Bowling

The sun was setting on a Sunday night. As she had done every week of her career thus far, she had to recharge this evening. It was her ritual. The candle was lit. The blanket was tucked in around her feet, legs, and hips. Her favorite sandwich cookies sat on the end table beside her, and the TV remote sat ready in her hand.

The newest episode of the fall’s juiciest reality TV programming began as she indulged in the first bite of her nighttime snack. Snuggling up to the blanket, she was molded to her sofa.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“What the hell?”

“Hey, babe!”

“Hey,” she replied, questioning his appearance. Her boyfriend leaned down to kiss her. With open eyes and a furrowed brow, she kissed him back, conscious to not break her cocoon. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” He kissed her again. She still didn’t close her eyes. She paused the TV’s drama.

“You see me now,” she joked. “Join me.” She patted the cushion next to her, but he continued standing.

“I actually wanted to take you bowling.”

She was never very good at hiding her feelings. From blushing out of embarrassment to letting her jaw drop like she did now, she spoke volumes without a single sound uttered.

“We don’t have to,” he said but still didn’t sit down.

“No, no, no,” she started, sitting up and thus breaking her fleece fortress. “I’m sorry, but I’m just so comfy. And I just started watching this. Look, not even four minutes in. And I just started eating my dessert for the night.” She looked up at him, searching for how well her message was received by him. Was it a skipping stone or a sinking-to-the-bottom boulder?

“But,” he started. Damn it. It skipped. “We don’t have much time left together before my business trip. I want to spend it with you.”

“Of course. We can spend that time together on this couch.”

He chuckled and paced a bit. 

“But I want to do something together and actually do something.”

Although offended by the implied laziness, she grew silent and considered. To bowl, to watch TV, to bowl, to watch TV. Where was a plentiful-of-petals flower when she needed one? She gazed at the sad, standing man. Blowing out a candle would take little effort. She had already paused the episode and could eat the cookies in the car. However, she won’t be able to bowl with him for a while.

“Fine.” She rose from her divot on the couch, and he kissed her in between smiles. With socks and cookies in hand, they left behind her quiet evening at home.

***

“Do you want regular or party bowl?” The attendant asked. She turned around. Half of the lanes matched the typical alley: fluorescent lighting, beige walls, TV screens lining the entire width of the space. Just beyond a partition separating the two worlds, the other half was the rebellious child: black lights, disco balls, lasers, pleather sofas.

“Regular bowl,” her boyfriend responded. Once they received their shoes (her favorite part of bowling), they headed off to Lane 9. She wandered around and guessed that a ten-pound ball would suffice. As he told her a story of his grandfather teaching him how to bowl, she nodded along and entered their names into the computer.

First frame, he got a strike, and she knocked down six pins and threw her bowl to the gutter. Second frame, he got a spare, and she twisted her wrist all for three points. By the fifth frame, she was stomping, acting more like a child than the girls in the lane next to them. The next frame, she joked about needing bumpers. A minute later, she considered if the embarrassment would be worth it. By the eighth frame, she had used five different profanities and immediately apologized to the surrounding families. By the last swing, her arms were crossed, lips were pursed, and leg was shaking.

Through this all, her boyfriend took each of his turns with ease. He’d take a swig of his beer and then meander on over to the balls. He’d grab his, ready at his position, execute his swing, and knock down pins. He had no intention of making her jealous, but him doing well only inspired her to rip off her shoes and bolt.

After three games, his high score was a 228, hers a 67. They returned their red and gray bowling shoes in silence. She led the way to his car, not out of an adventurous attitude but rather a need for retreat and distance. While he searched for his keys, she waited on the passenger’s side, eyes down and breathing as if she had just sprinted.

Once they made it out of the parking lot, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, legs and arms twisted.

“Babe.” He extended his hand to her thigh, so she brushed him off and turned to face the passenger window. She didn’t see how he reacted. If she had to guess, he probably shook his head. Not like he couldn’t understand her, but because he never liked to see her this way. For the rest of their journey home, she’d feel his gaze on the back of her head every so often. She’d feel a tug to look back at him, but something kept her at attention, facing the building and trees and people passing by.

Upon arrival, he brought the car to a halt. “Can I come in?” He asked.

She faced forward, staring at the floor mat. It needed to be vacuumed. He needed to drink less and save more. He needed new shorts or a whole new wardrobe. But he didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t rant about her silent treatment. He waited for her wherever she was at.

“Sure,” she said her first word in twenty minutes.

He parked and followed her inside. She hung up her purse and took off her bra, grateful for having been in sweats this whole time. As he found a spot on the couch and grabbed the remote, she made her way to the bathroom. There, she closed her eyes and tuned into her pulse. Counting the seconds she inhaled and exhaled, she felt her shoulders loosen. She stretched her neck from side to side and opened her eyes to see herself in the mirror. If she hadn’t spent so much energy throwing a tantrum, then she would’ve smirked at her reflection.

Once back in the main room, she looked to the TV screen to see the episode she left behind, now ready to play. She turned back to her boyfriend to see the whole container of sandwich cookies in his hands. Tonight, she would ignore nutritional facts and eat more than the recommended serving.