Tuesday Night Mixed

he attendant was crouched down, busy, sticking pairs of bowling shoes back in their cubbyholes. I stood and watched for a while; I didn’t want to bug her. A few, stray pairs sat on the counter top--- red, white and blue leather with Velcro straps and white rubber heels.

The alley was still mostly empty. A group of mentally retarded men were bowling on the nearest lane. One man stood at the edge of the lane, ball tucked under his chin. He swung his arm back and--stiff as a pendulum--- he tossed the thing. The ball arced in the air, then made a sharp thud as it hit the maplewood and began to roll. The man hunched and watched --- the ball zigzagged from bumper to bumper, then crashed into the pins. They all fell down. He went to the end of the line to wait for his next turn.

I looked back at clerk; she was still doing something down there I couldn’t see.. Off in the distance, all the way at the other end of the alley, my team was playing. I got anxious, not quite sure if they were still practicing or if they had started without me.

" Excuse me." I said to the lady. It stinks having to bug people while they’re obviously doing something. She turned her head back, just catching a glimpse of me in the corner of her eye. The phone rang. She stood up and waved a finger at me to be patient while she answered it. "Northampton Bowl, where winter leagues are still forming. How may I help you?" she said, in one breath. She was small, with a square face and short hair, in her late twenties. She leaned herself into the counter, straightening her bangs out with a pen. "Uh huh, well you’re… what you’re going to need is to come down here and sort that out with the manager." I waved my hand, but she was staring out at the empty lanes, straight at the banner that spanned the length of the whole alley. "Actually, I’m not sure exactly what time he’s in tomorrow, but usually if you try around eight-thirty in the morning, you’ll probably catch him. Okay, yep, bye." Finally she turned to me.

"What size?" she sighed; she looked flustered.

"Uhhh…" I said. She stood there with a blank look on her face, waiting for me to answer "I think I’ll go with ten’s."

Without a word, she turned and grabbed a pair of tens. We have the same conversation every time I come here. It was too nice a day out to leave it like that. Every one I ran into seemed to have copped a cheap high from the first nice spring day after a slew of miserable ones.

"How’s it going" I asked her, as sincerely as possible.

"Heh." she chuckled. It sounded snide, a way of saying Isn’t it fucking obvious? Grabbing the shoes, she went to the computer.

"Good day?" I said.

She finished logging the shoes into the computer and placed them on the turquoise counter. Then she turned towards me, looking through her rimless glasses. "I started working at eight this morning and I’m scheduled to work the till close today. Guess."

"Not so good day then." I said

"It sucks when you have to work two weeks straight without a day off to have to yourself." Her voice shifted from mean to contemplative, almost crisp, inside her whiny "Newh Englandah" accent.

"Oh." I said. "Well, have you gotten outside today?"

She turned her head back and forth, "Not since I came in this morning."

"You really should when you get a chance. It’s beautiful."

"Tell me about it," she said, "I’ve been looking at it through the doors."

I looked back over at the other end of the alley, still wondering if I was late. I got a little anxious. "How late am I?" I asked.

"What league?"

"Tuesday Night Mixed."

She looked at the little clock on the computer. "They’re still practicing. But I’m about to turn league play on in a minute. You could get a frame in if you hurried up."

"Thanks" I said, snatching up my rentals. "You should get outside. Take a smoke break when you get a chance."

"I will-- once I get all the leagues started," she said, cracking a smile. Her counter-job was part bell-hop, part central command. Queen of the Lanes. Ruler of the Alley.

I tried to see who was playing as I paced to my lane. There were a couple of people standing on the hardwood, waiting for their turn to practice. A few were clustered around the keyboard. All the seats are centered around the keyboard console; it reminded me of all the Star Treck episodes I’d watched as a kid.

Getting closer, I could make out Alice’s frizzy hair and broad build. She was sitting on a counter top that overlooked the lanes. I waved. She squinted, then, recognizing me, she stuck her hand up in the air and waved back.

"Good thing you’re here", Alice said. "Cindy’s going to be a little late making it in." Alice had an English accent, more shrill and squeamish than polite. Alice had lived in Liverpool--England-- most of her life; she’d moved here, to Easthampton, after her American husband had finished his time in the Army. She’d lived abroad for sixteen married years, moving from base to base. Every base had had a bowling alley. She’d become one hell of a bowler. Now, she wakes up at three in the morning just to catch the Pro Bowlers Association tour on ESPN.

Standing a few feet from me, she looked me up and down. "Look at you, you little shit," she said, running her hand along the top of my head. I’d just gotten a haircut. "You got all handsome, I could slap the shit out of you." She started slapping my cheeks in approval. She turned around, looking at Stan, who was down by the ball return machine. "Look Stan, he got a trim too." Stan looked up at us. He was tall and black. Aside from me, Stan’s the only non-white player in the league. Last week he had a bushy beard; today, his face was smooth, totally clean shaven. He’d been wearing a beard since October. "Hey, it’s that time of year Alice,"he said, waving his arms up in the air.

Mockingly, I said "Alice, you’re too kind."

She punched me in the shoulder. Grinning, she leaned in at me and hulked, as if she was going to do it again. I cowered, looking down at carpeting. Alice started punching my shoulder again. "What? You scared of an old lady?" she said.

I looked back up at her and smiled. "No." Teasing, I started to punch her back. Suddenly she became timid. "Don’t you beat the elderly." The average age in the league was fifty-two.

I felt bad. "What did you do last week?" I asked, trying to make peace. Alice’s eyes grew wide, "I caught four fish today!" she said.

"Out on the ocean?" I asked. Aside from bowling and watching bowling, all she talked about was deep sea fishing with her son. As far as I knew, Alice was a working class playboy.

"No, that was last week," she said. "I caught these four around my house."

"What kind?" I said, walking towards the ball rack to pick out a ball.

"Trout!" she said, growing more excited. She walked along beside me. "Big as my forearm!" she said. Alice was not a small woman. I started looking for a ball. They were on a rack, in rows; they were all bright neon. "I was out there all day", Alice said. She stuck her arm in front of me for inspection. "I got a tan, too." Her skin was bright pink.

"It looks like you burnt it." I said.

"That’s what usually happens," she said, leaning against the cage of mechanical claw game. "I’ll go from pasty to pink, then I go from pink to tan."

"Nice," I said, staring at the balls more intently. Bowling ball selection is all about weight. It’s best to grab the heaviest ball manageable. Heavy goes straighter. I finally made my mind up, sinking my fingers into a cotton candy blue, fifteen pounder

I looked up at Alice. "I worked on my form a little bit last week" I said. That was an understatement. I had more kinks than form.

"Yeah." Alice said, not really impressed. I was hoping for a more encouraging reaction. "Just have fun out there." Unlike all the other leagues that were bowling competitively, we were a strictly fun league. Same bi-laws, same method of scoring; everyone’s average went into the American Bowling Congress’s yearbook; it’s just that, with us, no one really cared.

The counter queen’s voice came over the loudspeaker. "Tuesday Night Mixed league---- your lanes are now being switched to league play. Good luck and have fun bowling." The queen’s voice sounded soothing--- which was odd.

"Come on, you shit, we better get started." Alice said, patting me on the back.

When we got to the floor, Audrey, Stan’s teammate sat on the ledge, putting on her shoes, listening to Stan. "…just a few days ago. The week before he had a mild heart attack." Audrey sat there, wordless, looking at Stan, perplexed.

" I was wondering what happened," Audrey said. Her hair was long and curly, her eyes, obscured by her glasses, widened with concern. "I heard the same thing, but when I went to check the obituaries in the GAZETTE, I didn’t see anything on it." Audrey paused for a second, then turned to Alice. "Did you see anything in the paper, Alice?"

"No," Alice said, solemnly. "I don’t get the paper."

I leaned over to Alice; she was sitting on the seat closest to the console. "What are you guys talking about? What happened?" I felt nosy, creeping into their business.

"Sheila’s husband died a couple of days ago." Sheila was the fourth member of Stan’s team, The Alley Cats.

"Jesus." I said.

"Tell me about it." Alice said. She looked up at Stan, who was doing pre-game torso twists. "We should do something to help the poor girl out."

"I was thinking of taking donations to send her flowers." Stan said, stretching his right arm way over.

"Think she’s going to be at the banquet?" Audrey said. The banquet was the big event that everyone in the league went to at the end of the year. It was a pot-luck. I told them I’d be bringing a noodle dish.

Just then, Cindy trudged in through the side entrance, bowling bag in hand, wearing the kind of big, Grandma sunglasses that are made to fit over regular glasses. The glasses covered her little face like a diver’s mask.. She was short; the hunch in her back made her even shorter. Everyone said their hellos as she walked down the steps into the bowling area. As she changed shoes, Alice filled her in on what had happened to Sheila.

Stan clapped his hands. "It looks like Al’s going to be a little late again, so we should just get this show started." In league standings, Stan’s team was first in the Men’s Division.

Cindy was first on our roster. Once she’d changed shoes, she took out her ball-- an eight pound Columbia House with green and black swirls. "We should just give her the money, " Alice said to Audrey and Stan. "There’s no point in getting her flowers, they’re just going to die anyways." Alice had a point. Cindy stood ready at the dots on the hardwood, supporting the ball with two hands. "Give her something she can actually use." Alice said, leaning forward, groping at her yellow rosin bag. "Besides, how many kids does she have?"

"Eight." Audrey said, "Just like you, Alice."

I turned to Alice. "You have eight kids?"

"Doesn’t look like it, right." Alice said, smiling, gesturing at her legs and her belly. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was flirting. It made me a little nervous.

Cindy took measured steps to the edge of the lane, swung her ball hand behind her, swept her back leg behind her front leg, swung her arm forward --and released. The ball made a little thud on the hardwood and began to gain speed. Four pins went down. Cindy turned and walked back to wait at the ball- return machine; as usual, she didn’t look at us but glanced suspiciously off to the side. At what, exactly, I’ll never know. She picked up her ball, paced to the dots, stood, and --- released. This time: One pin.

She made for her seat, shaking out the kinks in her hand.

"I tried," she said, walking past Audrey.

" You got one for the team." Audrey said as Cindy sat down in the seat next to me. Alice got up to bowl her frame.

"Your thumb still bothering you?" I asked.

"Yep." Cindy said.

"Maybe your should get Alice’s rosin bag."

"No, it’s just not working today," she said with a sigh.

"Even Wilt had his off days." I said, patting her on the shoulder. She giggled. A few weeks before, for no good reason, I told Cindy she was the Wilt Chamberlain of the league. It stuck.

A half hour later, Al came walking in, pulling his tote bag behind him, his son scampering ahead of him. Stan quietly told Al about what happened to Sheila. Al stood there, staring at Stan in disbelief.

Alice was up. Walking to get her ball, she looked up at Al, "Better late than never, right Al?"

Al looked back down at Alice. "Aw, shut up you sourpuss." He had a jolly face with slate blue eyes. He had a sumo wrestler’s physique.

Alice stuck her tongue out at Al and stepped up to the dots. A lot of people make their first mistake in bowling by ignoring the dots and arrows, not quite knowing what to make of them. The dots are there to help place your feet; the arrows are for aiming the ball. The first lesson I learned in bowling was to aim at the arrows and not at the pins. Both dots and arrows can help set you up to bowl a strike, but they really help in picking up the spare.

While Alice was getting situated, I leaned over to Cindy. "How was your week?" I said.

Cindy smiled politely. "Excuse me?" she said, leaning in to hear better.

"Stressful," she said, after I repeated myself. Her voice was squeaky. The way she spoke made me think of little puffs of steam escaping from a kettle. Cindy worked at a payroll office in Springfield.

I looked at Cindy. "Me too." I said, Back in my dorm room, I had a list of all the things I had to do for finals tacked up to my wall--- each box next to them was unchecked. "What was stressful about it?"

Alice rolled, and got a seven-ten split. "Somebody up there has it out for you." Audrey said from her seat.

Cindy readjusted her glasses. "There are only so many things you can get done on your day off." Cindy said. She works a six day week. "You have to run all these errands and still have to find time to just relax." She said " relax" like she was savoring it.

Alice rolled her second ball. Standing way off to the left, she paced towards the edge, throwing the ball at the middle arrow. Gradually, the ball crossed over the lane, honing in on the seven pin. The ball began to gain speed on the well oiled part of the lane, spinning faster and faster on its own axis. Closer and closer, it looked like it was going to hit the seven and send it careening into the ten, but--- it just shaved past the hip of the pin and made a sobering thunk as it hit the back of the alley.

"Horse puckey!" Alice said, turning away from the lane. The mechanical pinsetter descended and swept the pins away.

"I hope they give you more time off in the summer." I said, as if it was some sort of consolation. I felt stupid for bitching about all of my classes and finals.

"They will," Cindy said. When summertime comes around, Cindy works in her garden and hikes in the woods.

As Al was getting set to bowl, Stan stepped up to the dots. It was Stan’s turn. He stood there, feet together, holding his ball against his stomach, looking at it for a few moments, meditating. As if awakening, he took his eyes off the ball and zeroed in on the middle arrow. He made small, calculated steps as he brought his arm back, hopping his release. He watched the ball roll towards the set of pins in his release position; standing on one foot, ball arm arced in the air, his back leg extended outward, he looked like a bronze cupid in a fountain. The ball arched towards the side of the lane, just millimeters from tipping over into the gutter--- then it curved back in--- and collided into the pins. I was sure that he made a strike.

"Damn!" he said, seeing that he’d left the seven, the nine, the four and the six still standing. An odd spare to pick up by any measure.

"You got this one buddy," Al said as he strapped on his arm brace. Everyone says you can tell a real bowler by how he handles his spares.

"I know it." Stan said. Looking into his ball the way he did before, he sent it rolling, viciously curving towards the seven and the four. It guttered before it could even make contact.

Stan went back to his seat with his head sunk into his chest, at a loss for words. He looked back at the pins as they were being swept away. "I can’t believe that!" he said, nodding his head.

Still looking at Stan, Cindy tapped me on the shoulder. "It’s your turn." Alice slapped me on the back of my head.

I got up and turned to Alice. "Can I use your rosin bag?" I rolled it around in my hands, releasing a plume of dust that smelled like wet socks and talcum powder. Rosin dust makes your hands slippery, so your fingers won’t get stuck inside the holes.

I stepped up to the dots feeling confident: my new technique was working; I’d rolled only one gutter ball. A personal best. I set myself all the way back on the third row of dots. Holding the ball up to my chin, I stared at its top. To clear myself, I took three deep breaths, staring a little to the left of the middle arrow on the lane. Leaning in, I stepped forward--- and released the ball low to the ground. Watching it cross over into the gutter, I realized that I’d given the ball a little too much mustard. As I stood there watching my ball run down half of the lane in the gutter, I felt Alice’s eyes searing into my back. I turned around to walk back to the ball-return.

"You get one gutter!" Alice said, pointing at me from her seat. "One gutter ball per game from now on, then I slap the shit out of you!" Right then, I understood how she could have raised eight kids.

I did better the next time. As I stood on the hardwood, looking at the single pin that was still standing, Al spoke to me. It was the nine pin.

"Just remember," Al said to me, "Bowl the ball once, the same way, every single time." As Al sat there with his gut stretching his Red Sox T-shirt, I pretended he was the Buddha of bowling. Cindy, Alice and I--- we’d all bowled pretty well our second game. Alice was making strikes and spares; Cindy’s thumb wasn’t bothering her; and, for the first time, I’d broken one hundred-- the bowling equivalent of a D+. "Consistent," Al said.

I stood there, staring at the arrows. I had to make the ball cross over the lane to hit the nine, no getting around it. I looked over to Stan as he picked up the spare. "So I should go for this arrow?" I asked, pointing at the one third arrow from the left.

"Yeah," Stan said; he stood right next to me, pointing at the arrow. "All you gotta do is stand all the way over here" he said, pushing me a few dots over to the right. "Just toss it, nothing fancy."

Walking from the dot he’d placed me on, I rolled the ball, making sure to hit the arrow he told me to. The ball hit just off of the arrow, and rolled right into the gutter.

I looked back at Al and Stan, feeling kind of embarrassed. "Don’t talk to me, man." Stan said, shaking his head.

As I went to sit down, Stan stood by the ball return, waiting for his ball to come back up. We all kept our eye on the spinning orange wheel for a minute, listening for the click and whir that signaled a ball was about to come back up.

Finally, Stan grew impatient "I’m going to the counter."

As Stan went to get help, Al leaned in towards Alice.

"So whatcha bringing?" He said.

"Huh?" Alice said

"Whatcha bringing to the banquet."

"Beans and kielbasa." Alice said, groping the rosin bag.

Al nodded his head and winked. "Yeah, but what else?" he said, chuckling.

Alice laughed, "Oh, go fuck yourself." We all laughed.

Al collected himself after a second. "Come on, you should put some vodka in it or something. It’ll make it taste good."

Just then, two balls came back up. Al got up and motioned to Stan to come back. Audrey went to pick up her ball. Standing near the middle of the hard wood, she took a few steps and tossed it. The ball swerved dangerously close to the edge--- then knocked off the ten pin before it fell into the gutter. On her second try, the ball rolled into the mass of pins and knocked all of them over, except for one, which tilted nervously back and forth, teasing all of us before it settled back to standing. She’d missed her spare.

"Awww," we all said collectively.

"Start the car. It’s time to go home." Audrey said.

Cindy was up next. Before picking up the ball, she let her hand dangle over the hand dryer. She stood on the lane next to Audrey’s and rolled. The ball crashed right into the pins, leaving three standing. Rolling again, she knocked off the first two, but the third did the same thing as Audrey’s, tilting lightly, back and forth, before standing itself back up. Everyone laughed. "Oh, no!" Cindy said, spreading out her arms wide, in triumph.

As everyone tied their street shoes back on before they left, Stan and Al sat at a counter, filling out the scores. Sitting next to Cindy, I rubbed her shoulder. "That was fun." I said.

"Yes it was," she said, leaning over to double lace her shoes. "And you bowled much more consistently." For a moment, I felt good, like I was talking to my grandmother.

"Yeah," Alice said. "At least you broke a hundred today."

"I know," I said. "All I really needed to do was start all the way back."

The counter clerk was still there, putting shoes back in their cubby holes. I placed my shoes on the counter. I waited for her to look up.

"How are you," I said.

"I’m surviving." she answered, still looking at the cubby holes.

"Did you get to go outside?" I asked hoping she had. Making a contorted pose, she looked back up at me. "Yeah", she said, smiling.

"Cool. See you next week."

"Goodnight," she said. "You wont, if I have anything to say about it."