly. Oh, Kami, she was as mad as a rabid animal about this one.
I could tell.
I began to slink back into my spot when she shook her head
silently. I glanced at her, and she pointed to the door without a word.
Sighing, I picked up my pillow and headed out.
The things I do for love...
'But, Haruka,' chimed in the Chibi-Uranus. 'It's just par for
the course.'
Shut up, conscience. I'm going to bed.
*End.*
A Haruka and Michiru Story, as told by Haruka.
By Kate Butler
Author's Ramblings: Golf is a terribly boring sport. And I am awful
at it. However, I came to a starling realization today: with all her
patience, finesse, and grace, Michiru would make an excellent golfer.
And this idea followed.
Disclaimer: Not again! The reason I write series stories is so I don't
have to admit defeat! ::sigh:: Sailor Moon and all related characters
are not mine. Though, Sailor Stars tapes should be in a few days.
*
"I'm bored," she said.
I was sitting on the couch, reading the morning newspaper. I've
always enjoyed the loveliness of a Saturday morning. So what if there
are daimons about? So what if the Senshi of Destruction is roaming the
streets of Tokyo? So what if the Talismen are sitting in the Crystal
Hearts of three strangers and we can't find them?
Saturdays are my day off.
So, when Michiru entered the room, dressed conservatively in
a pair of nice-looking khaki pants and a button-down flowered shirt,
I folded my newspaper and shot her a grin. "I can fix that," I assured
her, accompanying the glance with a long wink.
"Haruka!" she scolded, hands on her hips as she glared at me.
I chuckled. A girl's got to try, ne?
"I didn't mean it like *that*. I just meant that I want to
get out. Do something." She gestured toward the window, where the
cheery morning sunlight was entering the rather dark living room. "So,
I made an executive decision."
"Huh?"
"Golfing. We're going golfing."
I shrugged and opened my newspaper once again, uninterested.
I didn't know that she was a golfer. She could... Then, my jaw dropped,
and I turned my eyes to glance at her. "We?"
Her smile could have lit the darkest corner of a daimon's soul.
Even if it were a really, really, *really* mean daimon. It absolutely
sparkled, and the room filled with warmth.
Well, I didn't quite fill with warmth. I shivered. "Michi-chan,
I'm not a golfer..."
Somewhere on that girl, there must be a little disclaimer: 'can
go from beaming beauty to whining nag in 2.6 seconds.' Because that's
exactly what she did.
"But HARUKA," she pleaded, placing the emphasis on my name, as
though I wasn't paying attention to her. (Okay, so I wasn't really
paying too much attention. I was trying to think of a way to get out
of the upcoming torture.) "I made a one p.m. tee time at Tokyo's
premiere country club! I shined up my clubs!" She had clubs? Since when?
They must have been sitting in storage from when she first moved in,
because I don't remember golf clubs as part of her effects. "I even
called the local driving range and reserved my favorite grass tee!"
Grass tee? Driving range? What language was she speaking?
So, I did the only think I could. I ignored her.
Suddenly, I felt warm arms encircle my neck (I'd turned my
back to Michi as soon as she started pleading). Her touch sent those
all-too-familiar shivers up and down my spine. I pressed my lips
together as hard as I could. My mind yelled at the rest of me: 'do not
give in! Resist all urges!'
Then, a husky whisper sneaked in my right ear. "Ruka-chan, if
you come with me," it hissed (and let me say, this was one Hell of
a seductive whisper), "I'll make it very worth your while."
Remember my screaming brain? Well, my body glanced at it and
proceeded to beam it over the head with a golf club.
I sighed in defeat. "What time was that grass tee?"
*
"Damn it!" A golf club went sailing through the air and got to
meet the nearby chain-link fence. I'm sure it was having a marvelous
time.
Almost as marvelous a time as I was having.
When I was ten, my father (God rest his soul) tried to take
me golfing. After all, it wasn't too butch a sport, which was good for
me. Supposedly.
Did you know that twenty-seven over par (whatever par is) means
you're a really sucky golfer?
Michiru stood, club resting on the ground, about fifteen feet
to my left . The grass around us was short and very well kept,
considering the fact this place was meant for people to stand on.
Little boxes of wooden toothpicks (tees, I believe she had called them)
were sitting besides large baskets of obnoxiously white balls. And,
for about fifteen bucks a basket, you could push a toothpick in the
ground, set a ball on it, and attempt to hit the ball.
I say attempt because I couldn't do it.
The balls go into this ludicrously green stretch of land, with
little sandboxes (though Michi calls them 'traps') scattered about.
And there are red flags that say '50', '100', and--for the pros--
'400'. And, of course, a bunch of increments in between.
Those flags are, when you hit to them, how many yards your
ball has flown through the merry, happy air of this demonic place
called Hell (or the driving range). My Michiru was having a grand old
time, hitting the balls to the 200-yard marker and beyond. Her club
would make contact and the ball would soar through the air, like a
bird, and then plop down and roll another twenty-odd yards.
Mine... I guess I got a bunch of fraidy-balls. They'd see
the club coming for them, and jump off the tee, rolling a cheery, oh,
ten feet before halting and thanking their golf ball god that I didn't
hurt them...
Oh yeah? Well, if I could have, I would have World Shaken them
to death.
But Saturday is my day off.
A young man, no older (or taller) than me, plucked Michi's 3-
wood off the ground and handed it to me with a sweet smile. "Not a
golfer?" he asked of me.
No shit, Sherlock.
"Iie," I responded with a slight smile, wrinkling my nose.
"This is my first time."
He nodded. "You should ask that woman for pointers," he
suggested kindly, pointing over my shoulder at... someone. "She's
really good."
I turned my head and saw green. Well, aquamarine, actually.
Aquamarine hair, actually. And a short girl attached.
I bristled and nodded to the man. "Arigoto," I thanked him,
trotting over to Michiru.
Plop. 300 yards.
Her blue eyes glanced away from where her ball had landed to
meet my eyes. And I know she was surprised. Whether it was surprise
as in 'Haruka's noble enough to ask for help?' or 'Holy cow, I figured
she'd be good at this', I don't know.
"Michi," I sighed with a shake of my head, "I can't play this
game."
She chortled and nodded gently at me, handing me this big-ass
club that reminded me of...I dunno...a spear you'd see some caveman
using.
I laughed aloud at the idea of cavemen golfing, and she shot
me a look. Placing a ball on a nice, cherry-colored tee, she stepped
back and rested her hands on her hips. "Hit the ball," she commanded
of me.
'Head down. Knees bent. Feet shoulder-length apart. Arms
relaxed. Not too relaxed...damn it Haruka!' I replayed the instructions
she'd first told me that morning. In fact, I felt pretty good about
the stance. I mean, that was easy.
Closing my eyes, I centered my energy. After all, that works
for F-1 racing. I pressed my lips together. I slowly raised the club
and then, I swung it down at the ball as hard as my muscles could
allow.
Plunk, said the ball. Dribble, dribble, dribble, plop. And
it landed about a stone's throw from me.
Not a stone's throw like *I* would throw a stone. A stone's
throw like that annoying Sailor Chibi-Moon would throw. With a broken
arm. On a lousy day.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at Michiru. And
she was smirking. SMIRKING! I sighed and shook my head. And she laid
a kiss on my cheek.
"Ruka," she informed me, batting her long eyelashes, "don't
*kill* the ball. Just hit it. Gently." She shrugged. "Nice and easy."
Okay. So she's telling the Senshi who *enjoys* to fight to
be *nice* to the foul, evil, horrible, blood-sucking white balls of
Hell. Yeah. Right.
She bent over, and placed another ball on another tee. (The
first one had SOMEHOW met the tip of my tennis shoe and had soared
through the air...and farther than the ball went, I might add.) "Try
again," she told me, stepping back.
Nice and easy. Don't kill the ball. Easy for her to say. She
doesn't get that same thrill out of seeing a daimon 'Moon Spiral Heart
Attack'-ed to death, now does she? Well, the ball is not a daimon.
Though, that would make a good fight. 'Oh, no, Sailor Mars! Michiru
had her Crystal Heart stolen by a giant golf ball! Eeek! It has
*fangs*, Mars! Save me!'
Michiru cleared her throat from behind me, and I snapped from
my thoughts. Shoulders back. Head down. And I brought the club up...
And back down...
Whoosh! screamed the ball. Wee! Plop! Dribble, dribble,
dribble! And I beamed at it. I positively beamed.
150 yards.
Have you ever seen a 17-year-old woman prance? Well, I did that
day. Pranced back to my spot and picked up that lousy old club of
Michi's and sent three balls all flying merrily toward the 150 flag.
They didn't make it, but they came close enough for me.
The guy who'd handed me back the club smiled and cocked his
head in my direction. "Is that babe a good teacher?"
'That babe' is my girlfriend. Hands off, creep.
"Hai," I told him. "She's very good."
*
"Kaioh-san?"
I was standing next to Michiru as she waited in an obscenely
long line to rent an ugly white cart. One which, may I add, she wasn't
letting me drive. Anyway, we were in this line, when the guy behind us
leaned forward and tapped MY girlfriend on the shoulder. She whirled
around and her azure eyes went wide.
"Aachikia-sensei?" She squealed (not something very Michiru-
like, I thought. It was all like a bad nightmare. And I wanted, badly,
to wake up. *Very* badly.) and rushed forward, hugging him. I felt
jealousy kick me in the butt and I straightened up considerably.
"Michiru-chan?" I question gently, sizing up the fat, balding,
UGLY man that she was hanging all over. "Who is this?"
The man bowed toward me, flashing a toothy grin. A grin I
didn't take too much of a shining to. "I taught this wonderful girl--"
Michi beamed and turned a slight shade of red-- "how to golf four
years back." He patted her on the shoulder, and I resisted the urge
to run home and grab my henshin pen. "She's an amazing young woman."
"Sensei," she insisted humbly, "I'm not all that good anymore."
"Yes. You are." The smile he shared with her was just BEGGING
for a nice introduction to World Shaking.
Day off. Day off. Day off.
I cleared my throat. "Well, I'm Ten'ou Haruka," I greeted,
mostly because Michiru was choosing to be a lousy hostess.
The man beamed. "Ha! You must be Michiru's caddy!"
I paled and my slight smile faded into an annoyed frown. Caddy?
He thought that all I was going to do was drag her FREAKING golf bag
around all day and hand golf clubs out? Uh... No.
In fact, I was about to tell him just that when I felt a few
razor-sharp nails digging into my wrist. I glanced at Michiru and
raised an eyebrow. She had a 'look' on her face. A 'look' that said:
"Ten'ou Haruka! If you embarrass me in front of this man, I will make
sure you and the couch become *very* close acquaintances!"
I gulped. The couch isn't *that* comfortable.
"Yep," I growled, my voice probably a little lower than it
should have been. "Haruka-the-caddy."
This man--Aachikia-sensei, as my dear Michi had called him--
glanced at the girl I called my own and then looked at me. I didn't
like that look. It was all...mischievous. And full of ideas.
"How about a match, Kaioh-san? If your caddy can handle two
bags--" Bullshit! I wasn't even going to handle the one!-- "then I'm
sure that I could take time out of my busy schedule to play you."
Okay! This is it! The stupid charade has gone far enough! I am
*not* her caddy, I'm her girlfriend. I am *not* lugging her bag
around. I am *not* letting you play her, you filthy old leach with
bad hair! I am...
"Hai, sensei! I'm SURE Haruka would be delighted."
I lowered my eyes at her and said nothing.
The man thrust his bag at me. "Here you go, boy. Hope it's not
too heavy."
Oh, no sir. It just feels like a bag of lead weights.
And then, it hit me. BOY? I let out a long breath and resisted
the urge to punch something.
I was now not just a caddy. I was a MALE caddy.
*
"Eighteen to twenty-four after six holes," I read off the
score card in a low tone. "Par is twenty-three."
Aachikia (that was his name, I learned. Or, his last name.
The first was probably worse.) was killing Michiru's spirit. They were,
what, a third of the way into the game? Yes. A third. And she was
already hanging her head and sighing miserably.
Okay, okay, I admit it. I have a soft spot for her. And, seeing
her as upset as she was... I melted like bad butter.
And so, I decided one thing.
I was going to cheat for my Michi.
I know, I know, it sounds really awful. But can you honestly
expect me to let her lose to the doofus with the supreme lack of hair?
(I'm sorry. It's mean for me to talk like that about the guy. It's just
that his comb-over was bothering me. It was pretty freaky, actually.
Looked like a dead cat had climbed onto his head and decided to sit
there for a while.) I wanted her to win. I didn't care how.
So, it started. Haruka saves the day! It's a bird... It's a
plane! No! It's...
Super Haruka! The defender of girlfriends in trouble!
The next hole was an easy one, Michiru told me. A par three.
Simple as cherry pie. Of course, with all the sand boxes and water
holes all over the place, it looked more like a part of the Tokyo
Zoo. Maybe the African exhibit.
But I shut up and handed her a 1-wood.
Then, that guy (whose name I will not use) stepped up. He had
this wily look in his eye as he asked for his 5-wood. Now, why he'd
use that on his first shot, I don't know. But he did. And I...
I picked out a random club, making sure it wasn't the one he
wanted, and handed it to him.
He swung, and hit the ball. Plop! said the ball. Fly, fly,
plop, dribble, splash. Into the nice little lake it went, spraying
water everywhere. I restrained a smile. So did Michi, though she was
a lot more subtle about it. And that man turned to me, hands on hips.
"Ten'ou! What was that?" he roared, turning the club upside
down and glaring at the little white number on the bottom. "This is
a 5-IRON, boy!"
Boy? Kami-sama, why was he calling me that? I didn't like that!
I scuffed my feet together. "I thought you said 5-iron, sir.
I'm sorry."
He grunted.
*
"Hole 8," I read off the card. "Score twenty-nine to thirty-
one. Par thirty."
Michiru beamed and patted my shoulder, giving it a gentle,
secretive squeeze, and winked. I smiled back.
And that man, sensei what's-his-freaking-problem, just wrinkled
his nose and looked at the next hole. It was a long shot to the little
grassy patch--the green, I guess--and sand traps were liberally
dispersed about the area.
Aachi-baba took out his own club (a sign he didn't trust me--
he'd been doing that since the 5-iron switch) and prepared for his
shot. And I...
Well, Michi was focused on her teacher. So I picked up his
sand wedge, pretended to be polishing it, and launched it into the
nearest set of bushes. There was a loud rustling sound, and they both
turned to look at me.
I shrugged. "Birds?" I suggested with a certain mock innocence
that came across as not so mock.
Sensei-baka just *looked* at me. His dark eyes were a glare,
and I was pretty sure that he was not having such a good time.
What, Aachikia? Not having fun anymore? Is she catching up?
Could you possibly LOSE? Ha ha ha ha ha ha...
"Haruka?" came a soft voice. I turned to meet two blue eyes,
which were both staring at me. "We've both gone, now."
I glanced out at the course and saw, to my delight, the bright
red ball of the annoying teacher sitting in the sand trap. I smiled.
Sand wedge? What sand wedge?
And that was the next thing I was asked for. We made our way
to the sand trap, and Michi hit her ball from the edge of the trap
(it hadn't gone in. Hear that, Aachikia? IT DIDN'T GO IN!) and right
onto the green. Par five. Go Michi!
But the next words to fall upon my ears were "Haruka, sand
wedge."
I glanced at the man, and smiled politely. "Yes, sensei." I
turned to his obscenely large black bag and began to mime rooting around
in it. "Sand wedge... Hmm..."
He glared at me and elbowed me aside. "Damn it, Ten'ou, I know
it's here!"
Oh yeah?
"I don't see it..."
Heh heh. Check the pine bushes back at the beginning of the
hole.
Kicking the bag, he let out a long string of very adult swears,
many of which I don't think I've ever used. Michi's eyes went wide,
and she tugged a club free of her own bag. "Sensei, use mine..."
"SHIMATTA, Kaioh!" he roared, knocking the bag off its stand
and onto the ground. "That was a five-hundred dollar club! Custom
made! One-of-a-kind!"
I felt guilty. I'll admit it. For about two seconds.
Because, then, Michiru's eyes welled up with tears as he yelled
at her, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. If he got one
step closer to her, or said one more rude thing, he'd have to start
swinging. Fists, not clubs.
He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Sorry,
Kaioh-san. I must have..." His dark eyes stole a glance from me. "I
must have forgotten it."
"Must have," I echoed, face solemn.
So he drew out his 9-iron and let the subject drop.
*
"Hole 15. Forty-eight to forty-seven. Par forty-eight."
Aachikia was coming unglued.
As I stood at the large water trap, I could see it in his
mannerisms. Sure, he stood a good fifty yards away, limbering up before
hitting the ball to the green (which was a scant ten feet ahead of me)
and trying to take back his victory.
The victory Michi was stealing.
I felt like a cheerleader, standing there. Michiru had gotten
a hole-in-two (yeah, yeah, I know--it's not a hole-in-two. So sue
me.) and was about to snatch that man's winning from under his nose.
His large, pimply, wart-covered nose. I smiled in spite of myself.
Whoosh! hollered the ball. And it soared. Fifty yards. And
landed on the green.
But it rolled. Quickly at first. And then more slowly.
And stopped at my feet.
This was TOO easy. I felt almost wrong doing it. I mean, the
ball stopped at my feet and just grinned up at me, it's bright redness
mocking me.
Kick me! it pleaded. Kick me and knock me into the water hole.
PLEASE!
And my tennis shoe nudged it three feet. Three feet.
Plunk.
"How'd it do, Ten'ou?" asked a snooty Aachikia lugging his OWN
bag around for once. (His trust for me had slowly died. No, I take that
back--it had quickly died. Died without any smiles or happiness. Died
with a nice big frown. And now... He was his own caddy. I wanted to
smile, but I didn't.) "Did it go on the green?"
How hard was it to see those large, bright, sickly red balls?
"I believe it went in the water."
He dropped the bag on the ground and rushed toward the water.
Knelling on the ground, he glared at the red sphere that was about
a foot under the beautiful, smiling blue liquid.
His dark eyes glared up at me. I shrugged.
And I saw Michiru smile.
*
"To think it!" giggled Michiru, gingerly sipping her coffee
and ignoring the large plate of sushi that sat between the two of us.
"I beat my old sensei!" She reached forward and took my free hand. (I,
unlike her, was enjoying my sushi.) "Thank you for behaving, Haruka."
I choked on my dinner and didn't say anything. Instead, I
just smiled.
"You were very sweet."
You have no idea.
"You didn't go after him."
It was my day off.
"And you helped me win--"
WHAT? My eyes went wide.
"--by carrying my bag and cheering me on."
I let out my breath, which I didn't know I'd been holding. I
put down my roll of seaweed-and-eel and took her hand in both of mine.
"Michi-chan," I smiled at her, "I did it because it was so important
to you."
She beamed back, positively glowing with happiness.
"Arigoto..." She paused suddenly and furrowed her brow. "You know what,
Haruka-chan?"
I froze and cocked my head. "What?"
"Aachikia-sensei is much more nervous and jumpy than he used to
be..."
Despite the serious look on her face, I had to laugh. She
smiled too. But still...
I think I knew why he was so jumpy.
*
"Haruka..."
She clung onto me, like a wet shirt on a dry body. I know, I
know, I did do this because she offered me...something... But you know
what?
My conscience was screaming at me.
'Ten'ou Haruka!' it yelled, little fists clenched at its sides.
'I don't believe you! Why didn't you just tell Michiru and get it out
in the open? Now, she thinks that she actually beat that man!'
Shut up... I begged it, one of my hands gently touching Michi's
arm. I'm not going to listen.
'Yes, you will!' it informed me stubbornly. I could see the
little super-deformed Sailor Uranus of my mind, and it was now waving
a finger at me. 'If she ever found out...'
I imagined a little super-deformed Neptune chasing the little
Uranus from my head. I liked that. And I smiled.
Michiru snuggled closer and her lips made their way toward
my throat.
'Please, Haruka!' the little conscience Uranus begged me, down
on it's Sailor-fuku-clad knees. 'Just tell her before she kills us.'
I sat straight up, and Michi sat up with me.
"What?" she questioned, raising both eyebrows as she pulled her
lacy nightshirt closer to her. "What's wrong with you?"
Sighing, I took her cheeks in my hands and held them for a
long moment, feeling the warmth of them against my palms. And I sighed
a sad sigh.
"I cheated for you."
Her blue eyes went wide, and then she smiled. "You liar," she
teased, playfully pretending to punch me in the shoulder. "You did
not."
"Yes, I did," I told her carefully. And I explained the 5-iron,
and the water-trap, and the sand wedge, and a bit of clever score
fudging that I'd managed--she'd only won by six, not twelve.
She stared at me as I told her all this, face not registering
any emotion. She just gaped at me, not knowing what to say.
There was a long, dull silence over the bedroom before she
settled back down into her spot on the bed and tossed her head
arrogantly. Oh, Kami, she was as mad as a rabid animal about this one.
I could tell.
I began to slink back into my spot when she shook her head
silently. I glanced at her, and she pointed to the door without a word.
Sighing, I picked up my pillow and headed out.
The things I do for love...
'But, Haruka,' chimed in the Chibi-Uranus. 'It's just par for
the course.'
Shut up, conscience. I'm going to bed.
*End.*
