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The sound of the balls hitting the pins ricochets around the cavernous, dim hall. I can’t believe I’m at the bowling alley with my dad and his friends. I sit in front, near the lane, alone, and my dad and his buddies are in the back with beer.
One of his friends, a guy named George Smithers, just finished bowling and is walking back, passing me. “Charlie, I haven’t seen you in forever. You’ve gotten so big. Come sit with us.”
I think it’s funny when people say I’ve gotten big, which is really the only thing adults know how to say to teenagers they haven’t seen in a while, because I haven’t grown much at all in a few years. I am easily one of the shortest freshmen. Or, sophomore now, I guess. Add that to the reasons why I’m picked on.
George Smithers is a tall man, and he looks at me. “Come on. Come chat.”
They all make room for me as I awkwardly nudge into the guys surrounding the table. “Charlie,” laughs Ted. “Twice in a few days. What gives?”
A lot of the guys echo my name and say hi.
“I actually got him to join us tonight,” says my dad. He tips a beer toward me when he says that.
I can’t believe I’m joining him, because I feel like this is hell. But I don’t want to disappoint my dad.
“My boy is coming too. I’m sure you know him,” says a guy named Melvin.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“You know Trey Boxer,” says my dad.
Images of Psych of the Ass Trio flood my mind. I didn’t know Psych was Melvin’s son. Oh god. I don’t want to see any member of the Ass Trio tonight. Or basically ever.
George sips his beer and asks me, “Any girl in the picture?”
My face turns red. I think about Jennifer Bennett, but she’s not really in the picture. At least not in the sense that George means. “Uh.” I shake my head.
It’s my turn to bowl, so I get up and the guys cheer me on. I take aim and hit three pins. I’m awful at bowling, and I can’t wait to get home and hug Tickles. I don’t talk to anyone as I wait for my ball to return. I focus on the remaining seven pins. I manage to knock four more pins down, for a total of seven pins in that frame.
“Not too bad,” says Ted as he gets up to bowl.
Strike.
The guys cheer. But I sit there awkwardly, unsure what to do as I see everyone high-fiving, laughing, smiling. My fingers fidget. I twist my foot on the ground.
Ted walks back and asks what I want to do with myself after school, as the rest of the guys cheer on another guy I don’t know. By the way, this is the second-most-common thing that adults say to me, after “You’ve gotten big.”
“Uh, not sure.”
“Any job or career thoughts? Work at the mine with the rest of us?”
“Hopefully not.” I immediately regret saying that, thinking I pissed off Ted. But he just laughs.
“Don’t blame you.”
I really have no idea what I want to do as a career. I guess I never thought I’d be on earth long enough to have to come up with one. Just then in walks Trey Boxer, aka Psych. He carries his own bowling ball in a bag at his side.
I want to sink into the chair and disappear. But I’m with my dad. And Psych isn’t with the other two members of the Ass Trio. So we’re evenly matched.
He sees me, glares, and mouths “Fuck you” before smiling and loudly saying, “Charlie, I didn’t know you bowled.” His voice is friendly and upbeat. His acting is pissing me off. But he wants the other guys to think he’s something he isn’t—a decent person.
“I don’t.” I have nothing else to say to him.
He whispers “Watch your ass” as he walks over to his own lane and puts his ball into the ball-return. What a weird thing to say, but I pretend like I don’t hear him.
I watch him get a strike on his first roll. Followed by another one. And another one. And holy shit, Psych is a good bowler and not just an asshole. Though, he’s still mostly an asshole. We’re the only two people down on the lanes—minus the other guys who are coming and going as they bowl.
“Charlie,” he says after his third strike. “You know why I bowl so well?”
I shake my head.
“I picture your face on every one of the pins.” He laughs.
I stand up to bowl. “You’re an asshole.”
“Oh, don’t get your lady panties in a bunch.”
I shake my head and focus on the pins in front of me. I try picturing Psych’s face on the pins, but it doesn’t work. I roll a gutter ball. I hear Psych laughing in the background. Some of the guys say, “Don’t worry, Charlie.” Or, “You’ll get ’em, Charlie.”
I focus again—Psych’s face on the pins. I throw the ball and get all the pins. “Strike!” I yell.
“It’s a spare, you idiot,” says Psych.
My dad isn’t even around. Didn’t even see what I did.
When Psych’s up next, he passes me and says, “This time I’ll picture your boyfriend’s face on the pins.”
He stands facing the pins, his bowling ball in hand. Anger has built in my chest, and as he starts to swing, I run up to him and push him from behind. The ball flies off his fingers and slams into the lane before rolling right into the gutter. Psych falls to the floor and slides. But he’s not hurt. Damn. I fucked up his game, though, which counts as a win to me.
Before I know it, Psych is up and trying to punch my stomach. I’m holding on to him so he can’t pull his arm back enough to do real damage. The adults run over and separate us.
“Charlie,” says my dad, taking hold of my shoulders. “What the hell is going on?”
Psych’s dad is asking the same thing of his son.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Psych says the same thing.
“Apologize to Trey,” says my dad. “For pushing him.”
I look at Psych. He mouths “Fuck you” again. I shake my head.
“Charlie,” says my dad more sternly.
“No.”
“Okay, come on,” says my dad as he pulls me by the arm. “I think you’ve had enough bowling.”
I gotta get out of here. Everything seems too surreal. He pulls me to the hallway near the bathroom and says, “What has gotten into you?”
“He’s a dick, Dad. Psych—Trey—is a bully.”
“Oh, come on now, Charlie. You’re being dramatic. Besides, you shoved him.”
“Yeah, and he deserves worse.”
“I think you’d better go home.”
“Fine. I never wanted to go bowling anyway. It’s stupid.”
My dad sighs. “And no UFOs tonight. Promise me.”
I stand there.
“Don’t test me right now, Son.”
“Fine.”
“You’d better be home when I get there.”
“Yeah? And when will that be?” I don’t say that. I want to, but he’s already heading back to the guys and Psych is smirking at me, and this whole night is stupid.
I’m heading home like I promised my dad. But nothing was said about not taking my sweet time and walking the slowest, longest path possible, all the while occasionally looking up into the Great Beyond.
I’m still pissed about Psych. I really wish I could’ve beaten the shit out of him. Though, I probably would’ve lost.
But I’m also pissed at my dad. He brushed it all off—and worse, made me feel like it was all my fault. Was it? Was I the one in the wrong?
This is one of those nights when my heart feels empty but my chest feels heavy and the world feels upside down. This is one of those nights when I’d like aliens to come save me.