All holes divisible by four are designated Safety Checks. This started at McNaughton as the fourth hole has a convenient little retaining wall made of railroad ties for us to sit on. We sit on the ties, while I quietly pack our hitters.
Watson sighs. It's a familiar sound. One I make as well. One conjured by the sum total of every piece of real world stress busting through the invisible barrier frisbee golf is suppose to create to give us time to just enjoy the good throws and the good conversation. Recreational frolfers playing a game that was most assuredly created by hippies for hippies. I hand him his dog whistle.
"Was it you I was talking to the other day about cashing in any good karma I had?"
Watson shakes his head, but I can tell he knows exactly what I mean.
"Well, I'm ready. Ready for my goodwill to count for something in my favor."
Watson is still trying to hold his smoke when he asks, "You and me both. I'm bored, too, Brotha. I'm starting to feel like I've seen behind the curtain. And this is it." He waves about with minimal enthusiasm. I know he's not talking about frolf, but he is. McNaughton Park is the closest course. The fallback. We both hate it, but we come here a lot, settling for convenience rather than making the effort to go to one of the courses we like better.
I crank my hitter, set it on fire and inhale. I feel the rocket boosters fire, kicking back towards the gravitational pull of Jupiter. Then the engine backfires, and I start coughing. My vision tunnels. Tears fill my eyes. The cold wintery breeze chilling them as they run down the side of my nose towards the inkling of snot emerging from my nostrils.
"Christ, Old Man, are you okay?" Watson looks slightly concerned, but still cracks his lighter against his hitter. He's a year older than Glassy. I just keep coughing, and hand him my box when he tries to hand me his cached pipe.
"What if," I immediately start coughing again. "What if--" More coughing. I shake my fists in the air, then punch wildly at nothing in frustration while I cough some more. I hold up a finger for him to wait just a bit longer. "What if karma is measured in real time? What if all of the good and bad I've done is averaged out and this.... all of this... right now is a representation of my karmic standing?"
Watson seemed to ponder this, nodding his head, staring at the basket in the distance. "Maybe, but that would kind of suck."
"Tell me about it. It makes me think about the awful things I've done in the past and how moving in with Glassy to help with the baby didn't really seem to change my luck for the better. I totally figured I'd have gotten some kind of karma sex out of stepping up to raise the Young Squire by now."
"Oh you're getting karmacly fucked alright. Maybe not brutally gangbanged. But definitely something ranking as against your will."
I stand up and throw my disc. It flies straight for once. And far. For a moment, Watson and I are silent. Hopeful, until a branch we couldn't see slapped my disc, sending arching off into the woods just about where I always manage to land on this hole.
Watson stands up, points at my disc, "That's life. Right there. Smooth sailing until you get blindsided."