Avid

I’m not old but I’m old enough to know better. At least I thought so. After blowing out the candles on my cake for my eighty-fifth birthday party, I thought I would not see something as special as what I received on my Newark, Delaware doorstep from a drone delivery.

At first I thought it was another ceramic that I had ordered and forgotten about. I mean I’m still sharp but I have my senior moments.

So, when I picked up this slightly heavy box and brought it in the house, I anticipated opening it. I saw that it had no return address. My interest piqued even more.

I pulled the object out of the box as if it was a baby exiting a womb. I held a Reactive Resin, blue and gold bowling ball. Included on it were the signatures of my beloved Coleman and his team.

I wept. The beauty of the ball was too much for me. I was totally overwhelmed. I beheld it like a rare jewel. At the bottom was a stand for it to rest. I placed it on the mantle above the fireplace amongst his photographs. His brown skin matched mine as we posed together in some pictures. Others showed him playing baseball, football, and of course, bowling. A photo showing my Coleman Cardon shaking hands with the president of the International Bowling League completed the collection.

I marveled at it for a moment. Then it struck me: where did this thing come from? No paperwork accompanied the hardware. I could make out the signatures and I knew the numbers by heart of Cole’s bowling buddies.

I began with phone calls. I had the home phone but not the cell of Melanie and Herman Katz.

“Hello, Melanie, how are you?”

“Hey, Donna! I’m so glad you called. Again, so sorry to hear about Coleman. Herman and I were out of town so we couldn’t make the funeral. Did you get our card?”

“Yes, thank you for your condolences. I just have one thing to ask Herman.”

“Sure…he’s down…Herman! He’s downstairs working on his helmet design. Here’s his smartphone number. 302-555-1937. It was great hearing from you. Coleman was such a great man.

I’m hanging up but you take care, okay?”

“Thanks, again, Melanie.”

I called Herman’s number.

“Hey, Donna. Melanie just—you got the card right?”

“Yes, Herman.”

“So sorry. He was just eighty-two.”

“It’s alright. How are you?”

“I’ve been busy. What’s up?”

“I just received a beautiful ball with your signature on it along with the signatures of Coleman, Bronston, and Lanier. Did you know anything about this?”

Herman scratched his beard. “No, I had nothing to do with it. This is all exclusive to me.”

“Okay, I appreciate you answering.”

“Of course, Donna. It’s a shame we had to link up like this. But I’m glad to hear from you.”

“I feel the same way, you and Melanie take care.”

“Thank you.”

After I hung up, I had a sneaking suspicion and some heaviness in my chest. I looked at the ball as if it would transform into a crystal ball and tell me the truth behind this curiosity.

I sent an email to the remaining signers. The response was the same. Lanier actually called.

“Hey, Donna. That was a beautiful service wasn’t it? We sent Cole off in the best way.”

“I agree,” I replied.

“But no, I had no idea about it. Maybe someone’s playing a sick joke?”

“No, this is an excellent ball, well crafted. It’s not made for use, just to display.”

“Oh. Well, I have no clue and I hope you find out and get to the bottom of it.”

“Thanks, Lane.”

“My pleasure, Donna. May you be well.”

“You as well.”

Then, I scanned Facebook accounts for clues. I just saw competitors. They spoke of Coleman favorably. I zeroed in on a rival that he always faced during the tournaments. I then used Instagram.

I typed out a message to her. Yes, he got beat by a girl. Sometimes he would win against her, though. They matched up well.

The message read, “Hey, Lola. I know this is really weird, but did you have anything to do with a signed ball?” I waited about twenty seconds. She sent me a message.

“Meet me at the Super Spoon on mainstreet tomorrow at 9 am.”

I followed her instructions and was there at eight fifty-five. She must have been there at eight thirty. She had just sent a waitress to deliver a black coffee.

“Good morning, Donna,” Lola stretched out a hand. I was almost about to slap it. Then I realized that she was extending a branch with a lot of olives. I shook herchabd.

“Please sit down. Would you like anything for breakfast?” Her wrinkles showed and her gray hair cascaded to her shoulders.

“I’ll just have the coffee, thank you.”

“Okay. Well…you got me. The bowling ball wasn’t my idea but I agreed with it. Coleman was such a great competitor. His easy demeanor and respect for the game always shone through in his actions. It was never about beating one another. We both just wanted to win. And does it matter who had more championships?”

“I suppose not. How did you get my address and why didn’t you deliver the ball with a return address?” I asked.

Lola laughed. “To answer your first question, it’s amazing what you can get off the Internet nowadays. And I didn’t want you to be alarmed by it and just return it.”

“Okay, so how did you get the signatures?”

“We used a digital printer that transcribed the signatures off of trophies.”

I laughed. I wept again. I was crying and laughing in equal measure and gentle enough not to alert anyone.

“Don’t cry. The team just thought you deserved something that would show esteem for Mr. Cardon. He deserved it.”

“We can agree on that,” I said.

The waitress arrived and asked me what I wanted. I told her about the cup of joe and reached for the Splenda. When the coffee came to the table, I asked for cream as well.

“You’d probably never thought you’d be sitting in a diner with your husband’s biggest competitor,” Lola mentioned.

“I figured this would be the best part. It would be the unexpected but delightful ending of the book of Coleman’s life,” I replied.