“Never change, okay?” Shaking her head with a laugh, Meg stabs a piece of lettuce. “So last night I was bored and decided to go for a drive to look at the Christmas lights in our neighborhood.”
“Awe. I used to do that with my mom and dad when I was little.”
“Me too!”
We’re basically the same person and I love that for us.
She shoves the lettuce into her mouth, too excited by whatever she’s about to say to chew before speaking—which makes me love her even more. What are manners between friends?
“Anyway, while I was out, I discovered this place that serves one-dollar beers every Wednesday night.”
“You’re kidding!” Usually, our Wednesdays are reserved for boxed wine, but that stuff can leave you with the worst hangover. Not that I can see beer that only costs a dollar being any better in that regard, but I’m willing to give it a go.
“Nope! What do you say? Should I swing by your place tonight so we can check it out?”
I take a bite of my sandwich, but I was a bit heavy handed with the peanut butter and the damn thing sticks to the roof of my mouth. My tongue can’t seem to dislodge it, so I have touse my finger. Gross. I really need to start packing something different.
“Is that even a question? Of course I want to go.” It’ll be nice to go somewhere besides one of our apartments so I can pretend to have a social life.
“Yay! I’m so excited!” Her face falls. “There is one tiny thing though…”
Turns out the “tiny thing” is that the place selling one-dollar beer is a bowling alley with faded white siding and a flashing neon sign of a ball and pins clinging for dear life to the grimy windows.
The trees surrounding the building lean over the tin roof like a silent threat. Definitely not somewhere you want to hunker down during a storm.
Thankfully, it’s not storming tonight as Meg and I rock up in her car and park between two old trucks that are more rust than metal. The inside smells like nicotine and sweat, and the sounds of heavy balls slamming onto wooden floors and pins being knocked over fill the air.
Most of the patrons look like they’ve been here since the place was opened—which was sixty years ago in 2020 according to the faded banner hanging over the shoe rental counter.
A man with an unlit cigarette pinched between his lips moseys over, a spray can in one hand and a rag in the other. According to the name tag pinned to his striped button-down, his name is Dave. “Evening, ladies. You here for a game?”
Meg’s glossy blonde locks sway when she shakes her head. “Not tonight. We’re actually here for the one-dollar beers.”
Speaking of beers, where is the bar? There’s a little hut over by the two empty pool tables that has a menu taped to the side but no bar stools or tables as far as I can tell.
The man sets the can on the counter, his cigarette wobbling as he speaks through the right side of his mouth. “I’m afraid the Wednesday special is only for bowlers.”
Meg turns to me, a sparkle in her blue eyes and a smirk on her lips. “What do you say? Are we bowlers tonight?”
That depends on one very important factor. “How much is a game?”
Dave’s cheeks hollow before he blows out a heavy breath. “Five dollars per game per lane.”
Even if we stayed for a few hours that would still be cheaper than anywhere else we’ve ever gone drinking.
“Does that include shoes?” Meg asks with a bat of her thick lashes.
Dave smiles, revealing a whole mouthful of brown teeth. “It does tonight.”
Looks like we’re bowling.
We pay for our game and then take our hideous red and navy clown shoes over to lane ten and plop onto the hard plastic chairs bolted to the ground.
Meg unties her heeled booties while I toe off my sneakers. Good thing I wore matching socks. Not that Meg would judge me anyway.
“When was the last time you went bowling?” I wonder aloud.
“Never.”
