Keeping the wrist straight!

Rock'n'Bowl - Lanes


Sixteen synthetic wooden polyurethane lanes take up the entire area down here. The lanes are 41.5 inches wide and 60 feet long, bordered along their length by the gutters which are designed to collect errant balls. There are rails on the far side of all the gutters, so that the balls don't slide up into another lane. Ten pins have been set up automatically by a machine, four rows forming an equilateral triangle, each pin being about twelve inches away from the others.
Approximately eight feet behind the foul line is a ball return, though the actual mechanism is hidden beneath the floor, just popping balls up onto a little carousel where they can then be picked up and used again. Eight feet beyond that is a computerized dual-scoring system that automatically enters the score and displays it on a screen up above each of lanes. There are four chairs for each lane, a fifth in front of the scorer, in case the information needs to be input manually. A large sign states that at no times must outside footwear be worn down in this area.


~

What better way to kick back and relax than to spend part of the evening at the bowling alley, playing a game or three?
While there isn't a wait for the lanes, the house is doing good business for a Thursday evening. Couples, small groups; league night is Tuesday and Friday, so it's 'all come', and they are. There are even a few groups of teenagers clustered around the end lanes, talking loudly, even over the sound of the music over the intercoms. The music is a mix of classic rock with the occasional 'current' rock song tossed into the mix.
Brett Coleman is set up on one of the far lanes, blue bowling bag stowed away under the seat of his score-keeping spot. He's currently in the middle of a turn, walking away after the throw, his back turned to the lanes, annoyed. Twisting around, he casts blue eyes up to look at the automatic scoring machine, his lips pressed together in a line.
As the blue marbled ball rises up from the depths of the alley, he grabs a cup that looks to have soda, and takes a couple swallows from it before putting it down again.

~

Peter walks into the bowling alley looking like he's not unfamiliar with the place, but he also has the look of someone who doesn't really make it a habit to come here altogether that much. An occasional visitor. He looks around himself with wide eyes, taking in everything, every change that had been made since he was last here. It's not much, at least. The familiarity is comforting. After paying his fee and getting his shoes, he walks over to a nearby bench, nearby to Brett, to change shoes silently.

~

Grabbing the blue and red towel that sits on the table next to his soda, he reaches for his ball again and wipes it down before getting ready for the last half of the frame. Stepping up to the line, Brett brings the ball up, and with a swing back, approaches the line, straight-arming, and the ball is released with a hop and a swing-back of his leg to counterbalance.
A spare!
The ball hits the small cluster of pins off to the right, clearing the lane.
A smile comes to the young man's face as he turns his back again to the back of the lanes and strolls back up to the seats.
"Hey." Always nice to at least acknowledge the players that could be playing in the lane beside him. Bowlers' courtesy and all. "Boards are fast tonight. Must have rewaxed them." He grins, "Fair warning."

~

Peter suddenly looks up. Is someone talking to him…? It's unusual, certainly, that anyone goes out of their way to actually approach Peter, but there is someone who has spoken to him. He notices none other around him. And he clears his throat as he looks upon Brett, heart thumping a bit faster, breath coming a bit quicker. "Oh, uh…thanks." He's a little shy, but he does offer a soft and small smile in gratitude.

~

"Welcome. It'll change your game a little," Brett's gaze flickers to the fact the man has lane shoes, and there is the thought that the warning might very well have been in vain, but who knows? Brett sports a pair of bowling 'sneakers'. "Spinning the ball to get into the corners won't be as effective unless you slow down your twist."
Taking his soda in hand again, he takes another swallow before shaking the glass, the sound of ice against paper cup declaring that the liquid is all but gone. "Ah well.." he mutters, "next frame." He'll get his refill then.
The cup is replaced, and stepping up to the deck, he reaches for his ball, and taking it in hand, moves to the throwing line. Once again, the form is played through. Steps are taken up, the ball is thrown straight, his leg coming back to counterbalance. With a *thump*, the ball hits the wood and begins its slide and roll down.
Leaning a little to the left in silent request that the ball does the same, he's just an inch or so off from his strike.. and comes back with that small cluster in the left.
"Gah…"

~

Peter doesn't really know all that much about bowling, in all honesty. He comes to the lanes every so often, when he has a little money to spend and a little time to waste. It's not altogether all that often, but it's just enough for a momentary dalliance, every now and then. He hops to his feet and turns in his outside shoes at the counter, returning to select a lane. Well, the one beside the friendly guy is open! So why not? He sits down at the scoring panel and tries to remember how to do this.

~

Brett allows the other man to get himself together, and waits for the ball return. He could easily spend his evenings doing this; unless, of course, he had better things to do. That, however, didn't happen often. Most of it was his own fault, of course. Only reason, for example, that he's not out with someone tonight is because he didn't call. From the outside, it could sound vain. In his book, it was simply a fact of life. Neither he nor his brother usually had 'no' thrown at them after asking someone out.
Once the ball returns, Brett grabs it, towels it down, and stuffs the towel into a back pocket, and everything is repeated; he picks up the spare.
All told, he's at the end of his game. While he's not -really- close to a perfect game, he's got a respectable score, or could have, once a couple more frames are completed.

~

Peter looks over to Brett's score panel and seems to remember more. He smiles and uses the grease pencil, then gets to his feet to select a ball, finally going with a bright red one, somewhere in-between large and small. He looks pleased, and he makes sure the pins are set up before bowling his first. He doesn't get a strike, but it'll be easy for him to get a spare.

~

"Hey.. I'll be right back," the tacit request to make sure no one touches his stuff is made. "Just gonna grab another soda."
Pulling his towel out, Brett wipes his hands down again and tosses the towel onto the bag on the floor.

~

"Oh…sure." Peter waves to Brett and then puts a hand to his chest once the man is gone. What on *earth* is causing this? It's not like he's hot for Brett! Or at least, he's pretty sure he's not. Is he? It's so annoying. He can't tell why, but he finds Brett exciting, for some reason. Maybe he looks like an action star.

~

Once Brett's given a response, he heads off in the direction of the refreshment stand. Sort of an odd sort, the other man is, and he shakes his head slightly as he walks away. Not as if Brett was going to sprout teeth and bite him, or conversely, hit on him? Just some friendly banter—
Ah well.
At the food stand, his request is filled rather quickly, and grabbing a couple of napkins, makes his way back to the lanes. He lifts his gaze to the scoreboard and frows, his brow creasing. He can pick up at least a 250 if he strikes out the last three frames. If not, he's in for another game until he breaks it.
"Thanks," he says, stepping back into range of the lanes. "'Preciate it."

~

"No problem!" Peter has used the time to calm himself a bit, which helped. He's a bit more centred now, a bit more with a stronger foundation. "Sorry about before…I'm just not used to people really talking to me, most of the time." Especially too early in the evening. "Usually I come in and leave and nobody notices much."

~

"Yeah.. but, if you don't mind me saying, you sound like you're not from around here?" says the native born son, his accent stating that Texas is, indeed, his land of birth. "We're a friendly lot around here, even in the cities." Brett shrugs offhandedly, and grins, "I can leave you alone, if you want. No harm, no foul."
Taking a couple swallows from his new soda, he places it down and takes the couple of steps up to the ball return where his ball sits. Grabbing it up, he cradles it as he sets his fingers in the holes. "Shy's one thing. Wanting to disappear into the floor is something completely different."

~

"No, it's not that…yeah. I'm from the Northeast." Peter doesn't have a particularly huge accent, but it's clear that he indeed is not from around the area. Or even from the region. "I guess you're right. No, it's okay! I mean…it's nice to have someone here to talk to. If you don't mind." He neglects to mention the whole 'you excite me in mysterious ways', since that's not really a suitable introductory topic.

~

"Nah.. I don't mind."
Brett makes his way down to the line, and takes aim.. and throws the ball. As it rolls down the lane, he leans.. and there it is! Strike!
Yes!
Turning back around to walk back, he looks pleased. "City's a big place. You just move down?" That is followed up with, "How do you like it?" as he takes his soda again. "Probably really different."

~

Peter claps his hands politely, though enthusiastically, when Brett makes a strike. He then takes his spare and does a nice job with it. Although he doesn't come to the alley too often, he comes often enough to have generally pretty good form with what he does. He sits down and records his score, then looks up to listen to Brett.
"Oh, uh…well, to be honest, I hated it at first. I'm getting used to it." He smiles a little less, hopeful still but not blithe.

~

"Nice spare."
Rather than acknowledging his strike, Brett's noticed the other man's success. It's what he does day in and day out, however, in the classroom, so it's second nature. That, and well, his parents raised him 'right'.
"There's a lot to get used to," he admits. "Like, everyone has a truck. Even in the city. And—" Brett points down at the other man's feet. "If you haven't already, you have to buy a pair of cowboy boots."

~

Peter makes a sour sort of face. "I…I don't think so." He doesn't add that he thinks they look stupid, but then maybe that's a reasonable assumption. But he soon punctuates it with a soft little chuckle. "Thanks. Um…nice strike, too! You're a lot better than I'll ever be."

~

"Thanks." Brett shakes his head, a half-smile coming to his face. "Nah.. like anything, it's practice. Concentration. 'Course, my brother doesn't see it that way. It's just tossing a ball when he'd rather toss back a beer."
Taking up the ball when it gets returned, he cradles it, setting his fingers into the holes again as he prepares. "As I tell my kids, it's a matter of priorities. If you think it's important, you apply yourself. If not, eh.. you're not going to progress. You just have to decide if it's something you want to dally at or want to get good. See.. I'm a little.. OCD, I guess. If I do something, I want to do it well. At least to be somewhat competetive."
That said, he goes to the line and gets ready for the second throw. His arm is pulled back, and the release happens.. a straight line right to the 'sweet spot', and there's the second strike.
Yes! Looks like he may break his 250, which means he'll have achieved his goal for the evening.

~

"I don't really care about it that much!" Peter laughs, shaking his head. "I'm sorry…I don't mean to belittle it or anything." His tones are so sweet and soft, as if he worries that everything he says might offend unintentionally. "I just come here to kind of tune out my mind and relax, when I can."

~

"Nah.. no harm."
Brett steps backwards to get at his soda again. He's still working his way around the other man; the vibes are.. off, somehow. Odd? Nothing greepy like a vampire's presence, but.. Nothing he'll worry about, however. As if the older Coleman worries about much?
"Understandable. For something like that, I usually take a walk in the park out in Oak Cliff. Really nice section of town. Walk around at night, no one bothers you." He chuckles soon after, "You know.. that's like a fisherman telling a person the best spots. If I don't stop that, the park will have way too much traffic…"

~

"That sounds nice!" Peter perks up at the suggestion, nodding his head and smiling a little brighter to Brett. He gets to his feet and picks his ball up from the return. "Though…wasn't there something going on recently about some kind of…big dog or something in the parks? I heard something…I don't really watch the news, but…"

~

"Yeah.. but there's also crime in the city. Muggings and stuff. Allow that to keep you indoors and you're screwed, to put it nicely." Brett grins in an after thought. "Or, you take a lovely lady with you. Safety in numbers, and all that." Twisting around somewhat theatrically, his brows raise and his head ducks slightly, "Whom you can meet in places like the Rock 'n' Bowl."

~

Peter clears his throat a little bit and just goes to bowl. He gets a strike! After that success he walks with a spring in his step and seems to have forgotten the awkwardness of the previous exchange, writing it down on his score panel. He doesn't get cocky though; it's just luck.

~

"Nice job. You hit the sweet spot," Brett grins. "Now do that again for the next eight frames, and you'll have beat me out."
Taking up his own ball, Brett heads to the line now that his neighbor has finished throwing and is back. The throw is made and he's just off the 'spot', and the pins crash, leaving only two standing, with no room for the spare, thanks to the fact that it's his last frame.
"Ahhhh—" There's a curse under there waiting to come out, but he holds it back. "Ah well.."
Brett walks back from the line and sits down in the seat behind the scorer finally. "Still beat my own score. I'm good with that."

~

Peter quietly laughs at the praise, shaking his head. "I doubt I'll be able to do that!" He sets the pencil down and then stretches a little bit, examining the rest of the score sheet and then glancing over at Brett's. "Oh well, you did really great! Probably better than anybody else here, that's for sure. You're a real ringer!"

~

"Me? Nah."
Brett pulls out his bowling bag from under the seat. The first thing he does is take off his bowling shoes and puts them into a zippered area just for shoes and pulls out his red high-tops. "You can do it." He nods over to the lane. "Just do what you did before. Line up straight, don't hook your wrist.. that is, try and keep your wrist straight."

~

Peter extends his arm before him and looks at his wrist. He gets to his feet, nodding slowly, trying to remember the words, remember the advice, and he picks up his ball. "Okay…okay, I'll try it!" He steps up to the lane and glances over his shoulder, as if waiting to be told if he's doing it right or terribly wrong.

~

Brett Coleman, bowling instructor? Sure, why not.
"Okay." He leans over to pull on one of his canvas sneakers. "Now, swing the arm back, take a practice swing but don't let go. Feel your wrist stay straight. Then, pull back again and let the ball fall off your fingers, keeping that wrist locked straight. Of course, aim.."

~

Peter nods his head and then looks back before him. The pins…his targets. He draws back his arm, then swings it forward but fortunately does not let go! It's a learning experience for him. He stops himself and thinks back. Did he do that? Did he keep his wrist all right? It feels like it…

~

"There you go. Feel that? Now, pull up your arm, aim, keep your eyes on the pins in front of you. Make your approach, keeping your arm straight in the swing forward, and keep your wrist straight.. and you should do fine. Agai, it's all practice." Brett pulls on his second sneaker and starts tying the long white laces.

~

"Okay!" Peter smiles again and looks intently at the pins in front of him. His heart pounds in his chest. He's nervous, although nothing rides on this game. He wants to learn it. He wants this to be good. Shifting into movement, he pulls his arm back, then he pitches the ball onto the lane, giving it a little spin. It slides down the lane and takes out all of the pins…but one.

~

Nodding in approval, Brett follows it up with, "Nice job. Pick up the spare, and do it again." Stomping his feet to set the sneakers right, he stands up to gather up his ball to pack it away. "A game of spares will still give you a good score."

~

Peter grins and claps his hands, bouncing a little bit as he springs down to the ball return. "Thanks so much! You're really nice…maybe sometime I'll see you here again? Maybe we can bowl a game together."

~

"Sure. Sounds great."
Standing up, Brett pulls the bag up to the seat and zips it shut. Extending a hand, he offers, "Brett Coleman. A pleasure."

~

Peter reaches out to shake Brett's hand, looking more pleasant now. Touching skin! Goodness! But that's controllable since they've been around each other for a little while. For now, at least. Poor Peter will have to face up to some odd feelings later. "I'm Peter. Peter Frost."

~

Brett retrieves his hand after the introduction. "Good luck with your game. Keep your wrist straight." Picking up his bag, he takes a step back before turning, "You'll get it."
Once again, Brett turns back around and begins to make his way towards the foyer, and soon out into the Dallas night.

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