Team Up at The Strike Out!

You could say Ten-pin bowling runs in the family. My dad even named me Penelope, thinking “Ten-Pin Penny” would be a cool handle when I turned pro. I shit you not. And yes, I am very aware it sounds more like a D-grade superhero name.

Hank “The Spin” Irvington - heard of him? Nope, didn’t think so. Well, that’s my loving father. A two-time Kentucky State Champion bowler circa sometime back in the 80s. And I can confirm being an amateur bowling champion is a big deal, in the same way winning a blue ribbon at a local fair’s taxidermy contest, is a big deal. You’re a superstar among the thirty same competitors you see at every competition sure, but when any other normal person discovers your grand achievement, they just give you a saccharine smile and say, “Good for you, honey.”

Although it seemed to have impressed my mother.

I’ve heard their magical meet-cute tale so many times I have a phantom memory of it, framed in a hazy remembrance cloud of a daytime soap opera: Gabby Henderson laying eyes on a mullet-donning Hank Irvington as he materializes in a cloud of cigarette smoke after knocking down an effortless strike.

They met at The Strike Out, the rundown bowling alley where I practically grew up.

It’s been at least ten years since I’ve been back there, but I can still picture it perfectly now. The cloying metallic tang of shoe cleaner, the perpetual vampiric gloom, the distorted trills of arcade machines, mingling with the garbled laughter of kids, and the ever-present clattering of knocked-over pins.

It was where I won my first tournament at twelve.

I got my first job at fourteen.

My first kiss at sixteen.

And was the place my mom and dad fell in love. 

Daughter like mother, I guess. 

For the last two years on my birthday, Mom has recounted the love-at-first-sight story of Gabby and Hank Irvington. I think it’s her way of making it feel like we’re still a whole family since Dad passed. 

So, three weeks ago, after our depressing celebration of my thirty-ninth birthday, my first since moving back into my teenage bedroom, Mom asked me again. It was a cheap trick, spoken after a tearful embrace. The tournament was a chance for us to return to The Strike Out and reminisce about old memories of Dad. Even though my own memories of the place were now tainted and spoiled, how could I say no?

*

“It still looks the same,” Mom says fondly. She slows down so we can take in The Strike Out in all its ramshackle glory.

It’s true, the Chernobyl bomb shelter aesthetic hasn’t changed at all. “It sure does,” I say.

The large bowling mural on the massive siding is obscured by rust and streaks of grime, waterfalling from the leaf-choked gutters. The neon sign on the sloped roof only has six letters glowing now. The old record shop, the only other commercial space in the little strip mall, is boarded and decorated with unintelligible graffiti. Even the weather is sullen and overcast and wind-chillingly freezing.

A sign above the entrance reads Bodgenville Bowling Tournament. The large enthusiastic words are bookended by two swishing bowling balls and a triangle of pins. In the bottom right corner, I recognize the small cursive logo of the Kentucky Bowling League, the same one that adorns numerous pendants I have ferreted away in the many shoeboxes in my small bedroom closet. Whatever was spent on the sign, it probably would have been wiser if it had gone towards fixing the car park. Holes pockmark the cracked asphalt like a gopher farm. The car leans noticeably as Mom turns off the engine with the front tire lodged in a deep furrow.

Mom smiles. “Brings back a lot of great memories.”

“It sure does,” I say, with a polite seasoning of sarcasm. The car park is nearly full. “I can’t believe that there are so many people.”

“I know, isn’t that exciting?” Mom says.

“Oh, so exciting,” I confirm.

Mom swats my arm. “Don’t forget your ball and shoes.”

We cross the parking lot and I tell Mom to head inside without me. She gives a disapproving frown at the cigarette pack but walks toward the entrance.

I am on my second drag when I hear the gravelly voice.

“Well fuck me sideways and call me a cowboy. That can’t be… Penny Ten-Pin?”

I am seized with instinctual repulsion as I watch Tanner Cooper approaching. He has put on a good hundred pounds since I’ve last seen him. The bulging buttons of his Hawaiian shirt are losing their commendable battle against his invading tummy. His hair is the same style as it was in high school, the sides trimmed short, and a bouffant fringe swept into a long inky black tangle over his shoulders.

“In the flesh,” I chirp.

Tanner has his flaming ball bag at his side. He comes and leans against the wall, and I find myself staring at a tired barely recognizable woman in the reflection of his yellow wraparound sunglasses. They’re framed in pink and are the kind people wear while holding a beer on a fishing trip. They look out of place in a car park smothered under the cement blanket of a Kentucky winter.

“You’re looking old Ten-Pin,” Tanner says.

“I could say the same for you. Is that dye in your hair?”

“Please,” Tanner barks a laugh. “I am all-naturale baby. Every hair on my body is blacker than squid ink. And I mean every single hair.” I sense the wink behind his lenses. “Mind if I bum a cig?”

I respond by drawing on my cigarette so hard I almost ingest it.

Tanner chuckles and takes out his own pack. “Maybe you should lay easy on these,” he lights his smoke, “some people just don’t have the fortitude to handle a little smoke.”

I’m pretty sure Tanner wasn’t referring to my father and it was merely an exceptionally rude jab at my haggard appearance. “I’m one of the lucky few, I guess.”

“So how long’s it been Ten-Pin, ten years?” Tanner asks.

“And here’s to another ten,” I drop my cigarette, scrape it across the ground, and start walking away.

“Oh, I see,” Tanner hoots. “You’ve still got your little panties in a twist about the Marrickville final. Get over it Ten-Pin, the better man won.”

“I could give two shits about a crappy bowling tournament from a lifetime ago.” And it was true, even back then I never cared about the medals and trophies. Bowling was Dad’s passion, never mine. I won a bunch of trophies. Tanner won more. Our intense rivalry was all in his head.

Tanner pinches his cigarette and billows out a cloud. “Then why are you standing there like you have a warhead crammed up your ass?”

Annoyed, I whirl around. “I’m not the loser who’s still reliving their glory days winning amateur bowling competitions.” Tanner drags on his cigarette, and I turn my back to him. “And you’re the one who’s still butt hurt about me crushing you on the last roll at Dennington.”

“You and I both know your foot was over the line!” Tanner calls out angrily.

I give him the finger over my shoulder.

Walking into The Strike Out is like stepping into a time warp.

The only noticeable change is the bar, which has been extended and is considerably newer than the other ancient furnishings. Although smoking has long been banned, the air still smells faintly of cigarettes. I’m also reminded of the previous generations’ bad habits as Disco Fever echoes from the speakers.

The place is bustling with serious bowlers. Not families. No casuals. Real bowlers have a certain look beyond the ubiquitous uniform of satin shirts, slacks, and shiny shoes.

Mom is queueing up at the sign-on counter and I walk over to her.

“You would not believe who I just saw,” I say.

“It’s okay. Just be civil,” Mom smiles reassuringly. “We’re going to have a nice time.”

We move forward in the line.

“Too right I’m going to have a good time,” I assure her. “There’s no way an asshole like Tanner Cooper is ruining my fun.”

Mom is surprised at my comment. “I was talking about Lachlan.”

My blood freezes. Then in one of those rare moments of strange universe synchronicity, my vision roves over her shoulder and, just like that, my eyes lock onto Lachlan sitting in a booth at the bar. His arm hangs on the shoulder of a petite blonde. The two are wearing matching black and red bowling shirts.

The moment stretches out agonizingly slow, then our umbilical cord of awkwardness is severed as Lachlan jerks his head back to his friends and laughs forcefully.

The blonde didn’t notice our exchange.

Mom clutches my hand as if she’s afraid I’m about to flee. But strangely the sighting of my ex-husband anchors me to the sticky polka-dot carpet. There is no way I’ll give him the satisfaction of scampering away like a retreating damsel. He can leave if he wants.

“Mrs Irvington, it’s so great to see you again,” Tanner’s Batman voice calls out. A second later he is standing in the line with us.

“And you too, Tanner,” Mom says.

“Next,” the bored attendant says. A nametag on her shirt, which is so crisply ironed you could use her sleeves as a ruler, reads Macey.

“Here for competition sign up?” Macey asks Mom.

“Oh no, I’m just cheerleading for my daughter.” She shakes my shoulders like a rattle.

Macey looks at me. “Name?”

“Penny Irvington,” I tell her.

“Okay,” Macey types on her computer. She nods at Tanner. “And are you her partner?”

Tanner and I exchange an incredulous look before we’re both chuckling at the absurd mix-up.

“Yeah, right Kemosabe,” Tanner chortles. “The T-Dawg flies together…alone.”

Macey’s expression is blank. “I don’t know what that means.”

I point at Tanner. “We’re not a team. I’m here to enter the solo competition.”

“Same,” Tanner adds.

A minuscule crimp appears on Macey’s forehead. “There is no solo competition. It’s pairs only today. It was clearly marked on the display I made,” she points behind her to an identical sign from outside. “See the two balls? That means pairs,” Macey clarifies. “It was also explained on our website.”

“You cannot be serious,” Tanner cries, slamming down his bag petulantly. “This is a total gutter ball!”

“We can just hire a lane for fun,” Mom suggests.

“I’m afraid the other lanes are closed for the tournament,” Macey says.

As Tanner has a tantrum, I find my eyes drawn back to where Lachlan and his new Bratz doll are sitting in their matching shirts. They’re a pair. Together. While I have been locked in my room, they have been having a gay old-time bowling. That’s total bullshit.

As I stare, irritation washes over me, and then a sudden inconceivable idea forms in my head.

Tanner is already staring at me when I look at him.

“I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this,” I’m barely able to form the blasphemous words. “How about you and me. Pairs?”

Tanner squints at me thoughtfully and then flicks his eyes in the direction of the bar where I had just been staring at Lachlan. His gaze flicks between the bar and me before they widen in sudden understanding. “Ah, I see what this is,” he crows. “You know, I’m not just a gorgeous piece of man meat waiting for a nibble.”

“What?” A heat snake coils around my neck, choking my cheeks red. “No, it’s not like that,” I assure him.

“Sure, it is,” Tanner says. “It’s a small town Ten-Pin. Everyone knows about you and Lachlan breaking up. Damn it!” He slaps the counter and shakes his head disbelievingly. “You want to use me as your seductive gorgeous pawn to help you beat your ex and get him jealous. A double entendre.”

“I don’t think that’s what that word means,” I say.

Thinking hard, Tanner lets out a long breath. “That’s actually kind of cool,” he concedes, then glances at me. “Okay, I’m in Ten-Pin. But I just want to you know, I’m not getting soft. I’m only doing this because there are no singles and my dad’s not picking me up until six. I get to choose our name though. Deal!” Tanner slaps the countertop, whoops like a wrestler, and saunters off.

Mom and I watch him dissolve into the crowd.

“Where is he going?” Macey asks.

“I have no idea,” I say.

*

My stomach becomes a bubbling cauldron of adolescent nerves as I look up at the match-up monitor and read the flashing title: Lachlan and Tammy vs Tanner…Suck It! - Lane Three.

           Tanner has his game face-on, meaning his cockiness dial is turned to eleven. During the first two games, I would classify him as being an insufferable jerk, and not a total asshole. Watching him mature before my eyes was truly awe-inspiring.

“Game time,” Tanner declares as he rises from our table, dusts off his Hawaiian shirt, and strides toward the lane.

Tanner is in the middle of his ridiculous warm-up stretches when Mom and I place our bags onto our seats. I have just deposited my ball on the carousel when I see Lachlan and Tammy, engrossed in an apparently hilarious story, approaching the lane.

Lachlan’s casual smile falters as he notices us. “Hey there, Gabby…Penny,” he greets, politician-like. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy that?” I manage through my lockjaw. Mom returns his greeting politely.

Tammy hovers behind Lachlan, waiting to be introduced. Realizing this, Lachlan gestures at her like she’s his magician assistant. “Tammy this is Gabby and Penny. They’re…old family friends.”

Tammy’s impish face beams. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says with a wave. “Ready for some bowling?”

“Well, if it isn’t Lachlan Marshall,” Tanner says, walking over. “Do you still work here?”

“Not since high school,” Lachlan replies testily. He nods at Tammy. “We’re a team.”

Tanner’s sweaty arm slouches across my shoulders. His gloved hand dangles in front of my face as he leans against me. I hope my revulsion isn’t showing through my plastered-on smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was going to be here toots?” Tanner says.

At the comment, there is a subtle change in Tammy’s expression, while Lachlan’s face transforms into a stiff, barely concealed leer. “So, you two…” he says, leaving the question hanging.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating for a few months. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to bowl. I’m still so sore from last night.” He glances down at Mom. “You’re girl’s a total freak in the sheets!”

“I think it’s time to begin,” I say, mimicking Mom’s uncomfortable chirrup.

I jockey Tanner around, so my mouth is beside his ear. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

“What?” he replies, genuinely confused. “I’m your delicious toyboy, right?”

My instinct is to tear shreds off him, but the image of Lachlan’s uncomfortable face burns brighter in my mind. “Well don’t slather it on so thick,” I whisper. “And first and only warning. You touch my ass; you lose a hand.”

Giggling, I slap Tanner playfully on the chest and go pick up my ball. “Let’s bowl sweetie!”

*

The bowling and the love gods must have been watching our match eating popcorn, because of course the whole thing came to my last bowl. Win or lose, I was just glad the experience was coming to an end. There’s only so much syrupy flirting with Tanner I could stomach.

“C’mon Snookums, let’s finish these assholes and go grab a hotdog,” Tanner calls out as I pick up my ball. I feel my last patience ferment into vinegar, and I swallow it down almost gagging.

Lachlan has his arm on Tammy’s seatback. His fingers are stroking her back. It was with these little gestures Lachlan and I had conducted our silent war. Our bullets were the subtle touches, laughter, and seductive glances we shared with our partners.

As I walk to take my final bowl I spot Lachlan swinging a knockout punch as he bends and kisses Tammy on the lips. I abruptly turn my attention back to the lane.

Four pins are standing in a three-one split. Even in my prime, it’s a difficult bowl.

I heave the ball in two hands, hold it in front of my face, and stare at the pins.

Picturing Lachlan’s smug face, I walk forward, swing my arm back, and release the ball.

The purple ball rolls down the maple like a skimming cloud.

I hold my breath as the ball makes contact.           

*

Tanner takes out a cigarette and then offers me the pack. I place my back against the frigid bricks and light one.

           “You know, we made alright team,” he says. “You were a bit rusty, but who knows, maybe we could-”

           “Nope,” I cut in. Then gave Cooper a warm smile. “I think that concludes the bowling chapter of Tanner…Hell Yeah.”

           A mixture of smoke and cold air puffs from Tanner’s smirk. He looks up and the clouds dance across his glasses. “Maybe you’re right. Two wins isn’t bad. I think this wolf needs to stay alone.”

           We spent a few minutes smoking our cigarettes not saying anything. Then I see Mom come out of the entrance. “Well,” I say, dropping my cigarette. “It truly has been something. See you around Tanner.”

           “Next time Ten-Pin,” Tanner says as I walk away.

           When Mom sees me, she comes over and wraps her arm around my shoulders.

“It’s freezing,” she complains as we walk toward the car. Halfway across the car park, she pauses and points to a parking spot in front of the abandoned record store. “You know that's where your dad and I first kissed?”

           “Really?” I say, replaying the familiar story in my head. “Tell me all about it.”