Bowling Alley Bullies

Why the hell did I major in English? What was I thinking? But that's just it; I wasn't thinking at all. Reading, to me, is an escape so why not major in English? That tracks. I'll read books for four years and breeze through college. And then what? What job would await me? How would I support myself? College was fun. College is over. I was an idiot. And now I'm paying the price.

I guess what I thought was that one day I'd become a successfully published author. The first step in that process is to write a book, then spend forever editing it, find an agent who will secure a publishing deal... I'd have a better chance of being struck by lightning. But it all starts with writing a compelling novel and the writing process pays no money. I tried to not move back home. I tried to make it on my own. Graduation was eight months ago. Three of us rented an apartment in the city and we were living life as adults. I couldn't find more than a part-time job and within six months, I was out of money. Two months ago I had no choice but to move back in with my parents. I'm not just an idiot but a loser too.

Well, that's how I feel, anyway. In truth, my parents don't mind. I'm an only child and they don't hate having me home. Would they be happier if I were to be close to home rather than in their home every day? Maybe. If I'm not out supporting myself by the time I'm thirty, then I really will be a loser.

My parents are all I have in this town. When I went to college, I went out of state. None of my college friends live here. And I only had two friends in high school. They both went away to college too. The difference is that they didn't major in English. They weren't idiots. They found real careers in real fields related to their real interests. Neither of them had to move back home with mommy and daddy.

So, I spend my time reading and writing. Or contemplating writing. Tricking myself into thinking I'm writing. Really, I'm just reading. And I have a part-time job at the bowling alley. It's not some huge state-of-the-art facility; it's a small town, privately owned bowling alley. But they pay me money so twenty-five hours a week I stand behind the counter, work the cash register and ask people what size shoe they wear. All shift long I trade gross worn and tattered rented shoes for gross worn and tattered street shoes. Street shoes that are warm, damp and smelly right off of nasty stinking feet.

Even at our slowest times, there are always at least three of us working; one at the counter, one for concessions and one for maintenance, but tonight it's just me. A huge snow storm has crippled the town. Eighteen inches of snow and the roads are deserted. I was the only one who made it in for my shift tonight. My parent's house is only one block away from the bowling alley, so I slipped into my Columbia Snow Boots (the same pair I wore in high school) and trudged my way into work. Everyone else on tonight's shift lives too far to walk and the roads are impassable.

My boss had called and told me to walk over and open the place up. He said I'd probably have no customers and would just be able to sit and read all night - fine with me - then lock up and go home. If I did get a few customers by some miracle then maybe I'd ring up enough in sales to pay for my shift. He's warm at home and probably bingeing

Farmer Wants a Wife

or some shit. Whatever. I survived the short walk and now I get paid to read. Finally. My dream job!

I brought my backpack with me. There's not much in it; two paperback novels and my Nike high tops. Once I flip on all the lights and power on the lanes, my work is done. I pull a book out of my backpack, slouch in the chair and start to read. After some time I check my phone. It's eight o'clock. Closing time on a weeknight is midnight. I've read for two hours already and I have four more to go.

I realize that my feet are burning hot and my high tops are still in my backpack. My warm thermal snow boots are still on and I am now scorched and sweaty. I rise from my chair to remedy the situation when I am stopped by the sight of headlights tuning into our unplowed parking lot. The headlights belong to an obnoxiously huge pickup truck fitted with gigantic snow tires that are taller than most cars. Am I really about to have customers? In this ridiculous weather?

The truck parks itself, the lights go off and three guys tumble out into the drifting snow. They bulldoze their way the short distance to the door and spill inside. They stomp their feet, clap their hands and pull off their hats.

Oh shit. I recognize them. From high school. Two of these guys were punks back when we were sixteen and just by looking at their faces, I can tell that despite being twenty-two, nothing has changed. They're still punks. Assholes, bullies, jerks... I pretty well avoided them in high school. I was lucky to stay off their radar. My best hope right now is that they don't remember or recognize me. Or even better, at the age of twenty-two, they've matured and aren't the asshole bullies they still look to be. Well, two of them look like assholes. The third guy looks...

For a minute, that's the case. Or at least it seems to be as they laugh and shove each other around. Their names are Trey, Cal and Nico. In high school, Trey had always been their leader. He was always the biggest, the loudest, the ugliest and the meanest. I can already tell he's still the biggest and the ugliest. He's probably put on twenty pounds since high school but they're not good pounds; they're beer-drinking pounds of unattractive flab. His perpetually red cheeks are fuller and on a rounder face than they used to be. Cal is the middle everything of the three. Middle in height, weight and assholeness. He's basically Trey's Yes Man. And then there's Nico...

Nico is the smallest of the three. He's also the group's conscience. I never understood why he was (or apparently still is) friends with these douchebags. Maybe Trey and Cal hold something over him, like blackmail. Maybe one of them is his cousin and he's obligated through family to keep them from getting into too much trouble. Anyway, compared to those two morons, he almost seems like a nice guy. He has blond hair and blue eyes. Through four years of high school I'd catch myself staring at Nico whenever he was around. It was involuntary. I couldn't explain it, my eyes would just be drawn to him and I'd be transfixed by his every movement. And whenever he would look at me I would force myself to look away.

Senior year of high school Nico and I were in the same U.S. History class. He sat one row behind me and to my left. One day I innocently turned his way and it was just at the moment that he was leaning back stretching with raised arms. His t-shirt had ridden up to his ribcage and I had a good three-second view of the full expanse of his smooth lean stomach, bullseyed with a shallow concave belly button, the sight of which made me stop breathing. I again quickly looked away. Was it just lucky timing on my part or did he plan that little show just for me? Either way the image was burned in my brain and I never forgot it. I've conjured it up on numerous occasions since then, especially late at night alone in bed with a box of tissues on the nightstand. And while I never determined his intent, my response was crystal clear. Right there in History class, I popped a raging boner.

They all shed their coats and plod their way toward the counter. Toward me. I can see that Nico too has added a few pounds in these last four years, but unlike Trey, his are from time in the gym, not time on the couch. He used to be a boy and now he's a man. He might be the smallest of the trio but he has some nice musculature going on under that tight-fitting t-shirt. His every move has me mesmerized.

My hopes of anonymity are quickly dashed when Cal grins and points at me in recognition. He says, "Dude, that's... Wait. Who is he?"

The thing about me is that no matter how forgettable my personality may be, my appearance is just the opposite. As the only redheaded kid in four years of high school, I stood out.

Trey grins his ugly grin, "I know this little guy. He's... Corey, right?"

Nico clears his throat, "His name is Cody."

My shock of red hair and pale freckled face are hard to forget but Nico also remembers my name. I don't think he and I have ever had a conversation at any point in time, but all these years later he doesn't just vaguely recognize me...he knows who I am. This realization on top of the sound of Nico's voice saying my name has caused a rousing stir in my crotch.

Trey says, "Whatever." He looks around the empty building, "I'm starving."

I say, "Unfortunately the concession stand is closed."

He eyes me, "But you guys are open."

"I'm the only one who made it in."

Trey's eyes widen.

"We've got bowling and air hockey."

Cal says, "I had my heart set on some nachos. You work here, right? I think the mass crowds at the desk here will understand if you take a minute and switch stations."

I sigh, "I've only worked here for two months. I'm not trained in preparing food and drink and I'm not certified to serve. The most I could do is ring up boxed candy and bottles of water and soda."

Trey hooks his arm around his friend, "Cal here had his heart set on nachos and beer. How hard can that be? Isn't the customer always right?"

"The taps aren't even connected. I seriously don't know how to work any of the equipment over there."

They seem like they've already had a few beers. The two of them anyway. Cal says, "I'm sure we can figure it out."

They take a step that way, but Nico stops them. "Guys, we don't want Cody to get in trouble and lose his job, right? Let's just bowl a few games and be on our way. You can have more beer later."

Trey scoffs, "Says the designated driver. What do you care? You weren't drinking anyway."

I get the impression that Nico is the designated driver every time the three of them get together. Maybe that explains why all these years later, he's still hanging out with them. It's not because he actually likes them. He's performing a civic duty. He's protecting the residents of the town from drunken assholes. That's what I'll choose to think anyway.

"Go grab some Cokes and candy," says Nico. "I'll buy us a few games."

The two goons shuffle away and for the first time, Nico's eyes meet mine. They are as blue as they were four years ago. He looks away first. He points to my open book on the counter. I'm reading

Anxious People

.

He says, "I loved that book. I read it two years ago. Have you read

A Man Called Ove

yet?"

I'm in complete shock. I always figured that by association, Nico was as dumb and ignorant as his friends. Undeniably cute and less of an asshole, but still dumb. I was wrong.

I beam at him, "It's in my top ten favorites of all time."

Trey and Cal bark out a laugh from about twenty feet away. Apparently something about boxes of Junior Mints and Snowcaps is funny.

Nico flashes a credit card, "I guess I'll take one lane, nine games, three shoe rentals and a couple sodas and candies."

I begin to work the register, "No snack for you?"

He shakes his head, "I'm not a teenager anymore. That shit would go right here," he pinches his fingers where love handles would be if he had any fat on his body at all. He looks me in the eyes again and this time I'm the one who looks away first.

I finish the transaction on the register and ask, "What size are you?"

He cocks an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

I blush, "Shoes."

"Oh, right." He pockets his credit card, "I'll take an 11."

The Neanderthals are back and I ask Trey, "What size shoe do you wear?"

"What the fuck do you care? Do you have a foot fetish or something? Are you some kind of faggot?"

Nico is about to jump in but Cal gets there first. "Dude, we're at a bowling alley. Look down."

He does and it registers that they're all in snow boots. He looks up at me, "Sorry Corey. I'm a 13."

Cal scoffs, "It's Kenny, not Corey. And I'll take a 12."

As I grab all three pairs I hear Nico again inform them that my name is Cody. Trey says, "Whatever. And I'm not giving you my shoes." He turns to Cal, "While we're bowling he'd be sneaking whiffs and jacking off in them or something."

Nico shakes his head.

Cal laughs and turns to me, "Even if you do like feet, Trey's would cure you of that particular affliction. They smell like a goat's anus."

Even Nico laughs at that one. "True story," he says.

"I'm gonna trust you guys," I say. "Keep your shoes with you."

They each take their respective pairs and are about to head to their lane when Trey asks me, "Is that natural or do you dye it?" He points at my hair.

Before I can answer, Cal says, "It's natural."

"How would you know?"

"Because he has green eyes, duh."

Trey says, "It could be hair dye and colored contacts."

I almost laugh. I hate the way I look. If I altered my look, why would I ever choose this?

"What about his freckles," Cal asks. "Do you think those are fake too?"

"And you're so pale. How are you so white?"

Nico says, "Trey, it's January. What do you expect?"

"I'm just getting to know our new friend here. If he dyes his hair, wears contacts, paints on his freckles and has a foot fetish, that's all fine with me. Good for him."

I blush. Hoping to avoid having to prove anything, I say, "It's all natural. All of it. My skin doesn't tan, it only burns. I wear sunscreen 9 months of the year."

Trey grunts. As they turn and walk to their lane, Nico sneaks me an apologetic half smile and my dick returns a half salute.

For the next 30 minutes the three of them bowl their first game as I read my book. Then a shadow crosses my page. I look up and Trey and Cal are looking down on me. Trey says, "We're bored. We want to play with you."

"Umm..."

Nico appears from behind them, "What he means is he wants you to bowl with us. He wants to even us up and make it two teams of two."

Trey smiles, "Sure. In a minute. But first, I still can't stop thinking about whether or not you were lying to us."

I place my book face down on the counter. "Lying about what?"

"You," he says. "You said it's all natural. I want to see for myself."

They move quickly around the counter and I have the ridiculously irrational thought that only employees are allowed back here. Cal moves behind me, lifts me out of the chair and holds my arm behind my back. Trey is in front of me and he grabs a fistful of my hoodie. My heart is pounding. I've never been beat up before and suddenly I'm terrified. Where is Nico? He's been the voice of reason tonight. And there he is. He says, "Trey, you don't have to do this. Leave him alone. He's just doing his job."

"Of course I don't have to, I want to."

I close my eyes and wonder if the first punch will land on my jaw or in the stomach. But that's not what happens. He unzips my sweatshirt and finds I'm wearing a t-shirt under it. He grabs my t-shirt and yanks it up to my armpits. For a moment, all three of them stare at my chest and stomach. I don't work out. I should, but I don't. I'm skinny, but soft and vulnerable at the same time.

It's Cal who speaks first, "See, I told you it's natural. There's all the proof you need." He points and I realize he's indicating the treasure trail of short red hair that begins at my navel and disappears beneath the waistband of my jeans. "He couldn't dye that," Cal insists.

Trey seems to be in a trance. He's still staring. Cal adds, "His stomach is even whiter than his face. I guess that's because there are no freckles down there."

I look to Nico for some help here, but he's staring too. And he's had a way longer look than I had of him in History class all those years ago. All the staring is making my crotch stir again. Hopefully not so much that they notice.

Cal is the only one who's spoken in the last few minutes. To fill the silence he adds, "It's like porcelain or something. You know? So white. And smooth. I bet at the beach all the girls are jealous."

That makes me even harder and I'm filling my jeans quickly. It also makes me blush again and Trey and Nico seem to snap out of their daze. Nico says, "Let's get back to bowling."

Trey pulls my shirt back down and looks up to my green eyes, "We need our fourth."

I shake my head, "I'm on duty."

He looks around the empty building, "Who's gonna know?"

"I'm no good."

"Great!" he grins. "You'll be on Nico's team!"

Nico says, "If Cody doesn't want to—"

Trey points at him, "No! He let us down already with the food and the beer. We are paying customers. What we want, we get. We want him to play." He looks down at my feet. "But he can't bowl in those. What size shoe are you?"

I completely forgot that I was going to change from my boots to my high tops like an hour ago right when these guys pulled up. I've now been wearing these thermal snow boots for four hours and I'm once again aware that my feet are burning hot. A small part of me believes that if I don't tell him my shoe size then this won't happen. I say nothing. He can see the resolve in my eyes. I can see in his eyes that he takes this as a challenge.

He says, "If you won't tell me then there's only one way to find out." He nods at Cal who grabs my arms again and the two of them wrestle me to the floor. I don't put up too much of a fight - what would be the point? Any one of these guys is three times stronger than me. They each straddle one of my legs and try to tug off my boots. They are laced too high and tight to slip off. Realizing this, they begin to slowly and methodically unlace each boot, taking their time. Like they're unwrapping a present. With the laces finally loosened enough, my boots come off. My feet are as sweaty as I feared they might be. The cool air of the room can be felt through my sodden white Nike crew socks.

They each bend the tongue back on the boot they hold, read the label and say in unison, "A perfect 10!"

Nico grabs a pair of 10's from under the counter, "Okay guys. I've got his size right here. Let him up and let's get back to bowling."

They are not moving so therefore, neither can I. Trey says, "He won't willingly put those on. We'll have to put them on for him."

Cal sniffs, "Dude, I didn't think it was humanly possible but I think his feet smell worse than yours do."

Trey sniffs then covers his nose, "Oh my god! Is smelly feet a Ginger thing or something? Wow!"

It's not a Ginger thing. It's a snow boots thing. I forgot to change out of them and I wore them in the warm indoors for too long. But I say nothing.

"Maybe all of the stink is in the socks." Trey barely grazes my foot and I flinch. "Mr. Sensitive," he grins. "His socks are soaked through with sweat. That can't be good. We better get them off of him before he catches a cold."

"Or permanently damages my sense of smell with his insane funk," Cal laughs.

Nico says, "Come on. Cody was just minding his own business. Don't hurt him."

Trey looks up, "Who said anything about hurting him?"

Cal says, "But feet this smelly cannot go unpunished."

Oh no. Punished? What does that mean? If they're not gonna hurt me then what? Tickle me? No one has tickled me since I was a little kid. I have no siblings and that's just not something I ever did with friends in high school or college. I don't even know for sure if I am ticklish, but if my involuntary reaction to Trey's little touch just now is any indication, then I might be in some real trouble here. I feel my wet socks getting pulled off and I look at Nico. His eyes meet mine and I deflate when I see that his are helpless and resigned.

Cal says, "Seriously Kenny, I need a gasmask this close to your feet."

I wish I could say they're lying. Or at least exaggerating. The truth is, I can smell my own feet from way up here and it is pretty bad. I want to scream that it's from the boots, but I remain silent.