longing for solace

I have found myself going to the bowling alley around the corner from my house lately. I'm not sure how this started to happen or what motivated me to start going. Perhaps it was inspired by some nostalgia for some of my childhood days. Maybe it is because I practically grew up in the bowling alley in my home town. Both my parents were in leagues. My father and I were in a league together, and after he retired he went to work at the bowling alley part time.

I remember when pool games only cost 50 cents. As children this was a great deal of money, so we would go around pinching empty styrofoam cups from the leaguers and wedging them down in the drop pockets. This allowed us to play unlimited games of pool for the price of a game. It was of course only a matter of time before we were busted, but at the time we thought we were geniuses. I grew older, but the funds always seems to be about the same. We eventually moved to the snack bar, then on to the parking lot. I even found a couple of old photos of my friends dressed all in black and heavy metal t-shirts. A couple of them trying to look tough with their cigarattes pinched tight between their lips.
Then it was the cool place to hang out at night. Now I like to go in the afternoon when I am likely the only person on a lane in the whole place. It is an interesting sort of solace. The quiet concentration. Holding your hand just right. Toeing that comfortable spot two boards left of the center, the slow measured steps, the backswing and smooth release. The ball barely makes a sound as in contacts the lane, lazily spinning and starting a slow arc toward the pocket. It ends in a crunch, pins bouncing and sliding and the pleasant feeling of the simple grace in a well placed shot.

and the simple pleasant feeling of having your body's parts working in concert and the simple grace in a well placed shot