Ballastonia

               Jenkins bolted awake at the sound of the nearby thunderclap. “Really? Really?” he repeated out loud while lurching for the bedroom window. After savagely swiping the curtain to one side, he stared desperately out towards the sky. “Nothing, not a blooming thing,” he stated in a discouraging manner. Jenkins figured it had to be a dream. “A dream of a thunderstorm, oh gee, those were the days,” he mused silently.

               Lifting his eyes back to the blue sky above him, there was only perfection. A soft blue sky without a cloud and temperature at exactly 70 degrees. “Perfect,” he muttered hatefully, …”as always,” He had, in fact, had developed a hatred for that word, ‘perfect’, everyone he talked to everyday, used that term incessantly. And even worse, he couldn’t stop the urge to use it as well, even when he was just talking to himself, which he did a lot.

               Jenkins then, as he always did when he was contemplating these thoughts, began replaying in his mind the day he arrived at the mansion. He couldn’t remember his trip to get here, but that wasn’t exactly an usual happening for him. His alcoholism often presented him with long blackout periods. But that was another funny change that he has identified since his move, he hasn’t wanted to drink a drop since coming here. “When has that ever happened?” he asked himself rhetorically.

               But his room was nothing compared to the food they provided. The restaurant was lavish, to say the least, but the food was mind-blowing, it was so good. And he found out that they would even deliver it to his room if he asked, that way he wouldn’t have to be around all those lunkheads that were dining out and using the word ‘perfect’ incessantly. “Now, if I were to use the word 'perfect’, “Jenkins thought to himself, he would brag on the room service instead. They always brought his food promptly to his room, set it up, and then they would immediately leave the room. Not once had they, or anyone else asked him to sign the bill, or ask him for his credit card, or a tip, or anything. Of course, Jenkins wasn’t going to bring it up. He had planned his discourse he was going to have with the manager whenever they were to give him a bill to pay. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he imagined himself being in their face and yelling this,” y’all just kept doing it. I assumed I must have won a contest or something. So, just take that bill and go up the hill and fetch a pail of water for all I care.” But, in all the time he had been here, not one person has brought up the subject of payment.

               And his residence wasn’t the only place that deferred payment. Neither did the golf course, which was where he was going to this morning. He had a tee-time set for 9 am. He was set to play against the 3 guys he had met in the restaurant a couple of days ago. He had overheard them talking about golfing and Jenkins saw his opportunity. He challenged them to an 18 hole contest, with each of them to put $1,000 into the pot, winner take all. Jenkins was surprised when all three enthusiastically agreed to this.

               What those three men didn’t know, and Jenkins never even hinted about it, was that he had been practicing his golf game, and he knew now that he could beat anyone in the world. Well, he had been practicing, but had given it up several weeks, or months ago. Time was hard for Jenkins to keep track of here. He absolutely loved the golf course at the beginning. He couldn’t help but to muse, on a daily basis, about his first experience on the course. He had teed up his ball for the first hole and he saw that he green was 450 yards away. Jenkins had snickered that he would need a cannon, rather than an ordinary driver to get the ball even halfway to the hole.

               After hitting his ball off the tee and he was barely able to get a glimpse of his ball. Jenkins was pleased though, because it looked like it went right down the middle of the fairway. So, Jenkins grabbed the handle of his golf cart and began dragging it behind him as he made his way toward the trajectory of his ball. After walking a lot further than what he thought it would take him, Jenkins began zigzagging his way down the fairway looking for his ball. After going quite a distance, he decided that he must have failed to see the ball, or that it hooked or sliced off into the wooded area on each side of the fairway. After looking for what seemed like forever, Jenkins gave up and just decided to put another ball down and clip it toward the green. “That’s cheating,” thought Jenkins,” but then he reconciled the predicament in his mind, “who am I cheating anyway, I’m just practicing.

               Jenkins placed his ball down in the middle of the fairway and took out his number 2 iron and whacked it. Another quick glance up gave him a gleeful look at the ball headed straight for the green.

               When he finally got to the green, he was flabbergasted, his ball was nowhere to be found. Jenkins then determined that the ball must have rolled off the green and into the sand pit on the other side. Just as he was walking by the hole on his journey to the sand pit, he happened to see something white lodged in the hole between the flagpole and the cup. He leaned over and was astonished to see that it was his ball. “Wow,” he shouted loudly while bending down to retrieve his ball. But his amazement quickly transformed from exhilaration to despondent. As he was grasping his ball he felt another ball directly underneath his ball. He quickly pulled both balls out and discovered that they were both his ball. He had scored a hole-in-one. “Never have I ever,” he shouted to the blue sky above him.

               His euphoria was quickly annulled, however. The next hole was a par three, and Jenkins saw his ball hop onto the green after he had driven it off the tee and he saw it gradually rolling it’s way to the cup and then in it went. Another hole-in-one, Jenkins could hardly breathe, much less understand what was going on. Until, that is, when he drove off the tee on the third hole. Another hole-in-one. He went on and finished all 18 holes with a final score of 18.

               Jenkins did play a couple of more times, with the exact same unbelievable results, so he knew he would beat these newbies. There was no way that he couldn’t beat them.

               When their little competition was over, Jenkins disgustedly grabbed his golf bag and trudged back to his room. He didn’t even bother to bring his clubs up to his room, he left them with the doorkeeper and told him that he could give them to anybody who needed them.

               As soon as he got into his room, he plunged onto his neatly made bed. “How could this happen. How? How?” Jenkins breathlessly kept asking. There was no answer, Jenkins finally accepted the fact that there is no possible way that 4 guys playing golf could all make 18 holes-in-one.

               “I’m living in a mansion, the food is perfect, the service is perfect, the weather is perfect, and everything perfectly for me,” Jenkins ruminated. “I hate it!” he then screamed at the ceiling. “I hate this, I hate this.”

               After quite some time spewing his anger, his thoughts suddenly brought him back to his arrival at the mansion. He didn’t remember coming here, he wasn’t able to afford something like this, so why was he here? Then, he sat up straight on his bed and after a moment of clarity it dawned on him what had happened. He had died and he is now in heaven. This thought sparked a smile on his face until he fell back onto the bed in a prone position and he came to the obvious conclusion. “No, this isn’t heaven, I hate it. You can’t hate heaven. This is the other place.