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"Stop it with the wise ass remarks," I said angrily. "You aren't helping. I'm trying the best I can. It's six years at least since I swung a club, and longer since I played regularly."

Tree looked long and hard at me.

"I need your help. So help me," I said.

"Okay, but this is going to be a long day." 

The Great Shift- Mulligans Part One

Synopsis- Two working stiffs for Pepsi-Cola, named George and Mike, become LPGA golfers thanks to the Great Shift. Part One details the aftermath of the Shift and how George challenges the golfer's caddy into making a professional golfer out of the former truck driver.

For some reason I  posted this to Big Closet but never to Stardust. Better late than never I guess.

This is one of my older stories. Originally written in 2003. I did some fixes, and added a few short scenes.  Some golf details, that I missed, were added also. Like what British golf fans do at the climax of their Open Championship.

The additions added maybe 1,000 words. Hope you enjoy, and please leave comments.

What would pro sports be like after the shift? I tackle the subject here, namely the LPGA tour. I did use the actual 2001-2002 LPGA schedule and most of its actual results as background for this story. (Most of the tournaments I depict were actually won in the real world by the same people. I also used real golf courses.) I did change a few details for dramatic effect.

And of course, with one of my stories you have many exotic locations...Palm Springs, California...South Beach or Miami Beach, Florida...Seoul, South Korea...Youngstown, Ohio...London, England...Narita, Japan...Santa Monica, California...

Uh, Youngstown, Ohio is exotic? Maybe compared to Battle Creek, Michigan or Hutchinson, Kansas, where the story also visits...

I think there is also a fair chance none of you have read a TG fiction story with characters named Tree and Akron.

Hope you enjoy. Please write back with any comments.

This story is dedicated to Morpheus, the founder of the Great Shift universe and one of Fictionmania's best writers. 

I also want to thank my editor, Steve Zink. Steve's editing and general assistance is invaluable.

Mulligan - a free shot sometimes given a golfer in informal play when the previous shot was poorly played. Sometimes known as a second chance.

My name is George Tompkins, or at least it used to be. Till that fateful day the Great Shift happened.

Like 90% of the world's population, I discovered myself in a different body. I had been a thirty-one-year-old white male till that day.

Now it's nearly two years later. I have just spent six excruciating hours in the hot Kansas Sun. My round of golf was over, but the tournament was not. I wanted to go back to my hotel but there were people who wanted to interview me. Two years ago no one would have been interested in interviewing me, but now it's different.

So I walked over to the tent where the press was located. Upon entering the tent I saw over a hundred men and women. Ages varied widely. Like almost everyone else, most of them had been affected by the shift. I went over to the table at the front of the tent and took a seat.

I thought back to two years earlier.

I was just finishing my shift driving a Pepsi-Cola delivery truck in oungstown, Ohio. It was a Saturday and I was looking forward to the next day off. Once I pulled my truck into the loading bay I started unloading the returns I had from the day. I had spent the entire day servicing convenience stores and supermarkets just outside of Youngstown. "Oh, George, Frank needs to see you before you leave today," said Tom McLemore. Tom ran the loading dock and was helping me with the paperwork for the day. He was referring to my boss, Frank Davis.

After finishing with the paperwork I went to the back of the warehouse and up a flight of stairs to our hallway of offices. I went to the third door on the right and knocked on the door. A voice said to come in, and I entered. "Hi, George. Take a seat," Frank said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.

I wondered why Frank wanted to see me that day. Like most employees I got nervous when called into the boss' office.

"George, I need a favor," Frank said. "Jim Gibbons' wife went into labor; I need you to work tomorrow."

Shit, I thought to myself. There goes my plans. Or what plans...going to a bar? I didn't have any girlfriend or wife, etc. Nor was it football season, and spending lazy Sunday afternoons in front of the television. It had been a long time since I had worked a Sunday. Working Sundays was unusual, very few companies needed a delivery that day.

"You'll get time and a half," Frank explained. There was a big sporting event, and George would have been delivering drinks to it. "Come in here at 5 a.m. and you should be done by noon. Mike Stanton will be going with you to help out. There are free passes for both of you, so if you want to see the tournament, go ahead after your day is over."

"Sure, Frank," I replied, thinking what the heck, I could use the extra money.

It was almost noontime and it was a blazing July day in Ohio. The temperature was in the low nineties and the humidity had to be at least as high.

Mike Stanton and I had begun the day at 5 a.m., long before most people were even awake on a Sunday morning. First we loaded our truck at the warehouse, then made the trip to the Squaw Creek Country Club. The golf course didn't have a loading dock, so all the beverages had to be unloaded by hand and then carted to concession stands scattered across the golf course.

"This is the last load, we can get out of here when this is done," Mike said to me as he locked and secured the truck.

"Not interested in coming back and watching the golf later?" I asked, remembering the passes we had gotten when clocking in earlier in the morning. Not that I was all that interested in golf. I had played some in my teens. But playing and watching were two different things. Except today I had nothing planned, maybe watching some golf would pass the rest of the day.

"Why? Are you interested in Ladies Golf?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Because I'm not," Mike said, heading down the same path as I. We were servicing the concession stands closest to the clubhouse. "These women are all a bunch of ugly dykes. I can't wait to get home. I'd rather watch grass grow than these dykes."

"Come on, they aren't all dykes." Mike and I stopped walking. We were near the driving range and practice green. Also, players and fans who were going from the nearby ninth green to tenth tee were passing by.

"Look," Mike said, pointing to some of the players on the driving range. "What do you see?"

"Women. Women golfers."

"Fucking ugly women golfers. Can you even find one of them attractive?"

To be honest, the crop of golfers on the practice tee weren't really a choice group. Looking around, I saw one golfer with short black hair dressed in a yellow blouse or polo shirt and white shorts and wearing a white golf visor, along with her caddy passing by. The caddy wore a tournament apron with the name Pak on the back. It looked like they were heading for the driving range.

"How about her?" I said, pointing to the golfer.

"Not bad. If you like Asian women," Mike countered. It appeared he didn't. "Okay, anyone else?"

Another golfer passed by us. Dressed in a light blue golf shirt and white shorts and shading her eyes with a blue golf visor, this blonde golfer was headed to the practice tee. While not bad looking, she was no knockout, either. Honestly, the woman was a plain Jane at best.

"Anyone else?" Mike said, and waited about twenty seconds. "I rest my case."

"But not all the players are dykes," I said weakly.

"Whatever. Let's make this final delivery and get the hell out of here." Mike and I then went our separate ways. We would meet back at the truck when we were done.

The concession stand I was to service was not far past the driving range. Since the stand was busy I had to wait outside the small shack till someone could let me in.

Then I felt this strange feeling like I was being torn apart from the inside out. Then, all went black.

***** 

"Are you all right?" asked a man wearing a caddy's bib who was looking down at me. "Something very weird is happening."

I could hear people yelling, screaming and crying, but I was too engrossed in my own situation to pay much attention to others. The first thing I noticed was that I felt odd from head to toe. Also, that I was laying flat on my back on the ground. Using my hands to push myself up, I then noticed something else.

"What the fuck?" I said, hearing a strange, accented voice emanating from my mouth. What I had noticed was I was dressed in what appeared to be a yellow polo shirt and white shorts. Then my eyes focused on something else. Two lumps protruding from underneath the polo shirt I was now wearing.

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, as the caddy offered his hand. Taking it, he pulled me up off the ground. "What has happened to me?"

I immediately noticed my new surroundings. It was the driving range for the golf course. There were still other players and their caddies strewn on the ground. Some appeared to be slowly regaining consciousness. Some were creaming, some crying. The whole scene was totally unnerving.

"Se Ri, you all right?" asked the caddy. He was in his late thirties or early forties, and I wasn't sure of his height. Everything looked bigger to me at the moment. The caddy was wearing a bib that said Pak, and was standing next to a golf bag with the name Se Ri Pak signed in big letters on one side and the words Samsung and Maxfli on other sides.

'I'm Se Ri Pak? How, why?' I thought, shaking my head thinking it was all a bad dream. More people were screaming now, and people were running all over the place. The scene was total anarchy.

If I was Se Ri, then who was me? The concession stand that I was serving wasn't very far away. I immediately jogged as fast as I could to the last place I was before whatever had happened. What I found when I got there was cans and bottles strewn all over the ground. But more importantly, I found myself...or at least, who I used to be. My body was huddled on the ground with whoever was me now leaning against the concession stand.

"I want my Mommy," said my body over and over again. Moved by the sight and not thinking of myself, I offered to help the person up, but he refused.

"Who are you?" I asked, not noticing that my caddy had caught up with me. He was carrying my, or rather Se Ri's, golf bag.

"My name is Jessica," said the person in what used to be my body.  He was continuing to cry. "I want my Mommy."

"Come," I offered my hand again. As confusing as the situation was, I couldn't just leave the child in what used to be my adult body there. "Let me try and help you find your mother."

The girl turned adult male hesitated for a moment, but finally took my hand. Confusion and anarchy still surrounded me. Almost immediately after I helped Jessica off the ground, I was almost broadsided by a woman golfer. She had almost run into me before I spun out of her way. The golfer continued running off into the distance.

"What is going on?" the caddy asked again, as if he was oblivious to or unaffected by whatever earth-changing event had happened. A siren began blaring. "Play has been suspended. Se Ri?" 

"I'm not Se Ri," I told the caddy. "Let's find this girl's parents."

That proved remarkably easy. Jessica's parents, along with their children, had been waiting in the concession stand's line when the great shift happened. Immediately upon seeing her parents, the girl in my body ran up and embraced her mother. The mother appeared stunned, and barely returned the hug given to her by her daughter turned adult male.

"You must be Jessica's parents?" I asked.

"Yes," said both the man and, surprisingly, the ten-year-old girl or whoever she was now. The girl spoke again. "Thank you for returning her to us."

"It was the least I could do." The family just stood there in silence. They were apparently happy to be reunited, but shocked by what had happened.

I didn't think about it till much later. But when I reunited Jessica with her family, I didn't ask for either my wallet or keys. When I did remember these important details, the family could no longer be found.

"If you aren't Se Ri, who are you?" asked the caddy.

"My name was George Tompkins."

"My name is Jeff. But everyone calls me Tree," the caddy explained. Looking at him, I realized why. He towered over me by about a foot and was broad from side to side, to say the least.

"Now, what happened?"

"I don't know," Tree said. "You, or I mean Se Ri was practicing when I began to feel really weird. Se Ri then fainted."

"And I became her," I thought out loud, wondering how and why and if I could ever get back to my normal self. 'I wonder what happened to the real Se Ri?'

"But I'm the same," Tree replied, looking toward the nearby clubhouse. "Maybe we should go to the clubhouse and see if we can find out what happened there." Not knowing what else to do I followed him to the clubhouse.

The clubhouse was not much better than the golf course. A state of confusion existed as more and more people reported in, almost all of them now in bodies they hadn't possessed earlier in the day. As the day progressed more and more players, people claiming to be players of every age and sex or their caddies began to gather in the clubhouse dining room. 

Tree and I got to the clubhouse relatively early. Not knowing what else to do, we took seats in the dining room. Tree kept my, or rather Se Ri's golf clubs close by.

For hours I just sat there, not knowing what to say or do. I was in shock at what had happened to me. And as I waited I discovered the Great Shift, as it was being called, was a world wide event. People around the world had been shifted for still unexplained reasons, from their body to someone else's. Usually the changes happened between people within close proximity to one another, but not always. The changes were as random as they were unpredictable. People were waking up around the world in a new body. Often with a change of sex, age and race thrown in also.

"I got it all," I said in a rare occasion of speaking up. White to Asian, Male to Female, thirty-one years old to early to mid-twenties. "A total triple play." 

This was all being discovered thanks to a television set up in the dining room that was set to CNN. Firsthand reports were coming in from around the world. There were reports of plane crashes, automobile accidents, suicides, riots. The world had gone crazy.

Occasionally players would come up and say hello to me. Having only moderate interest in the sport, I only recognized and knew the big name players. I either nodded or said a shy hello, not knowing what else to say. A few players asked me if I was Se Ri, to whom I answered no. All of these players then left me alone.

Jeff, or rather Tree tried making some small talk. I didn't talk much, I was still in a state of shock. When not sitting with me, Jeff made the rounds among his fellow caddies. He later told me about 75% of the caddies and over 80% of the players were affected, but many had been switched among each other. Players in different players' bodies or in some instances now in the body of their caddy.

During the over seven hours I spent in the clubhouse, I made two trips to the ladies room, both times being careful not to go to the men's room instead. The first was memorable if at the time I'd just as well wanted to forget it. Having to sit to urinate had also allowed myself a glimpse of my new anatomy, or rather the lack of my old male equipment. This proved to be too much; I started to cry, but regained my composure and decided to get back to the dining
room.

Not before stopping to wash my hands, which included a quick look in a bathroom mirror. Sure enough, I was now in the body of one of the LPGA's biggest stars, South Korean Se Ri Pak, former winner of the US Open and LPGA championship. I had short black hair and dark brown eyes. Clearly Asian features with a round if plain face. I did however have a winning smile my friends or Tree tell me, I just didn't feel much like smiling then.

Later on I would learn I was twenty-two years old, or twenty-three next September. That was almost nine years younger than I was as George Tompkins. Also, I was 5'6", above average in height for a South Korean female but still a good six inches shorter than my former male self. That also accounted for why Tree towered over me; he was 6'5".  

On my return to the dining room from my second ladies room trip, a thought had crossed my mind. What happened to Mike?

Mike wasn't very far away from the clubhouse, but he too had been shifted. Into a totally unfamiliar female body. She was surveying the wreckage of the Pepsi-Cola truck we had brought to the golf course that morning. She couldn't keep herself from crying.

"What do I do now?" Mike said. She had wandered the golf course for hours after the Great Shift had happened. Finding himself in a brand new body, she was in shock and didn't know what to do. Nor did it appear anyone could help the ex-delivery man.

After five hours of wandering, Mike had made her way back to the entrance to the country club. When the great shift happened, another delivery was pulling out of the country club parking lot. Whoever had been switched into the truck driver immediately lost control of his vehicle and collided with the Pepsi truck. In addition to the wrecked soda truck, Mike found the dead body of the other truck driver slumped over the wheel of his truck.

"I've got to go home and find out what happened to Lisa and Jeffrey," Mike said, thinking of her wife and son. Not knowing what else to do, the ex-truck driver began the five mile walk home.

"I can't do this anymore," I said, getting up from the table. "I'm leaving."

Not wasting any time, I headed out of the dining room toward the clubhouse exit. Hustling to catch up to me, Jeff stopped me before I left the building. "Where are you going?" he asked. He hadn't forgotten Se Ri's golf clubs. He protected them like a lion over its kill.

"Home," I replied, before remembering I didn't have a way of getting into my apartment. "Shit, the girl who has my body also has my keys and wallet."

"Se Ri has a hotel room at a Holiday Inn about two miles from here," Jeff confided.

"I'm not going back to any hotel with you!" I said angrily.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said. "You need somewhere to sleep and cool off."

"Sorry I lost my temper. I apologize." Jeff was just trying to be helpful.

"No problem," he replied. "I've got a suggestion. Why don't you go into the locker room and clean out Se Ri's locker. In the meantime, I'll see if I can rustle up some transportation for us."

"Sure, thanks." Jeff took a small key out of the golf bag he was lugging and tossed it to me, telling me he would be back as soon as he could and to wait in the clubhouse lobby. He and I separated, with me heading straight to the locker room.

It took me a few minutes but I finally found Se Ri's locker in an otherwise vacant locker room. Using the key given to me by Tree I opened the locker. There wasn't much inside the locker, and all of it was on the bottom shelf. A small brown purse, a ladies wrist watch and a bracelet. I took the watch and placed it on my left wrist. Not knowing what to do with the purse, I swung it reluctantly over my left arm. I was about to close up the locker when I saw something else.

There were two photos taped to the inside of the locker door. One of Se Ri with an older Korean man. Maybe her father. Then another of Se Ri with a couple of young ladies.

'I wonder if they are her father and sisters? What happened to the real Se Ri?' I wondered. Taking the photos off the locker door, I placed them in what was now my very own purse and left the locker room.

As forewarned, Jeff wasn't in the lobby when I returned. So I just patiently waited. A few of the people in the dining room were beginning to leave now. Nightfall would be coming soon, and people would need to find somewhere for the evening.

I waited for almost fifteen minutes before Jeff got back. "Akron has gone to get his car, it's parked about a half mile from here. He and Sly will take us back to our hotels."

"Thanks, Jeff."

"You're welcome. Call me Tree."

"Thanks, Tree." I gave a brief glimpse of a smile. As trying as the day was, Tree had been a Godsend. "Your nickname is appropriate. Do all you guys have nicknames?"

"Yeah, we do. Akron got his nickname from when he was late getting to the golf course and had to hitch a ride on a garbage truck. Just don't call him Trash or Akron Trash."

"Thanks for the warning," I said with a laugh, or rather a giggle, which brought a smile from Tree.

It was another fifteen minutes before Akron arrived with his car. Like Tree, Akron was unchanged. After getting the golf bag loaded in the trunk, I climbed in the front passenger seat and we began the ride to the hotel. It was only two to three miles to the hotel, but it took us over an hour. If the golf course had been crazy, the outside world was worse. Car wrecks everywhere, adults and children walking down the middle of the road, some even laying in the middle of the road. Akron rarely got the car going more than fifteen miles per hour. Twenty was speeding.

We also made several tries at finding food. All restaurants were closed or weren't appealing. Finally we found a 7 Eleven open. Joining the two caddies, I went inside.

We left less than fifteen minutes later. While not in the store long, it was an experience. The store was apparently owned by an Indian husband and wife. The two owners spent much of the time yelling at one another in a language I couldn't understand. I guessed they had been shifted like everyone else.

The convenience store left me few options as to food. Buying a couple of hot dogs for that evening's dinner, I also followed Tree's advise by buying soup and food that could be microwaved. He said Se Ri's hotel room had a microwave.

The Holiday Inn Express was only a block from the convenience store. Like the roads all the way from the golf course, people were wandering around the hotel parking lot.

It took us a few minutes to find the right part of the hotel, but we got there. It was an inside room in the back of the hotel. With Tree carrying Se Ri's clubs, we went straight to room 113. Surprisingly, no one was in the hallway.

Room 113 was a two room affair plus bath. With an outside sitting area that had a couch, desk, television and Murphy bed, the bedroom consisted of two night stands, a dresser, a king size bed from which could be seen the TV in the other room, and a big reclining chair. 

"Thanks for the ride," I said to Tree, wondering what I was going to do in the room. Pick my nose? Watch late night TV? Try out my very own new female wardrobe? Be a narcissist and spend my time looking at myself in the mirror?

"You're welcome," Tree replied, putting the golf clubs down in the corner of the room. "These are yours now."

"Thanks. I'll be fine now."

"You sure you don't want me to stay? This place may not be safe."

"Stay?" I was puzzled. Then something crossed my mind. "You
don't mean..."

"No, I don't want to fuck you, you dumb idiot," Tree said, losing his temper. The day was stressful for him, too. I just hadn't discovered why yet. "I just don't want anything happening to you."

"I understand, I apologize."

"Accepted," he said, then picked up a nearby hotel note pad and wrote down two telephone numbers. "The top number is my hotel and extension, the second is my cell phone. Any trouble, doesn't matter the time, call me. The Days Inn is only a little over a mile from here."

"Gotcha. What will we do tomorrow?"

"I have no idea," Tree said as he headed to the door. He probably half felt like telling me its your life now, do what you want to do with it. "I'll call in the morning. I wouldn't go outside on my own."

Jeff had opened the hotel door to go out, but I had one last thing to ask. "The golf clubs?"

"They're yours now, lock the door totally including deadlock and bolt. Bye." Tree then left. I did as he said, locking the door plus using the doorstop and dead bolt.

I don't know why, but soon after Tree left I felt so overwhelmed. Alone for the first time, in a new body, new surroundings, and the fear that one felt in those first days was just too much. About a minute after Jeff left, I started to cry uncontrollably for fifteen or twenty minutes. I felt sorry for myself, but now I know how dumb that was. After all I was alive and well, and if not the same sex not that drastic an age difference. Hearing the horror stories of young people or even children swapped into the elderly or even nurses and doctors switching with their dying patients, I count myself lucky now, if not blessed. 

The rest of the night I spent in a haze. I spent a little bit of time checking out the room and surroundings. The room was a typical Holiday Inn like the ones I had seen when traveling with my parents when I was young.

The rest of my new life wasn't typical. A closet with all female clothing, mostly golf attire, all hung neatly. There were several blouses and jeans for casual wear. There was even a dress that I didn't want to think of myself ever wearing. On the closet floor were a half dozen sets of shoes and sneakers. I closed the door, I had seen enough.

Not wanting to see what I knew had to be in the dresser drawers, I decided it was time to take a shower and get ready for bed. 

Stripping my clothing off and trying to avoid looking at my newly acquired body, I went to the bathroom. The bathroom came as no shock to me. The counter was covered with the many accessories, makeup, lipsticks, soaps, powders, etc., that a woman used daily to look most attractive. I didn't have a clue to their use despite having been briefly married for two years, nor did I have the least desire to experiment in trying to find out their proper use.

I took a shower while not dwelling too long on my new body. However, I soon discovered how sensitive certain parts were and learned to wash these more carefully. After I was done, I dried myself off, including my hair which I soon discovered was tangled. After some brushing to undo this I was finally done. Returning to the bedroom I finally opened a dresser drawer. Having no other choice, I put on a nightgown, panty and sports bra, and got ready to retire for the evening.

By now I was feeling hungry. One bite of the hot dogs I bought left a terrible taste in my mouth, so I discarded them. Not knowing what else to do, I settled down on the sitting room couch with a bag of chips and a Coke and turned on the television.

Television hadn't changed much. The major networks plus the news channels were all covering The Great Shift. Interviewing people and covering the worldwide event, and some of the tragedy and mayhem that resulted from it. This I found depressing very quickly. If it wasn't the news reports, then it was the talking heads, all of whom speculated on why the Shift had happened and whether it was permanent or not. It was quickly apparent they were just guessing and within an hour I changed channels. Sports were out because of the Shift, so I settled for an HBO rerun. It wasn't till 12:40 or so when the movie was over that I finally admitted to being tired. I went to the bedroom and soon fell asleep.

I didn't know what time it was, but light was already shining in the room when I was awakened by the sound of the phone ringing. Rolling to the side of the bed, I picked up the phone. "Hello."

"You are still asleep?" It was the voice of Tree.

"I was, what time is it?" By now I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"9:41." Tree hesitated for a moment. "Everything go all right last night?"

"Yes." I was already concluding Tree was over protective of me. I was also beginning to wonder why. "Thank you for asking."

"I'm not sure what we plan to do here," Tree said. I wasn't sure of my plans, either. "They say the roads are still unsafe and people are being advised to stay home."

I thought of my apartment. Truthfully, staying in this hotel room would drive me mad before much longer. But my apartment was clear across town, maybe fifteen miles away. Remembering the previous night's trip, I knew getting there wouldn't be easy. There was still the problem of getting into the apartment, also. "Have they figured out what happened yesterday?" I asked.

"No, and it don't look like they ever will."

'Oh great, that means I'm stuck like this for life,' I thought with tears beginning to run down my cheeks.

"The tournament was canceled yesterday. We were supposed to be heading to St. Louis this weekend, but I've got to guess that will be canceled, too," Tree said.

'Like I care a lot about golf. Why are you telling me this?' Then I finally spoke up. "So, what are you planning to do?"

"Stay put for now. Go back to Michigan in a few days, maybe a week," Tree replied, then explained that Michigan was where he lived. "My parents and sister and her family live there."

I was divorced from my ex-wife, we had no children. My mother lived in Kentucky, as did my sister, but we weren't close. I hadn't talked to them in years, but I was beginning to wonder how they were. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet."

"Okay," Tree said. "It's still not safe outside, so I would suggest you stay where you are. I might bring by some food later."

"Thanks, Jeff. I mean Tree."

"You're welcome, Se Ri."

"I'm not Se Ri. Don't call me that."

"Okay, George. Talk to you later," Tree said, then hung up the phone.

I spent the rest of Monday entirely in the hotel room. A quick check of the local news showed reports of riots and even arson in both Pittsburgh and Cleveland. There were also reports of massive traffic accidents on the major highways. The authorities were requesting people to stay home and remain calm.

For me the day was an exercise in complete boredom. Making myself some soup for breakfast, I spent most of the day either watching television or playing video games. As I soon discovered, the real Se Ri enjoyed playing video games.

Not much else happened. Surprisingly, the hotel was rather quiet, maybe people were returning to normal. Whatever normal was these days. Tree called two more times to check on me. I didn't mind, he was my only contact with the outside world. At around 6:30 p.m. he came to the room, bringing Chinese food. Amazingly, he had found a restaurant open despite the chaos. There in the room, Tree and I talked while we had dinner. Conversation stuck mostly to the news and small talk. I had never developed a taste for Chinese food, but I devoured it. I was famished. It was as I was stuffing my face that I realized my new body thoroughly enjoyed the Chinese food.

Not long afterwards, Tree left but promised to call me the next morning. After taking a shower and using the bathroom, I settled in for a night of watching HBO. Shortly after 11 p.m. I fell asleep.

Again I didn't know what time it was, but I was awakened by the sound of someone pounding on my hotel door. Disoriented from being half asleep and still not used to my new surroundings, I got out of bed and peered out my hotel room's peep hole.

Outside the room stood a large man I had never seen before. He repeatedly banged on the door.

"Let me in."

"This is my room, go away." I was beginning to feel very frightened. 

"Let me in!" The guy continued to pound on the door. "Let me in, bitch! I want to fuck you! Let me in!"

'What do I do?' I thought as I began to tremble and cry. Going to the room phone, I dialed both the hotel operator and 911. One was busy, the other no one was answering. Now I was really getting frightened.

The pounding at the door continued, as did the man's threats. Would he break in? What was I supposed to do? Where could I run?

As if I was a frightened little girl, I rolled up in a ball on the couch, praying the guy would go away. By now I was crying and trembling uncontrollably.

'What do I do? What do I do? Please go away, leave me alone. Don't let me die like this. What do I do?' I kept thinking to myself.

I don't know how long it was, but I finally recalled Tree's words from the night before. "If there is any trouble, call me, no matter what the time."

Tree's phone number was still next to the desk phone. I dialed the number. Shortly after the second ring, someone picked up the phone.

"Hello?" said a half asleep voice.

"Tree?" I asked.

"Hold on." Actually, Akron had picked up the phone. It was maybe thirty seconds before Tree got on the line, but it felt more like thirty minutes.

"Yeah."

"Tree, I've got trouble here. Someone is trying to break into the room," I said.

"I'll be right there. Don't leave the room, barricade the door if you have to, but don't leave." Tree hung up the phone.

Doing what I was told by Tree, I pushed the desk over against the door and waited. The pounding and yelling from the stranger in the hallway continued, and I prayed Tree would be there soon.

It wasn't long at all. I first heard some raised voices in the hallway and what sounded like a minor scuffle but it only lasted thirty seconds at most. Then I heard a knocking again at the door.

"George, let us in, its me, Tree." Pushing the desk away from the door, I then took a look out the peephole. It was Jeff out in the hallway, along with Akron and a woman I had never seen before. The coast was clear.

I then opened the door and as soon as Tree was in the room I hugged him. "Thank God you're here." I almost immediately realized what I had done, and let go of Tree. By the look on his face I could tell he felt awkward, too.

Akron, who was carrying a baseball bat, and the still unnamed woman had come into the room and closed the door behind them. "I hate to break up a romance, but what are we going to do now?" Akron asked.

"Excuse me," said the woman. She was a very dark skinned but attractive African-American of medium height but very skinny, almost to the point of looking anorexic. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. The woman was also oddly dressed, in oversized men's clothes. "I've got to get to the bathroom NOW." The woman headed straight to the bathroom and closed the door.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Her name is Skipper," Akron answered. Then I heard the sound not of a toilet flushing but what sounded like someone throwing up in the bathroom.

'God, I hope she did it in the toilet at least,' I thought. "Girlfriend?"

"No," Akron said. "Another caddy."

I would later find out Skipper was caddying at the tournament Sunday when the shift occurred. He found himself in the body of someone named Janice, who worked about a mile from the course at a One Hour Photo Shop. Eventually, the ex-caddy walked her way back to the hotel where she was sharing a room with Akron and Tree.

"Forget about that," Tree said, speaking up finally. "We've got to decide what we're going to do. The current arrangement just won't work." For the next few minutes I along with Tree and Akron debated our options. Stay at this hotel, go back to the Day's Inn, or even head for Michigan where Jeff's family was. There were advantages and disadvantages to each of those. But one thing was certain, I didn't want to be alone anymore.

Then we heard the toilet flush and a minute later, Skipper emerged from the bathroom. "Sorry about that. It's just something I must have eaten. My name is Skipper."

"I'm George. No problem," I said, then brought up my biggest concern for the evening. "Now I just am too afraid to be alone anymore. There are too many crazy people out there."

"I don't blame you," Skipper said.

"So do we stay here, or back at the Days?" Akron asked.

"There's more room here than there. Four people will be cramped at the Days," Tree said. He had already explained the Days was a room with two double beds.

"But if you stay here..." I began to say.

"I'll stay on the Murphy bed here in this room. You can have the bedroom," Tree said.

"Frankly, I prefer to stay here, too, if you don't mind," Skipper said. She had been feeling very uneasy around Akron. Her fellow caddy had been dropping sexual hints for over a day.

"If you don't mind sharing a bed."

I looked at Skipper, who rolled her eyes in the direction of Akron. Immediately I knew what she meant.

"No problem."

"So I've got to go back to the Days Inn alone?" Akron asked.

"Consider yourself lucky," I spoke up. "You get a whole room to yourself."

"Yeah, lucky me," Akron said. After discussing our plans for the next day and deciding on Akron coming back to the hotel at around 9 a.m., the caddy then left the room.

Tree was already setting himself up to sleep on the Murphy bed. "You wouldn't have a pillow you can spare me?"

"Yeah, hold on." I went to the bedroom closet where another two pillows were stored. Taking one I returned to the living room and threw it underhand to Tree. "Catch."

"Thanks, I'll leave you two alone," Tree said as he laid down on the smallish bed and tried to fall asleep.

I returned to the bedroom, closing the bedroom door behind me. There I found Skipper already waiting. "Thanks for letting me stay, Akron was making advances at me."

"No problem." Then I was shocked to see Skipper pull off the over size men's shirt she was wearing, immediately exposing two medium sized breasts. The ex-caddy apparently had no female underwear. Not wasting any time either, the caddy then removed the rest of her clothing and climbed into the bed buff naked.

Under normal circumstances, I would have found the whole experience exciting and a sexual turn-on, but this was no normal day or time. At least Skipper had the modesty to cover herself with the sheets. Exhausted, but highly wound up and not knowing what else to do, I got into the bed myself and tried to get some sleep.

The rest of the night was uneventful. I did fall asleep eventually and other than a wake up to make a bathroom visit I slept till past 8 a.m. During my brief period awake I heard the snoring of both Tree and Skipper.

What woke me up come morning was a strange feeling at my back. Slowly waking from a deep sleep, I discovered Skipper was directly behind me and nuzzling at my neck.

"Hi," Skipper said in a not so innocent voice.

"Hello to you," I replied, first noticing the bedside clock said 8:17. Then I rolled over onto my side and immediately noticed something else. Skipper was no longer under the sheets and was still without a single stitch of clothing on her. 

"You wouldn't be interested in a little sixty-nine?" Skipper asked as she took one hand and began to stroke one of my newly acquired sensitive areas. Sixty-nine was a slang term for lesbian sex.

"Sorry, no I'm not," I tried saying as politely as possible. It was apparent Skipper was disappointed.

"I just thought I'd ask. I still like girls, by the way, and thought..." Skipper began to say, and then a dark cloud almost appeared over her face. "Excuse me." The caddy then got out of bed and ran in the direction of the bathroom.  

Putting on a robe that Se Ri owned, I left the bedroom. By this time Tree was already up and had just finished making a pot of coffee. "How did you sleep?" he asked, handing me a steaming cup.

"Thanks, not bad considering," I replied. The coffee wasn't bad, and helped to wake me up. "You saw Skipper?"

"Yes, I did," Tree said, raising an eyebrow. Well, he was a man. What, did I expect him to be blind to a naked woman in the hotel room? More retching could be heard from the bathroom. Whatever bug Skipper had was still affecting her. "I was thinking of going to get us some breakfast. The restaurant looked open last night."

"I'd really prefer if you didn't leave us." I was still frightened from the night before.

"I won't be long or very far away," Tree answered, pointing to the cell phone. "If you need me, call me ASAP. I'll back here in less than two minutes. Anyway, with me out of the room, you two guys can get dressed and ready for the day without me around. So, what do you want for breakfast?"

Tree was right again. I was also starved. "Cereal and milk, oatmeal. Anything they have is fine. I'm not picky."

"Three anythings then," Tree said, finishing his cup of coffee. "Don't open the door for anyone but me or Akron. Bye." He then let himself out of the room.

I was securing the door when Skipper emerged from the bathroom. She still wasn't wearing anything but her birthday suit. "Sorry about everything," Skipper said, sincerely apologetic. "No offense taken?"

"None taken," I replied, feeling a little sorry for the former man. In addition to a new gender, race, etc., the caddy was feeling very ill. Then I suggested, "Why don't you help yourself to some coffee,then let's get ready for the day. Tree went out to get some breakfast for all of us."

"Can I ask one favor?" Skipper inquired. "Can I borrow some of Se Ri's clothes? I've got nothing to wear."

After loaning Skipper a few of Se Ri's clothes, the two of us went about getting cleaned up and dressed for the day. By the time we were done, both Akron and Tree both were back in the room. Tree did visit the hotel restaurant and had discovered it open for business. He had brought back oatmeal or cereal for the four of us.

Over breakfast the four of us discussed our next moves. Staying at the hotel rooms was looking more and more risky and probably an expensive proposition. So where were we to go?

My apartment wasn't really an option. Not having a key was a minor setback, we could always either find the landlord or risk a break-in. The latter may be risky since a state of martial law was in effect. The bigger problem was the size of the apartment, it was only an efficiency and would be hard pressed with more than two people.

But Tree had another idea. He was from Michigan originally, though he now lived in Arizona. His parents, Jeffrey Blake, Sr. and Louise Blake, still lived in Battle Creek. With luck we could reach Battle Creek before the mandatory curfew at 10 p.m. set in. It would mean us leaving the next day.

Tree spent half of the rest of the day trying to call his parents. With the world in chaos, the phone lines were obviously clogged. While Tree was doing that, the rest of us got packed and ready for the next day.

By dinner time Tree had finally gotten a hold of his parents. "Mom and Dad said we're welcome to come. All of us. They're expecting us tomorrow or Thursday."

"How are your parents?" I asked.

"Okay, considering," Tree confessed. "Mom is Dad and Dad is Mom. But I guess it could be worse."

Yes, much worse, as we were slowly discovering a world turned upside down.

*****

The next day the four of us got on the road at 6 a.m. as planned. Not knowing how bad the highways would be, the normally six to seven hour drive to Battle Creek could well take two days. Since it was Akron's car, he did most of the driving, alternating with Tree. Skipper and I sat in the back.

It wasn't an easy drive, but we made it. The Ohio Turnpike was littered with car wrecks every mile or two, but the road was mostly passable. Being careful, Akron and Tree rarely exceeded forty miles per hour.

Other than that, the trip was mostly uneventful. It was, however, uncomfortable. Luggage and golf clubs were everywhere that they could be stored in the Ford Explorer, which made the vehicle a tight squeeze. Also, Skipper was still suffering from whatever bug she had. She would regularly vomit or dry retch and this required frequent stops.

It wasn't till shortly before 9 p.m. that we arrived at the Blake house in Battle Creek. We were unloading the Explorer when Mr. and Mrs. Blake came out of the house to greet us. Tree, or Jeff as his parents called him, introduced us to his parents.

"You must be Se Ri," said Mr. Blake, or rather Mrs. Blake as he was now, shaking my hand.

"No, call me George," I replied. "I was shifted, too." 

"I think most people were," said Mrs. Blake. "I think we'd better help getting your stuff inside. Curfew starts shortly and they're being rather strict about it."

That we did. Once inside the comfortable and spacious country house, Skipper and I were shown to our own bedroom. It had two twin beds and would be more than comfortable. As the house had three bathrooms, we would also have our own bath.

Exhausted from the long journey but finally feeling safe, I was asleep before 11 p.m. It was the best night's sleep I'd had since the shift.

*****

The next morning was spent getting acquainted with the Blakes. Mr. Blake was a retired policeman and Mrs. Blake had been a homemaker. They had been at home having just got home from church when the shift happened. They had swapped bodies with one another.

We talked about the shift and its ongoing story, whether any cure would be found, about what we were doing or who we used to be. The Blakes were very kind people, and I thanked them for sharing their home with us. They said it was the least they could do.

That afternoon, while the two young men and the husband turned wife talked, Skipper, Mrs. Blake and I paid a visit to a nearby KMart. We were by no means the only mixed gender group visiting the store. There seemed to be quite a few males with females in the ladies sections of the store. By now Skipper and I were becoming friends while forgetting her initial misstep. As two former guys now in female bodies, we had much we could relate to and talk about.

Skipper was also still suffering from whatever bug she had. She was still vomiting regularly and Mr. Blake thought she should see a doctor.

The purpose of the visit to KMart was to get Skipper some badly needed clothing. Price wasn't the problem as much as necessity. The former caddy didn't have any of her own clothing and felt ashamed having to borrow any of Se Ri's. In any case, Skipper and I weren't the same sizes.

Most of the clothing was being picked out by Mrs. Blake. A man picking out women's clothing in a department store was no longer an odd sight. There were other men in the clothing department showing clothes to women, and even children leading around adults. Nothing was the same after the shift.

We were looking through a rack of blouses when Mrs. Blake noticed something about Skipper. "Hon," he said while pointing to a gold band on Skipper's left hand, "do you know what this is?"

"No," was Skipper's reply.

"That's a wedding ring," Mrs. Blake said, and I instantly knew where she was going next. "I think you've been having morning sickness, and that means you're pregnant."

Skipper immediately fainted in the middle of the women's department.

After reviving Skipper and getting the now crying woman to her feet, we quickly finished our shopping trip to KMart. We just had one more thing to buy, a pregnancy test kit. An hour after arriving home, Skipper had another fainting spell when the HPT confirmed that the former caddy was now pregnant. After reviving the mother to be, Mrs. Blake and I helped her to the bedroom and let her rest.

There was nothing else we could do for her.

The next few days were quietly spent at the Blake house. Skipper at first preferred to stay in the bedroom, admitting to me she felt ashamed of herself and didn't want to come out. After a long talk I finally got her to end her solitary. Right then she needed all the friends and support she could get. I honestly felt sorry for the former caddy, but I felt sorry for the billions irreversibly changed by the Great Shift. Skipper, like the rest of us, would have to cope the best she could.

So we talked and watched television. The networks were still covering the Great Shift and while the world was still chaotic, things were beginning to calm down. Riots were becoming less and less common as order was slowly being restored and people began to realize they would have to cope with whatever new circumstances in which they were stuck.

Akron was talking about going to Minnesota. His sister lived there, and while there had been changes in that family, the caddy found he was welcome to go there. Akron just decided to delay till the next week. There were still riots ongoing in Chicago.

I was learning to cope with my new female body. Bright and early Sunday morning I discovered blood in the panty I was wearing. I was having my very first period. Prior to that I had been feeling odd for about a day. Sure enough, I was soon having very painful cramps. This definitely affected my mood.

Later that evening, having trouble sleeping because of the cramps, I went to the Blake kitchen looking for something to drink. I found Tree sitting in the kitchen drinking a beer.

It had been a week since I had first met Tree, but I still admittedly didn't know him. The caddy's attitude fluctuated from friendly to big brother to annoyed to even business like. Why had the guy taken me back to his parent's home? I decided it was time to find out.

"I see you're still up," I said, entering the kitchen. "Can I join you?"

Tree waved to the seat in front of him. Taking a can of Bud Light out of the refrigerator, I joined him at the table.

"Se Ri never drank any beer," Tree said.

"I'm not Se Ri."

"I know," Tree answered, guzzling down the rest of the can of beer he was drinking. He soon had another.

"What was your relationship with Se Ri?"

"You really are an idiot," he said, having consumed another half a can of beer already. "We weren't like that."

"You were just her caddy?" Tree finished off his second beer and went back to the fridge for a third. I had barely taken two sips of mine; my new body seemed to not have any liking for beer.

"Yeah, I was her caddy," he said, sitting down with beer number three. "Let me ask you a few things. Do you know anything about ladies professional golf?"

"A little, but not much. I knew who Se Ri Pak was and that she was pretty good."

"Pretty good?!" Tree said with a laugh that was didn't conceal very well his annoyance at my poor choice of words. "Se Ri was the best on tour."

"I thought Karrie Webb or Annika Sorrenstam were the best."

"Hey, look, I know the game, you don't. Se Ri just wasn't a darling of the media. Do you know why?" Tree asked, and I didn't know. "Because she just had trouble speaking English. The idiot sportswriters judge her because she was just uncomfortable giving interviews, those jackasses."

"Why did you think she was the best?"

"She had the sweetest swing on tour. Perfectly natural, and perfect, period." Tree finally stopped drinking. "Her short game was good, not great, but with her tee to green game you didn't need a perfect short game."

"How long did you work for her?"

"I started with Se Ri in 1997 when she first came to the USA. She has never had any other caddy."

Now I was realizing what Tree's problem was. He had lost his meal ticket or job when the Great Shift happened. He was basically unemployed, because I wasn't Se Ri. "You made pretty good money as her caddy?" I asked.

"Sure, 10% plus a $1,000 a week," Tree admitted. He had made over $100,000 the previous year. Se Ri had been always been generous to her caddy, often picking up expenses in addition to paying him. 'Damn, where am I ever going to find someone like her again?' he couldn't say, but it was plain as day on his face.

"How long have you been caddying?"

"Did it as soon as I graduated Eastern Michigan." Tree had been a good enough golfer to play for the EMU golf team, but not strong enough to be a professional. "I love the game, and I loved the work I did."

"I played some golf back in high school."

"Big deal," was Tree's reply, as he was finishing his third beer. "A high school player is not the LPGA."

"I was a guy then," I said, proposing what had to the screwiest idea to have entered my mind in my life. "Maybe you can get me up to playing like Se Ri."

"George, you make me laugh," Tree replied, staring at the third beer he had just finished. He knew he was already becoming slightly drunk. Two beers was his limit when it came to staying sober. "You on the LPGA."

"I've got Se Ri's body, maybe some of her talent, too."

"Maybe...and that's a big maybe." Tree sat contemplating what I had said. "We don't even know if there will be pro golf again."

"So, if there isn't then we're both fucked. Who says I can't play like Se Ri?" I said, probably coming off as a hormonal female. "Maybe you're the idiot, I might pull it off!"

Tree just stared at me for two minutes. I decided to finish off my beer and go back to the bedroom. The beer was already making me feel sleepy. 

"What do you have to lose?" I said, and was about to leave the kitchen when Tree finally spoke up. His speech was slurred now because of the alcohol. 

"I hope you like beating the hell out of thousands of golf balls in Florida."

"I can learn, but why Florida?" I answered, wondering how we would make what was anywhere from a 1,000 to 1,400 mile trip.

"Se Ri...I mean George, you have a home down there. In the Bay Hill community. That's in Orlando, you know where that is?"

"Yeah, I know where Orlando is, and I've heard of Bay Hill. That's where there's a great golf course designed by Arnold Palmer, and it's where he lives, along with Tiger Woods, Shaq O'Neal and probably a lot more sports stars."

"Maybe you aren't as dumb as I thought." Tree started to get out of the kitchen chair, but collapsed back into it. He was now so drunk, walking and standing were going to take great effort. "We might have something after all. First, get me to bed. I'm drunk."

"Yeah, I can tell." Giving a Tree a hand, I helped him get up. This was not comfortable for me, my soon to be caddy weighed probably twice my own female weight. Five minutes later I emerged from Tree's bedroom. He was drunk, but fast asleep on top of the bed in his room. With that mission accomplished I went back to the room I shared with Skipper. Within ten minutes I was fast asleep, too.

Nine days later, Skipper and I were headed south from Michigan to Florida in a car being driven by Tree. The reason for our delay before going south was twofold. There was still unrest in small parts of the USA, and we preferred to be careful because of the long and potentially hazardous drive. Many freeways and interstates were still littered with wrecks from the day the shift happened.

The second stumbling block was getting transportation. Airlines were still not flying and it was uncertain when they would recommence service. Since Tree now resided in Arizona, neither Se Ri, Skipper nor Tree had any automobile readily available.

A visit to a Toyota dealership and two days of waiting for the loan approval landed Tree a 1998 Toyota Corrola. In order to speed up the loan process, I cosigned the loan. Tree was already making payments on the car he had in Arizona.

In the meantime, Akron bid us adieu. It wasn't because of the lack of hospitality from the Blakes. It was just the caddy felt he didn't belong in the Battle Creek home. Three days before we left for Florida, Akron left for Northern Minnesota where his sister lived. Taking a circuitous route via Michigan's upper peninsula, the drive was expected to take four days instead of a day and a half.

Skipper came along with Tree and I as far as Stone Mountain, Georgia. There she had a married sister named Jean Smith who lived with her husband and two small children. The Smiths kindly invited us to dinner and allowed Tree and I to stay the night before what should be the third and last segment of our twelve hundred mile journey to Florida.

The night at the Smith home showed us how terrible and unfair the shift had been. A family totally mixed up and just trying to survive. The mother was now in the body of her eight-year-old son, the son as now his father, the father on the other hand was in the body of his twenty-one month old daughter while the daughter now inhabited the mother's body.

I was moved by the family, and took pity on them. The sight of a grown man drooling like a child, while a daughter not even two who was so shocked by what happened to her that she could barely do the most routine things, had left me shocked and I went to bed crying and praying for a family I hardly knew. I even began to wonder about what Tree and I were going to try doing. In the mixed up, post shift world would anyone really care about Ladies' Professional Golf? It all mattered so little when life and death was a day to day matter now for millions across the planet.

Skipper, on the other hand saw her sister's family and their plight and realized her own situation was minuscule in comparison. The brother turned sister was needed there in Georgia, and would do her best to try to get some normalcy for this family irreversibly changed by the shift.

"So this is it," I said, pulling up in the circular driveway of Se Ri Pak's Orlando home. After Tree parked the car, I picked up a few of the small bags inside the Toyota Corrola before going up the walk to the front door to get us into the house.

Once inside the house, we were in a small foyer, but immediately to the left was a large, airy living room area with glass windows in the back that overlooked a lake that was probably forty yards in the distance.

"Very nice," I said, taking a peek around the three bedroom/two bath home. The bedrooms were comfortable, the master bedroom having a large king-size bed and its own attached bathroom. This was immediately to the left of the living room.

In the center of the house was a kitchen big enough probably to serve a small Korean restaurant. Immediately off it was a small eating area and then a larger, formal dining area. In the back of the house were two more bedrooms plus one bath.

One thing that caught my eye was the stuffed animals throughout the house, Pooh bears in particular. Tree would later tell me Se Ri loved to collect them.

"You been here some?" I asked Tree.

"Four or five times," was Tree's reply. "A couple of small golf related parties, and one time when her parents came to visit."  

Last was the garage. Big enough to walk around in with plenty of storage space, the garage had room to comfortably park two vehicles. The only car in the garage at the moment was a BMW convertible sports car. "That was Se Ri's pet," Tree explained as I was surveying the sight of a sports car I had always dreamed of having. "She really loved that car."

"You really liked Se Ri?" I asked.

"She was my boss, and a good gal." Tree then said something that surprised me. "You know I miss her. Wherever or whoever she is, I hope she's happy."

"Me, too." I stopped the gloating over the car, I was beginning to feel guilty. "If it was possible, I'd trade back in a second."

"We ought to get the rest of the things in from outside," Tree offered, obviously trying to get off that subject. "Then we can start getting dinner ready."

Two hours later, Tree and I were seated in the living room. Having cooked, eaten and then cleaned up after our meal, it was time to talk business. Serious business.

Truthfully, I was feeling very uneasy. Here I was living in another person's body. A young, successful, and by now I was admitting a modestly attractive woman despite my prior assessments of Se Ri being just passable. All someone I wasn't, and I was living in her home, living her dream. And I didn't know what had happened to the real Se Ri.

Sometimes I wondered if the ones who committed suicide after being shifted had done the right thing. How could anyone live someone else's life?

"Time to talk about salary. I want $5,000 a month. Paid twice a month, the 15th and 30th," Tree said. "Plus another five thousand initial start up expenses."

"Agreed on the salary, but what are these initial startup expenses?"

"I need to get a place of my own," Tree began explaining. He wanted to get a small apartment, some modest furniture. He would give me all the proper receipts for anything he needed.

"You could stay here," I said, not really feeling comfortable being totally alone in my new life.

"Here?" Tree replied, taken aback by my offer. "I told you--"

"I know. No mixing of business and pleasure. I was just saying we do this temporarily, we really don't know whether this will work out or not. Why not save on the expenses? This is a big house," I said, making my pitch. Tree sat for a minute or two thinking.

"Okay, if we're going to do that, here's the deal which you've got to agree to."

"I'm listening."

"My own room and bathroom," Tree said, and I said no problem, there was plenty of room in the house. "That isn't all; I want to be able to come and go from the house any time I want. That is nonnegotiable."

"I don't want any parties in the house," I replied, voicing my reservations, wondering if I'd be better off alone.

"Party?" Tree laughed. "That isn't me. If you're worried about women all over the house, don't think about it. I know something about STDS, they're nasty business."

I sat there for a minute while Tree got himself up and walked back to the kitchen. A minute later he was back with a beer. Other than that one drunken Sunday night, he had a beer a night, much like I used to when I was still male.

"What I do want is the ability to go to a movie, go to a bar or if I want to, just drive in circles without you getting all pissy and hormonal," Tree continued.

"Hormonal?"

"You know. Being bitchy with me."

"I don't like that word," I said with a bit of annoyance.

"Bitch?" Tree then chugged down some beer. "You are one now, so get used to it." Tree got silent for a minute. "I shouldn't have said that, I apologize."

"Apology accepted," I said. "Deal accepted also, as long as no parties and no more than one visitor here at a time."

"Deal, then," Tree answered, returning to a businesslike tone of conversation. "But if things ever get back to normal, whether you play or not, I will eventually go back to Arizona. That's where I live when not toting Se Ri's bag."

"No problem."

"That leaves golf, then," Tree said, finishing off his beer. "I don't know how well you play, nor if it will ever be possible for you to play good enough for the LPGA, but I'm going to try. But you've got to listen to me. No arguing, I've forgotten more about golf than you know."

I sat there listening to what Tree was planning for me. A regimen of practice that would mean hours a day of striking golf ball after golf ball. Did I really want to do this? Was it even right?

"You're going to spend hours, as many as ten a day, on the practice range, putting green or on the golf course till I think you are ready. And as I said, I'm the boss or your coach, you have to do what I tell you. Tell me now so I don't waste my time; I'll make my way back to Arizona otherwise."

"Agreed," I replied.

"Good." Tree finished off the beer he was drinking and then looked at his wristwatch. "I want us to get an early start tomorrow. Say, Se Ri, be ready to go tomorrow at 8:30, I want us started by 9 a.m."

"Don't call me Se Ri," I said, still not totally accepting my new name.

"I mean George, but frankly, you'd better get used to Se Ri, if not from me, but everyone else. That is who you are now." Tree was probably right. After watching an hour of television, I retired to the bedroom for the evening. I was asleep by 11 p.m.

The next morning I woke up at 6:15. Thinking I had a lot to be done that day, I decided to start early. Tree was still asleep and I figured that there was no use in waking him before 7:30 at least.

Delaying a bigger breakfast till later, I just had some coffee and toast before setting about my day. The first thing that needed being done was laundry. Se Ri's laundry room was actually part of the garage, there I had a front loading washer and dryer. As a bachelor for the last five years I was more than acquainted with the task, but not with handling women's clothing. I quickly decided on the plan. While almost all my used clothes were golf clothing, none I had worn required dry cleaning. I began the first of two loads of colored clothing that would either be dried under low heat or hung on a line in the garage to dry. Once this task was started, I went back into the house.

The refrigerator and cabinets were not very well stocked with food, so I wrote out an extensive grocery list. After this was finished I went to Se Ri's desk in the living room.

The day before Tree and I had stopped at a neighbor's home. While Se Ri was out of town, the neighbor had been kind enough to collect the golfer's mail. It was all in a small cardboard box on top of the desk. I started sorting through it. Junk mail and advertising were thrown away. Bills like FPL, water, and auto were put in one stack.

Another was credit card bills. Being a little curious, I opened the AMEX bill. I whistled at seeing the previous month's charges.

"I sure hope I've got a way of paying these."

Apparently there was. Se Ri had at least two brokerage accounts and one bank checking account. I soon found these statements and put them in another pile. I would probably begin working on all of these later that evening.

By now it was almost 7 a.m. and I decided to go take a shower and get dressed for the day. By 7:30 I was done. Dressed in a pale blue polo shirt and white shorts I returned to the laundry room, hung all my clothing but shorts and pants that I had worn and placed those in the dryer. After finishing there I went to wake Tree.

Knocking on the door and then calling Tree's name did not get a reply. So I slowly opened the door.

"Tree?" He was fast asleep in bed, but heard me enter the room. "It's almost 7:45, time to get up."

"Yeah, yeah," replied a sleepy Tree. "I'll be out in five minutes." I then closed the bedroom door and went back to the kitchen.

About ten minutes later Tree joined me in the small eating area. There I was eating a bowl of oatmeal and enjoying a glass of orange juice. Going right to the coffee pot, he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"There's cereal and oatmeal in the cabinet right under the coffee pot," I said. One of the first things I wanted to do was get a daily subscription to the local newspaper. I usually read the paper over morning breakfast.

"Thanks," Tree said, opening the bottom cabinet and taking out a box of Special K which he began to prepare. "I see you're up early."

"You know what they say about the early bird catching the worm."

"Yeah," said Tree, taking a seat across from me. I tried engaging him in small talk, but found he wasn't very talkative first thing in the morning. Once finished eating, I put my bowl, glass and coffee cup in the dishwasher and returned to the desk in the living room.

A few things had caught my eye earlier when seated at the desk and I decided to check them out. First were the many framed photographs either on the desk or on the nearby wall. A few were of Se Ri, including one of her with Tree.

But what really caught my eye were two others, one of Se Ri with two Korean women that bore a resemblance to the golfer. I figured these were the golfer's sisters.

Another was of Se Ri with an older Korean man. This had to be her father. Tree had told me it was Se Ri's father that had driven the fourteen-year-old track star to take up the game of golf. Within two years Se Ri was South Korea's #1 junior amateur.

A tear trickled down my face. I wondered what had happened to Se Ri and her family. Were they all right? Where were they now? Or the bigger issue, was I right to be assuming the life of their loved one?

I also remembered the phone answering machine from the night before. I hit the playback button and began to listen. There were seventeen messages.

The first two were friends of Se Ri asking for her to call when she got back to Florida. The third was a hang-up. All of these took place immediately before the Shift.

The fourth was in Korean, spoken by a man, and was about thirty-six hours after the shift happened. I wondered if this was Se Ri's father.

I continued playing back the messages. There were a few more hang-ups, a few friends calling to ask if Se Ri was okay. But there were five more messages all in Korean, three by the same voice as the previous caller and two from female voices.

Again this proved to be an emotional experience for me. I just sat in the desk chair with tears in my eyes till Tree came to the living room.

"Is everything all right? I'm ready to go when you are."

Composing myself, I didn't want Tree to know I had cried, I then began the answering machine. Having deleted the unnecessary calls, the first I played back was the one I thought was Se Ri's father.

"That's her father," Tree spoke up. "I don't understand Korean, so I can't help you. I'm sorry."

"Let's get going," I said, wanting to get out of the house that I was beginning to think was full of ghosts.

After loading my golf clubs in the BMW, and my taking the steering wheel, we pulled out of the Pak driveway and I began following Tree's directions.

"Put these on," Tree said, handing me a pair of sunglasses. "Se Ri liked to wear them when driving and you're going to need them today."

"Thanks," I replied, concentrating on my driving. As always, Tree usually had a point to make.

Admittedly I was enjoying the experience of driving my own convertible sports car. It was something I had always wanted to do, but was far beyond my salary at Pepsi-Cola.

I was soon surprised at the direction we were taking. Instead of going to the nearby Bay Hill Country Club, Tree seemed to be directing me somewhere else. Out of the private community Se Ri lived in, we turned onto a main highway and started heading east.

It was fifteen minutes before we got to the driving range located close to a public park and just a bit to the north of Orlando International Airport. There were still very few airliners flying. After Tree removed the golf clubs from the trunk, we made the short walk to the main office.

"Why here and not Bay Hill?" I asked Tree. I was curious about our destination, having figured we would have used the range at Bay Hill, even maybe played a round of golf. Se Ri was a member of the club.

"Se Ri always liked this place," Tree explained. "It's quieter and more anonymous. We don't need the distractions from the Country Club."

"Okay, I understand you now," I said as Tree out of habit opened a door for me. A custom I was now getting used to.

"Hey, welcome back," said a thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy who was working behind a counter. According to Tree the owner probably didn't know who Se Ri really was. "It's a long time since I've seen you people here."

"I'd like to get four buckets of golf balls," said Tree.

"We aren't getting many customers yet, but business is picking up," said the boy, who was probably a much older man who had been shifted. He got the four buckets and put them on the counter for us.

"People are slowly getting back to normal. You guys were shifted too, right?"

"Yes," I said, while Tree ignored the small talk.

"Let me guess," the proprietor said, taking cash from Tree. He pointed his finger at me. "You used to be him and she used to be you."

Neither I nor Tree wanted to say the truth. Tree just said thanks for the golf balls.

"You're welcome," the owner said. "I just knew it by looking at you two. Have fun."

Taking two buckets of balls a piece, we headed out to a spot at the far end of the driving range. It was a bright, sunny and very hot and humid early August Florida day, and we were the only people on the range so far.   

Setting the buckets and clubs down on the ground, Tree put a ball down on the tee and then handed me a driver. "Show me your best," he said, sounding very skeptical.

"Make a bet I can hit it out to that 200 yard sign or more?"

"How much?"

"$20."

Tree said, "You're on." Then I took the longest, hardest golf swing I could at the ball in front of me.

I popped the ball up in the air. It only traveled maybe 100 yards.

"I think I'll be leaving for Arizona in a few days," Tree said with his hand out. 

"I didn't bring my wallet, just my driver's license," I confessed, "but I'll pay you when we get home."

"Excuses, excuses," Tree said. "Now try swinging the club easier without trying to murder the ball."

This time I tried an easier swing. It resulted in a low liner of a hook that probably ran 150 yards while never getting more than ten feet off the ground.

"This is great," a dejected Tree said. "I had the best job in the golf world except for Tiger Woods, and look what I've got now."

"Stop it with the wise ass remarks," I said angrily. "You aren't helping. I'm trying the best I can. It's six years at least since I swung a club, and longer since I played regularly."

Tree looked long and hard at me.

"I need your help. So help me," I said.

"Okay, but this is going to be a long day."

It was a very long day. After I don't know how many buckets of golf balls I hit, Tree and I left the driving range sometime shortly after 5 p.m. Surprisingly, my arms weren't tired from the day's exertion.

With the exception of bathroom breaks and a half hour for lunch at the snack bar, the entire time was spent hitting golf balls and listening to Tree's instructions as to how to hit a golf ball, or rather, how Se Ri swung a golf club.

By day's end I was regularly hitting 200 yard drives. Real drives, not low liners, so I was beginning to feel a little confident. However, I could tell Tree still remained skeptical. But he kept these doubts to himself for the most part.

On the way home we stopped at a grocery store. Life was slowly returning to normal, but the sight of the many people affected by the shift still moved me. The first thing I did on arriving home was pay off on the bet I made with Tree.

After having dinner at home, my day of golf wasn't over yet. Handing me a putter, Tree insisted I try practice putting on the living room rug. Three footers, five footers, ten footers, all aimed at a spot in the room. Usually the edge of the couch. I did this for another hour before Tree finally said I could call it quits.

Exhausted from a long day of golf, I retired to the bedroom before 10 p.m. I was asleep within thirty minutes.

There were weeks of this continuing grind. Six days a week on the practice range hitting buckets of balls, one after another. I stopped counting them but the total of balls had to be in the thousands.

That and the slow, methodical instruction from Tree. He always emphasized long and easy when swinging the golf club. Don't try to jump on it, he would say. That wasn't how Se Ri hit the golf ball. He constantly reminded me that the former Korean golf star had the sweetest swing on the LPGA tour. I was doing my damnedest to recreate it.

And within a week I felt I had made great strides. Maybe this was really going to work, but I could still see Tree looking skeptical even when I hit 250 yard drives regularly. He reminded me a driving range wasn't the LPGA.

When not at the driving range, evenings were spent putting or studying videos of Se Ri's golf swing. The videos had been taken by the golfer's former coach, David Ledbetter. David hadn't been seen since the shift, and now Tree was my coach.

As to my relationship with Tree, it was strictly professional. When I first settled into Se Ri's home I endeavored to learn as much as I could about the person I had become. One thing I learned was my age and birthday. I was twenty-three on September 28. When Se Ri's or rather my birthday came, Tree graciously took me out to dinner to celebrate.

Other than that we didn't mix work and pleasure, in spite of a few offers by me to either go to a movie or visit a theme park. Tree always politely said no. When at home we ate meals together, but had our own routines. One day a week Tree would leave and go somewhere he didn't tell. He said we both needed the break. One of those days I visited Universal Studios just up the road and had a great time.

The world was settling down now for the first time since the shift. Murders and riots were increasingly rare as people tried to restart their lives. Every day I read the Orlando Sentinel keeping apace of the most recent events. Sometimes I'd turn on Fox News in the evening before going to bed.

What was still uncertain was the future of sports. The great shift had definitely changed the lives of as many athletes as it did non-athletes, and many were now unable to perform in their professions. Other than some minor unorganized events, there were no major league sports activity after the shift happened.

But there were some people clamoring for the return of sports. They felt organized sports were still needed, even post-shift. People needed a release from the daily grind, just they had before the shift. What better way than to watch their favorite sports or sports teams?

I wasn't thinking all that much about this yet. Instead, by the third week I was concentrating on the advanced swing lessons Tree had started with me. He was trying to teach how I could fade or draw the golf ball consistently, play 3/4 shots, how to hit other clubs other than the driver.

Also, I had began asking Tree when I would start on a real golf course. Giving no firm date, he just said soon.

It was about three and a half weeks after we had started on my daily grind when I had heard the most unexpected words from Tree. I had just hit five consecutive soft fades with my driver, all landing within thirty feet of one another and all at least 250 yards in distance.

"You know, this may just work," said Tree, for the first time smiling at my progress on the range.

It very well may. By this time both the PGA and LPGA tour organizations had regathered themselves at their nearby Florida headquarters. While most of the personnel had been shifted to new bodies, most were still alive and had a job to do. To run a professional golf tour.

But there were many obstacles to overcome. First, was there an audience still there to see professional sports? Public opinion polls clearly said yes.

Then were there was the question of whether there would be the people necessary to run the golf events and would the golf courses for the events be available. The PGA and LPGA both had limited staffs, and golf tournaments were played at either public or private
courses with only one or two owned and run directly by the tours.

But the answers slowly began to come in. Yes, people were still willing to volunteer to help. There were still millions of fans of the game who enjoyed one time a year helping out at a local tournament. Even after the shift these people wanted to see golf again.

As to the courses, many were already reopening nationwide. There was still a demand for tee times, because there were still people wanting to play the game. Some were more than slightly changed, like a beer bellied, cigar chomping male golfer of forty-eight years who returned to play as a freckle faced, redheaded girl age nine.

Still wanting to play golf, and still chomping on a cigar. But that was life after the shift.

But the biggest problem the tours probably faced was whether there were still the players available to field events. Both tours had 100-150 carded golfers eligible to play in every event. There were another one hundred who would play scattered events in any particular calendar year, either by the means of sponsor's exemptions or through local qualifying. Every single golf tournament had a field of 130-160 players.

Since PGA and LPGA events were underway at the time of the shift, tour officials already had a rough idea of the problem they would be facing fielding events if the tours were ever to begin again. Many players had shifted among their fellow professionals. There were approximately 50-60 of these on both tours. Some, however, weren't as lucky, shifting into bodies of their caddies, members of the opposite sex, or people who could never play the sport for one reason or another.

Out of both tour's official compliment of players, almost half were still unaccounted for. The tour would have to try contacting these players before any golf season would begin. Other problems presented themselves, like what to do with players shifted to non-carded people. Could they play the tour?

The press had already had much adieu of what happened to Tiger Woods. Playing in a European Golf tournament, he had swapped with his caddy, Steve Williams. The shift, having canceled the rest of the 2000 golf season, had ended Tiger's run of major championships at two. Now the question being raised by sports columnists and fans was who would be able to play the tour. Tiger, now his caddy, or his caddy, now as Tiger?

But first, both tours sent letters to the last known addresses of every LPGA and PGA tour member. The letter was just asking their status and a few simple questions. The players were asked to fax, or express mail their replies within fourteen days or risk their playing privileges.

While the LPGA had great hopes to be able to recommence play in January, 2001, a great many issues would have to be sorted out before it would happen.       

"I've got some news for you," Tree said one October evening as he was enjoying his nightly beer. "I got you a tee time tomorrow at Bay Hill."

"Really?" I answered, excited at the prospect. At the time I was going through the daily mail. It was six weeks since my first day on the driving range and I was looking forward to some real golf as time on a driving range had long since grown tiresome.

"Yes, really," Tree said after a swig of beer. "It's time to take those skills we've been refining and try playing golf."

I was about to say something about my ongoing golf progress when two pieces of the daily mail caught my attention.

"Tree," I said, taking the mail over to him, "what do you think of this letter, or what do you know about this?"

Tree stopped drinking his beer and began to read the mail I had given him. "This," he said, handing me back the first letter, "is from IMG or International Management Group. They want to know if you, or rather Se Ri, are still playing."

"What's IMG?"

"They're your management group," Tree explained. "Like your sports agent. They represent you and handle a lot of the financial side of playing pro golf."

"Like endorsements?" I asked.

"Yes," Tree said, finishing off his one and only beer. "Se Ri had some very lucrative endorsement deals, Astria, Samsung, Taylor Made Golf Clubs, Maxfli and others. I don't know all the details, she never told me that. But I think she made as much or more from endorsements than from playing."

"Really?" I said, barely concealing my excitement. Just from Se Ri's clothing I knew about some of the endorsements. Astria and Samsung were prominently displayed on almost every piece of golf apparel I now owned.

"Yes, really, they're asking you some questions," Tree said.

I was already reading the questions. "I see them. What should I do?"

"Tell them the truth," Tree said candidly. The shift had been a legal nightmare for people all over the world, some trying to assume their new identities, some deciding not to. "If you don't, they'll find out eventually."

In my case it was fairly simple; the real Se Ri Pak was still missing. Even if there was no hope of us ever shifting back, there could be a messy problem if my body's real owner ever reemerged.

"How about the other letter?" I asked, referring to the letter from the LPGA tour. 

"It's basically the same," Tree said, handing it back to me. "They hope to get the tour up and running again as soon as next January maybe. They're pretty much asking the same questions as IMG."

That brought up the obvious question that I had to ask. "Do you think they'll let me play? I mean, I used to be a guy."

"I don't see why not," Tree said, partially lying. Predicting people's behavior post shift was more impossible than ever. The rules used to run society, whether formal or not, were often either totally ignored or outright broken. There certainly would be some players who would prefer Se Ri not to return because of the golfer's ability.

So Tree wasn't really sure what the LPGA's reaction would be. The good news was, there had to be others in similar situations now.

"You are a woman after all, and in effect actually Se Ri, and that is what the LPGA is about."

"Yes, I am," I replied. I didn't need the reminder. Every day I saw or felt the reminders, when I showered, when I looked in a mirror, when I did just about any activity. These were the daily reminders; my monthly reminder was soon approaching as I could tell by the heaviness in my breasts and calculating via looking at a calendar. Aunt Flo was three or four days away from making it's monthly visit.

As much as I didn't want it or want to admit it, I was a woman now, and probably would be so for the rest of my life. What I was learning to do was accept it, and do the best I could with what was my new lot in life. 

"I'd better fill out these forms today so we can mail them tomorrow," I said, facing the truth of the matter. If I didn't, all those hours of pounding golf balls on a driving range would go for naught.

I would have been surprised then to know, but my coworker Mike was reading the same letter as I had gotten at a home in Scottsdale, Arizona. Mike read the letter with great curiosity. Yeah, she was this golfer as much as she didn't want to be, but did she want to play ladies professional golf now?

Right after the shift, Mike found himself in this new female body. Disoriented like billions of other people that day, she began to wander around the golf course. At the time she didn't know that the true LPGA golfer had shifted into her caddy.

So after a day of wandering and then finding our wrecked truck, Mike left the golf course and made the trek to what had been his home, or almost to it. A mile short of his home, the Pepsi-Cola employee found the wrecked car that had been owned by he and his wife, Lisa. Inside the car were the dead bodies of Lisa and Mike's two-year-old son, Jeff. Mike instantly broke down and began crying.

Not knowing what else to do, Mike returned to the golf course. There she ran into the real LPGA golfer turned caddy. Hoping there may be a solution to their shifted lives, the two decided to stay together meanwhile. After two weeks of lingering in Youngstown at Mike's home, the mismatched couple made the arduous cross-country trip to Arizona. It took almost three weeks.

Once there the man turned female golfer and female golfer turned male caddy established an uneasy non-sexual relationship. Both needed the other to survive now, and they were trying their best to live amicably.

But Mike didn't really like being told what to do. The former golfer watched her former body like a hawk, and was constantly nagging the former beverage truck driver about the way he was taking care of it. If Mike could have, he would dump the caddy now, but she knew it wasn't that simple. Without him, Mike could be out on the street.

So Mike and the golfer did the best they could. A week before they had gone to the nearby TPC of Scottsdale golf course where, like I and Tree were doing, Mike was now learning to play a game she had never known before.

'Finally I get to play my first round of golf,' I thought as Tree and I parked the golf cart next to the tee at Bay Hill's first hole.

After I took my driver out of my golf bag, Tree and I walked onto the tee. After much discussion, I agreed with Tree that he should play also. So the two of us would enjoy a round together, but Tree was more concerned with my progress than his own.

The first hole at Bay Hill is a par five, dogleg to the left. After Tree hit a booming but slightly errant drive into the left rough, I teed up my ball and it was now my turn. 

"Remember, long and easy," Tree said for what had to be the thousandth time as I concentrated on the ball. Doing as Tree told me, I swung the driver slow and easy. The result was an almost picture perfect fade that when done had to have traveled about 260 yards.

"Not too bad," was Tree's comment when we got into the golf cart.

"Not bad?" I said, slightly annoyed, but Tree ignored me as we rode out to our drives.

It was debatable whether Tree or I was away, but I let him hit first. His attempt at driving the green in two failed; he found the front left bunker.

In the meantime, I had walked off what yardage I had to the middle of the green. While my drive was in the fairway, it was down the long or wrong side of the dogleg left. I still had 230 yards to the hole. Deciding to take a chance, I took out a three wood.

"You really think you can get home in two?" Tree commented as I walked over to my ball.

"Yes, I do."

"Se Ri would hit an 8 or 9 iron here, and only have a pitching wedge left," Tree said. "Just as good a chance to birdie that way."

"Well, I'm not Se Ri." Forgetting Tree's admonitions, I took two practice swings, then set up for my shot.

Swinging hard and fast instead of long and slow got me the resulted pulled 3-wood. My errant shot ended up twenty yards short and left of the green in the deep rough.

Tree just looked at me as we got in the golf cart for the ride down to our third shots. I knew what he was thinking. 'I told you long and easy, dummy.' Perhaps he was right.

Three shots later I walked off the first hole with a par. Considering the relative easiness of the hole, the score was a disappointment.

After an ordinary par on the second hole, I was teeing up for the third hole. Only a medium length par four, the hole doglegged sharply to the left.

Tree later told me why the course, which was designed by Arnold Palmer, was also arguably his favorite course. Bay Hill clearly favored a golfer who hit the ball right to left, or rather, drew the ball. There are many more doglegs left than right on the course, and the ones that go left are almost always sharper, therefore favoring a draw. Palmer was famous for his ability at hitting draws. 

On the other hand, I tended to hit the ball left to right, or faded the ball. The real Se Ri preferred a fade also, but could play a draw when necessary. I wasn't at this stage yet to hit a consistent draw. So Bay Hill would definitely be a challenge. Again, Tree told me that was one of the reasons Se Ri liked practicing here; if she played well on this, one of the PGA's most difficult tests, she could play well anywhere.

I debated whether to hit a 3-wood or 2-iron on the third tee. My bag consisted of a driver, 3-wood, 5-wood, irons two to nine, pitching and sand wedges and a putter. 

"Se Ri would play a 2-iron here. Try to hit it straight, but away from the lake." I decided on the 3-wood.

Here I tried to play a draw, but got a hook instead. The ball plopped into the lake.

"Don't tell me," I said to Tree as I angrily stuck the 3-wood into my golf bag and then climbed into the golf cart for the ride down the fairway. My final score was a double bogey six.

I would finish the day with a final score of 83 and to put it mildly, I wasn't happy with the score. Looking back now I could see that this was like baby steps for me. What I couldn't admit then was I still had a lot of areas of my game that needed work.

Like my sand play. On the fourteenth hole I found the front right bunker. This was my first try at a sand shot since the shift. It wasn't a good one. Having a perfect lie, I still skulled the ball across the green into the back bunker. Then I left my shot in the back bunker. I walked away from the hole with an embarrassing triple bogey seven.

There were signs of hope on the last four holes. On fifteen I found a bunker again, but this time following Tree's advise, I hit a solid though unspectacular sand shot to ten feet. I missed the putt but it was definitely a lift after the previous disaster.

Then came the par five sixteenth. A good drive left me in the fairway, but 220 yards from the middle of the green. This time the hole was fronted by water and I instead laid up with an 8-iron second shot. My third shot was a 3/4 pitching wedge that landed ten feet behind the hole, but because of backspin backed up, barely missing the hole in the process. I made the eight-footer for the first birdie in my new life.

Seventeen was just as good. A high, soft 4 iron with the tiniest bit of fade left me twenty-five feet from the hole on the par three. After much study, I played the putt to break slightly left to right or just outside the left lip. My putt went right in the middle of the hole for a birdie two.   

I parred the difficult par four eighteen to get my 83, and as Tree and I headed to the clubhouse I was feeling pretty good about my finish.

"That was a good finish."

"Don't kid yourself, George," said Tree in dead honesty. "You've got a long way to go before being ready for the LPGA."

Tree was right. "What are we going to do now? Go back home?"

"Hell no, we're going to the practice bunker. I hope you aren't allergic to sand," Tree quipped. Sure enough, I spent almost the next two hours hitting sand shots out of the bunker.

Later that evening Tree gave me his frank evaluation of my play that day. "Your 83 wasn't as bad as the score sounds, but you still need work in all facets of the game," he said with his nightly beer in his hand. "Strong points. Your short game. You have a good putting stroke and have a good feel for the greens, that's good. Reading greens better still has to be worked on."

"Yes, I totally misread the putts on five and seven," I admitted.

"In my opinion, you did the same on fifteen and four, but that's debatable. Next, your chipping around the greens was good, but you have to be a little more imaginative. It isn't always a nine-iron when just off the fringe. Your short to mid-irons are very good, but sometimes you over do the back spin," Tree said, sounding a bit positive. "Practice will make it better. Your long irons you didn't have much use for, but you were okay. Again, more work."

"My driving?"

"Good news," Tree began. "When you remember long and easy you do good, but you too often try killing the ball. You've got to stop that. You do hit a nice fade shot, but your draws aren't worth a fuck. The best players can hit it both ways, and till you learn to hit good draws, you'll never be the best."

"I thought Trevino and Palmer basically just hit the same way all the time."

"They did, but you aren't either of them, and you don't have their talent," Tree told me, looking me straight in the eye. "Se Ri did, but she could hit them both ways. She had the most talent I ever saw on the LPGA, and I know it's still inside that body of yours, but I don't think you will ever fully utilize what the shift left you."

I really felt hurt by these last comments. Instead of feeling good about the day, now I was deflated. Maybe I shouldn't have ever tried this harebrained idea of playing golf.

"Last...and I mean last. Bunker play and course management. I felt I needed a suit of armor the first hour you were in that practice bunker. You did get a little better, but you've got a lot of hours ahead of you in that trap."

"Course management, what did you mean?" I asked.

"Thinking your way around the golf course. Right now you don't know shit about how to do it. You have to learn when to hit certain types of shots, when not to. There are times you just play the safest shot. In simple terms, think when you're out there."

We just sat there in silence. I knew Tree was giving it to me totally straight. I had a question I wanted to ask. Swallowing hard, I decided to ask away. "Tree, what do you think of my chances on the LPGA?"

I was immediately surprised to see Tree give a glimpse of a smile. "You have a good chance. I think you won't be Se Ri, but you will be competitive, you will make money, and you will win tournaments. That's if you start thinking like a pro golfer; I think you will."

"So, you're going to stay with me?"

"Hell yes, George, your upside is you could be Se Ri. I don't think that's possible for a few years, but you could." Then Tree got back to serious. "But you'd better never quit trying on me. Se Ri always tried to improve, and you have to do the same. I don't care how many tournaments you win. If you ever stop, I'm gone."

We just sat in silence for a minute.

"I'm going to watch some TV tonight. We've got the same tee time tomorrow and for the next three days as we did today. Hope you enjoy that sand trap." Tree then got up out of the chair and headed to the back of the house.

 To be continued in Part Two