Gutter Ball

Eight pins clattered to the floor and echoed off the neon walls of Spare Me Bowl and Bar. Nancy jumped to cheer for her fiancé’s mediocre score, and her ankle gave beneath the skin of her black faux leather boot. She put her hands in front of her to catch herself, knocking over a fresh pitcher of beer. The suds spilled all over the pink velour tracksuit of the woman standing next to her at the bar. 

“I am so sorry! My boyfriend… well we’re engaged now, I guess…” 

“Watch it, skank!” barked the withered woman, pushing past Nancy. 

Skank? She called me a skank? Skank. She called me a skank. 

The cloud of anger and unease followed Nancy back to lane five. She swiveled back and forth in the hard plastic chair staring daggers into the back of the elderly woman who had scorned her. She held her thumb and index finger to her eye and pretended to squish her like a raisin. 

You look like a raisin. You are a raisin. Miss… Raisinface. I bet your name is Miss Raisinface. 

“Babe? What are you doing?” asked Grant. Grant was built like a monster truck and cast a wide shadow over Nancy, blocking the sun. Well, not the sun exactly. More the figurative sun. More the disco ball. His voice shook her, and she jumped back, wide-eyed, gripping the arms of the chair. She looked like a mouse betwixt a shoe and a corner. 

“Nothing! Nothing. Just an incident at the bar. I spilled a whole pitcher of beer on someone and… it doesn’t matter.” 

“Oh, let it go, would ya? Have a cocktail, eat some wings, and watch me make magic out there. Absolute magic. Seriously. Best game all season. I know it’s just a practice, but I think we have a shot against the Vipers.” 

He’s talking to me. I know he’s talking to me. It seems important. What is he saying? Who are the Vipers, again? Squish, squish, Miss Raisinface. 

Across the alley, Cheryl was still damp. She took a sip of her brandy Coke, crossed one leg over the other, and pursed her lips. Her sister Joan just bowled a spare. Joan was not her sister by blood, but rather by the passage of time. They had known each other when they were high school graduates and then blushing brides. They moved into the same neighborhood and then the same assisted living facility. Their husbands were buried in the same books and then the same cemetery. Cheryl and Joan couldn’t be closer. They were attached at their hips, which felt better than ever after their synchronized replacement surgeries two summers ago.  

Cheryl retrieved her custom eleven-pound beauty from the ball return, the blacklight playing off its purple swirls. 

Keep calm. Breathe in through the nose, one, two. Approach. Out through the mouth, three, four… and wait… and release. 

She turned her back to the lane, feeling confident. She waited to hear the familiar plunk of the pins hitting the floor, but after too many seconds had gone by, there was no sound. 

“Gutter ball, Cher,” said Joan. 

Cheryl’s face twisted up, and she turned her eyes to the scoreboard. It was true. A condescending graphic of a bowling ball traveling through space lit up the screen. 

No, no, no, no, and no. It’ll be impossible to catch up now. JOA: 189. CHE: 176. 

“It’s okay, hun,” said Joan, placing her spindly fingers on Cheryl’s shoulder. “Give it another go. Might surprise yourself and manage a spare.” 

‘It’s okay, hun.’ Yeah, maybe for you. You’ll win and I’ll have to pay for lunch again. Panera Bread isn’t getting any cheaper, especially with your chicken sandwich and fancy-ass salad. Doesn’t anyone just eat soup anymore? Focus. Breathe in, one, two. Approach. Breathe out, three, four… and wait… and… 

“YEAAAH!” 

A raucous cheer bounced off every wall, and Cheryl dropped the ball on her foot, sending it straight into the gutter. She screamed and fell to the ground. Her foot hurt, sure. It throbbed and ached, and several of her toes might have been broken. Her pride, however, was fatally wounded. She closed her eyes and prayed to disappear. 

God, please get me out of here. Everyone saw me. Typical old bat, falling down, right? God, just get me out of here. People are too loud. So rude. Poor etiquette. God, get me out of here. 

 When she finally opened them, a gargantuan man was looming over her. 

“Ma’am? Do you need help?” 

Before she could answer, he grabbed Cheryl beneath her arms and began to pull her into a standing position. 

“Get off, get off, get off! Do I look like a toddler? Like a helpless creature?” Cheryl dusted herself off and shook out her foot. 

“No! Well, yeah, maybe a little helpless. But seriously, I just had the best game of my life back there. Three strikes, tenth frame. I’m sure you understand. When I did my signature victory shout, you must have had a little freak-out, huh? Looked like a nasty fall.” 

By that time, Joan was standing next to Cheryl, arms crossed, fresh vodka soda in hand. 

“Listen,” Joan said. “There’s a certain way to do things around here. You don’t bowl when others are bowling, you remain below a deafening decibel level, and, just as a general rule, you don’t manhandle anyone. Especially not us folks with more life experience and especially not Cheryl. She’s particularly fragile.” 

Fragile? I’m fragile? Just last week, Joan spent twenty minutes trying to get out of a rocking chair. It kept rocking and rocking and she kept sliding back and forth. I could say that. I’m going to say that. I’m not going to say that. 

“Okay, lady. It’s not my fault that your friend can’t handle a little fun. Not my fault she took a tumble. I was just trying to help.” 

“Grant, babe, everything okay?” Nancy asked, approaching hesitantly.  

Nancy actually laughed when she saw Miss Raisinface fall. It was more of a concealed chuckle, but still, she found it amusing. She was perturbed when Grant went over to help, but she saw his blood begin to boil, possibly on the verge of one of his outbursts that she was all too familiar with. If she forgot to unload the dishwasher? Outburst. If she forgot to pick up the dry cleaning? Outburst. If she forgot to leave the radio on for his ball python when she left the house because “he gets lonely”? Serious outburst. 

Maybe I am too forgetful. But I hate that damn snake. Can snakes even get lonely? 

Nancy knew she had to intervene. On one hand, she might get to witness a verbal joust and exact vengeance vicariously through Grant. On the other, with the way things appeared to be going, she might witness something much worse. Something that included jail time. 

It would destroy my life. Absolutely wreck me. But I might actually get a moment to myself. A moment to breathe could be nice. 

“It’s fine, Nance. These two coffin-dodgers can’t get wrap their heads around the idea that they aren’t the only ones here. I’m sorry, Cheryl, was it? Yeah, a little action thirty feet away was too much for Cheryl. I was trying to be nice. I got you off the ground, didn’t I? I’m sorry you got hurt or whatever. Honestly, I am. But what I’m not sorry for is celebrating an absolutely beautiful end to an absolutely beautiful practice game with my boys. We’re up against the Vipers next week. The damn Vipers! Best. League. In the history. Of leagues.” 

The Vipers. That’s right. I remember now. 

The still-damp granny approached Grant and got right in his face. Got right in his face the best she could, anyway. Pretty drastic difference, vertically speaking.  

“I’ve had about enough of you and your little tart girlfriend tonight. Sorry, I forgot… your fiancé. Whoop dee gosh dang doo! You’re getting married! So exciting! I bet you’re on top of the world! Well, come on back to the ground with the rest of us. You’re not that special. I had a husband, too, once. He died under suspicious circumstances, and if you say so much as one more boneheaded thing, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen to you,” Cheryl said, and then whispered, “Bet on it.” 

“Okay, sweetie! That’s quite enough,” said Joan “Sorry, she’s on a new medication, aren’t ya, Cher? New medication makin’ you go a little cuckoo?” 

“That last part, though,” said Nancy. “Bet on it? Yeah, I think we should. Grant against you two. One frame. Winner gets the turf, and the losers can never set foot on the premises of Spare Me Bowl and Bar ever again.” 

Grant can do this. Is he the best? No. Is he better than a couple of geriatric patients? Probably. So, I’m a tart, huh? I’m a skank? I’ll show you a tart and a skank. No, that makes it sound like I want to get her into bed with me. I bet she hasn’t been laid since Nixon was president. That’s a good one. I’m saving that for later. 

“I like the way you think,” said Joan. “I’m always up for a little friendly competition. But you have to play, too. Two against one just isn’t fair. One frame, winner takes all. Sound good to you, Cher?” 

Of all the things Cheryl secretly hated about Joan, the thing she hated most was that Joan was a winner by nature. It was admirable, but not relatable. What came easy for Joan, Cheryl had to work for. That’s how it had always been. Cheryl went on hundreds of dates with hundreds of horrible men until she found Marty, who didn’t turn out to be much better than the rest. Joan met Stewart during a routine checkup. He held a stethoscope to her chest and fell in love with her heartbeat. Joan knew she was a winner, too. She held it over Cheryl’s head. 

It would be nice to do something together for once. She always makes me feel like I’m riding her coattails, as if she has any coattails to ride. Joan, Joan, Joan. My foot hurts. 

“If that’s what it takes,” Cheryl said. “If that’s what it takes to never again have to be in the same room with the most insolent couple I have ever met. I’ll go buy another game.” 

The pimply boy at the counter got giddy when she approached the counter. 

“I’ve been listening the whole time, and I just have to say, I think you rock. One game on lane fourteen, comin’ up. It’s on the house.” 

Grant was the first one up. He cracked his knuckles and then his neck and recited his mantra that Nancy had heard a million times against her will. 

“I am grounded. I am at home in my body. I am trusting my journey.”  

He knocked down four pins and then two. Six points. 

Jesus Christ. So much preparation. Such mediocre results. He is not gonna be happy. And the excuses I will inevitably hear for the next week… Son of a bitch. 

Nancy was next. She hadn’t actually bowled herself since high school, and she wasn’t very good back then. She held her breath. 

Okay, okay, okay. I’ve got this. Step, step, step, and let it roll. Six pins down. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.  

She let out a huge sigh of relief. 

Okay, okay, okay. Here we go again. 

She held her breath. 

Step, step, step, and let it roll. Holy shit, no way. Three pins? That’s right! Oh, yeah! Three pins! That’s right! Okay, now play it cool. It’s cool, I’m cool. 

“Nine points, babe! Did you see that?” Nancy asked. 

“Yeah, babe. Nice,” said Grant. 

And so begins the pouting. 

Cheryl was next. Her foot was still in a fair amount of pain, but she was determined. 

I gotta go to the hospital… No! Focus, Cher. Breathe in through the nose, one, two. Approach. Ouch. Out through the mouth, three, four… and wait… and release. 

She fumbled on the release but managed to still hit one pin and knock it to the floor.  

It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll show ‘em this time. 

She ended up with a total of three points. She folded her arms and plopped into a chair. 

Finally, Joan took her turn. 

“This is how it’s done, folks,” she said and proceeded to score an eight on the first go. 

No surprise there. Just go ahead and get this over with, you’ve already upstaged me. Hats off. I think my foot is swelling. I don’t think they’re gonna want this shoe back… 

I can still win, I’ve got a nine. Come on, lady. Biff it. Biff it! Grant will kill me if he can’t come back here. I actually think he’ll murder me. Would Grant murder me? 

Joan took her second approach. She looked confident and decided to put a slight spin on the ball. She turned to face the group after letting it go and took a bow. 

No way. 

No. Way. 

Joan paused and turned back to face the two pins that were still standing. They mocked her with their tenacity. Nancy had actually managed to win the bet and gave her husband-to-be a hug. He did not hug back. 

“It should have been me,” said Grant. 

“Oh come on, be proud of me! We get to come back! Yay!” 

“I’m going home,” he said, walking away. 

“I drove,” said Nancy. “You’re not taking my car.” 

“Then I’ll walk! I need to blow off some steam.” 

Grant walked away and out the door. 

Wow. 

“Joan? Joan!” said Cheryl. 

Nancy turned to find Joan on the ground, incapacitated. She yelled for the teenage boy cleaning shoes to call an ambulance. When the EMTs arrived, they told Cheryl that Joan had suffered something similar to a heart attack, often brought on by sudden stress or shock. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” said the tan man with an anchor tattoo on his large left bicep and deep green eyes. 

He seems nice… 

“I’ll ride with her,” said Cheryl. “I need to get this foot checked out.” 

“Are you a relative?” 

“She’s my sister,” said Cheryl. “And this is… her granddaughter… Anna.” 

“Nancy,” said Nancy. 

“Nancy. Yeah. Nancy. I guess I’m as forgetful as they say I am. Anyways, she’ll ride along, too.” 

“Okay, well we need to leave now, so please…” 

The EMT beckoned them into the ambulance and it started moving shortly after. 

“Why am I here?” Nancy whispered. “I thought you hated me. I think you described me as insolent. Not to mention a couple other choice words alluding to my sexual promiscuity.” 

“You’re a warm body,” Cheryl replied with a blank expression on her face. 

“What’s up with her, anyway?” asked Nancy, gesturing to Joan, unresponsive on the stretcher. “Has this sort of thing ever happened before?” 

“Twice. First at a poker game about eight years ago, and again five years back at a church-sanctioned bake-off. See the pattern?” 

Nancy was quiet for a minute, recounting her relationship with Grant. She had never seen him lose at anything before today. He won employee of the month every single month at the dealership. He won at claw machines and carnival games. He even won Red Hot Chili Peppers tickets in a radio contest, but that was probably a fluke. 

“She didn’t need me then, though,” Cheryl continued. “She still had Stew. She needs me now. I’m all she has. Joan is weak, and I know that, but she thinks she’s strong, and I love that about her. I love everything about her, even the things I hate.” 

Nancy hated the things she hated about Grant. She knew he felt the same because he showed her that he did.  

Take a picture of my collar bone, my thighs, my ribs. There’s the evidence. 

“Good win tonight,” Cheryl said. “Sorry my friend couldn’t stand the heat.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” Nancy said, lost in thought. Wishing she could ride in circles in the ambulance all night long, and rest to the lullaby of the blaring siren. “But you should know something.” 

She’s confiding in me. That feels good. It reminds me of simpler days. 

“What is it?” 

“I hate bowling.” 

“Yeah. Me, too. Never have liked it that much.” 

They arrived at the hospital and gave each other a knowing look that told them both that the EMT was probably right, and everything would be okay. Cheryl followed Joan into the building, and Nancy called a cab company to take her to her parents’ house in the country. 

What was that joke I was going to tell? Something about a president. 

What was that girl’s name again? Something with an ‘N’. 

I forget.