Bowling Until Midnight

Marie Hastings, age sixty-five, finished the tenth frame with 215 points. She threw her hands in the air.

“Yahoo!”

The pinsetter re-racked the pins and her purple bowling ball glided down the ball return. Marie ambled to the touch screen and started another game.

Wayne was impressed that she was still going after five games. He sighed as Marie started her fifty-first frame. It was rare to see a woman with so much energy at his age.

Wayne never thought to introduce himself. She was a beautiful woman and Wayne was just a man who owned a bowling alley. Marie always intimidated him. She was so good at talking to people. Her husband died a few years back. But, to Wayne, that didn't feel like an opening.

The explosion of pins stopped. She was waving to him.

Oh no, he thought.

His old bones ached as he stood up. He checked his watch: 11:55 p.m.

“I am so sorry to bother you, Wayne, but would you mind fixing the pins? The machine is stuck,” she said with smiling eyes.

Wayne looked away, embarrassed, “Mhm.”

“You’re a dear.”

Wayne marched to the far side of the alley. He went through the door to the pinsetters. He got to Marie’s lane and saw her purple ball was stuck. He nudged it with his foot and it went right in. He could hear the ball slide down the ramp back to Marie.

He entered the alley as she was getting into her stance. He watched as she walked the four-step approach and let the bowling ball fly. It curved beautifully into the pocket between the one and two pins. Strike.

She let out another cheer across the vacant lanes.

“Nice shot, Marie.”

She faced Wayne, “You know my name?”

“Sure,” he said sheepishly, “You’ve only been coming here since I can remember.”

She giggled, “You were a pin boy back then. What did we used to call you? 'Little Wayne that runs the lane!'”

“That’s right.” She noticed me?

"Well, thank you for fixing the pins, Wayne."

“Anytime,” He said as he turned to walk away. But he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Won’t you visit with me until I’m done?”

His pacemaker was racing. He gestured to the counter, “I should start closing down for the night.”

Marie pursed her lips, “What if I told you it was my birthday at midnight? You wouldn’t leave an old girl like me alone to celebrate, would you?”

Is she flirting with me?

Her eyes twinkled with the warmth of a hundred happy memories. She had crow’s feet from a hundred beaming smiles. Her silver hair spilled over her shoulders as it did when it was brown.

The purple ball flew down the ball return once again.

Wayne snapped out of it, “I’ll be back there if you need anything.”

He trudged up the small steps, sickened by his own cowardice.

He looked over his shoulder, “Um. Keep your ball to the left or it will jam the machine.”

She glared at him. He winced as he walked behind the counter.

Why did I say that? Now she's going to think I hate her.

He heard ten pins go down. Another strike. He tried to focus on his magazine.

I am hopeless. Why do I even bother?

Another strike. Louder this time.

“Hey, Wayne!”

Wayne peered over the counter like he was in trouble. Marie had her hands on her hips.

“If I throw a strike on this next frame, you have got to chat with me.”

Wayne gulped, “I’m alright up here, thanks.”

No way I’m making a fool of myself twice.

“Just watch, honey.” She picked up her ball and winked.

Her purple shoes slid across the wooden floor.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Her follow-through was flawless. The ball almost rolled into the gutter before sliding back towards the three and six pins. The ball plowed right through the middle. Only two pins remained. The 7–10 split.

“Shoot!” She stomped her foot.

Wayne tried to be brave. “Almost, Marie.”

She shot him a dirty look and pointed a feeble finger at him.

"Listen here, Wayne." Her strength startled him. “Whether I make this spare or not, you are gonna come down here and chat with me or I’m coming up there and dragging you down by your laces!”

Wayne stammered, "I don’t know, Marie. It’s getting late.”

She ignored him and picked up her ball and walked to the lane. Her toes rested on the foul line. Wayne was fixed on her. Marie held the ball to her chest.

Why is she standing so close?

Marie took a step to the right and dropped the ball into the gutter. It gradually rolled down the lane. The ball fell into the back and got stuck just like before.

Wayne laughed out loud. He doubled over and coughed before he stood up and wiped away the tears.

She clasped her hands together and spoke theatrically, “Oh Wayne? Would you fix the pins for me, please?” She laughed, too. “Now get down here.”

“Wait a minute.” He walked into a dark room in the back.

“Well then,” she said, confused.

Her purple ball remained stuck in the pinsetter. The lights began shutting off, one lane at a time. Marie stood alone in the dark.

“Why that horrible-!”

She left her bag and tramped toward the exit, fuming. Then she noticed the warm glow of candlelight casting on the walls. There was Wayne, holding a small cake with a single candle. Marie gasped into her hand.

He carried it over. Her eyes welled up.

“How did you…? Where did you…?”

“We have birthday parties here all the time. I’ve always got one in the back.”

“Wayne. I don’t know what to say,” she sniffled as she spoke.

“Happy birthday, Marie. Make a wish.”

He held up the cake. Marie giggled again. Wayne saw the girl from forty years ago. He felt like he had a chance.

God, she looks just the same.

Marie closed her eyes and blew.