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The Meadows Park Family Fun & Bowling Center sat on the edge of the Meadows of Sage Creek neighborhood. In its time, the space had been a hardware store, a garden center and an empty building. Now it was the main attraction in a strip mall of empty storefronts and a breakfast diner that wasn’t smart enough to be open late on league night.
After shaking the doors to make sure that the diner was closed, the three men gave up their hopes of pancakes and began the walk home. A block into the stroll, they came to the top of the one hill in the neighborhood.
“Have I told you that I don’t like walking, John?”
“With every step, Chris.”
“Next time we’re taking separate cars.”
“This is total crap. I’m fine to drive. If not for that cop ...”
“If not for that cop we would have been beaten up by thirty-year-old frat boys.”
“We could have taken them,” said Erik.
Chris and John looked at the third member of their team but refused to acknowledge him.
“Fine, but wasn’t that the point of bowling? If we were going to have to hang out together because Austin is a prick, shouldn’t we be able to drink while we’re doing it? Besides, I’m not as drunk as that guy.” John pointed midway down the hill. A lone pedestrian lumbered from side to side along the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill.
Chris looked across the street. “You’re right, would you look at that guy.”
The walker’s destination was obviously the top of the hill but the grade was proving too much for his condition. He’d build up a good staggering momentum, move up the hill and fall over backwards. After rolling to a stop, he moaned in frustration and stood back up on legs that looked slow to comply. Once standing, the man tried again and fell again. His moans grew louder.
“Holy crap. Do you think we should help him?” Erik asked.
“No.”
“Not at all.”
“I think he’ll be fine.”
“He didn’t fall that far.”
“He rolled with it.”
“Yeah, you’re okay if you roll with it.”
“See? He’s getting back up.”
“He’ll be fine.”
Erik threw up his hands. “That’s what I thought.”
Continuing down the hill, the three men cast the occasional glance at the frustrated walker. Their looks were quick and infrequent fearing that the drunk would make eye contact and ask for help.
Erik stared a little too long. The drunk noticed and turned towards him. “It looks like Mr. Howard.”
John raised an eyebrow at Erik. “Mr. Howard?”
“Yes.”
“The widow Mrs. Howard’s dead husband Mr. Howard?”
“I didn’t say it was him. I said it looked like him.”
The drunk moaned, stepped into the street and began to cross.
John snapped his fingers. “Let’s step it up boys. I don’t know where he’s going but I’m sure there’s an angry wife waiting for him and I don’t want to be any part of the fight he’s got coming.”
The three men reached the bottom of the hill and turned right. The guy that looked like Mr. Howard stumbled slowly after them but was quickly left behind. Soon all they could hear was a distant moan.
“He sounded hurt,” Erik said as the moan faded.
“He sounded drunk,” Chris said. “A few more rounds and John would be making the same noises. You’ll see next week when we lose our asses at bowling again.”
John did moan. “I don’t want to go back. Bowling sucks. I just know that I’m going to hurt tomorrow.”
“From bowling? How out of shape are you?” Erik asked.
“You don’t understand, Erik, because you’re stupid. But, there are hundreds of muscles in the human body. Sixty-four of them are used only for bowling. They serve no other purpose. You could be a professional runner and one night of bowling would cripple you. This time tomorrow, we’ll hardly be able to walk.”
“That’s fine by me because I hate walking. Did I mention I hate walking, John?”
“With every step, Chris. It’s like your mouth is directly connected to the little bitch you keep inside of you.”
“I hate you, John.”
“I hate you too, man.”
Dumb White Husbands vs. Zombies: Monday Page 3
