“I’d be most grateful,” I say, “if I could keep calling you Wally.”

To my surprise, Wally throws back his head and laughs. And even though I’m not sure why we’re laughing, I laugh too.

I arrive at the bowling alley at approximately six thirty on Wednesday evening. I’m unable to confirm the exact timing due to leaving my phone at home. This oversight is unlike me, and I attribute it to the low-level anxiety I’ve felt all day at the prospect of visiting a bowling alley. A bowling alley, with its noise and lights and smells, is most definitely out of my comfort zone. Part of me, the rebellious part, feels excited about this. The rest of me is struggling to breathe.

I caught the bus here. Wally had offered to drive me but small talk in cars always gives me a headache, so the bus seemed a safer option. The flyer in the staff room said it was a 6:45 P.M. meetup for a 7:00 P.M. start, which would allow everyone time to select their bowling footwear and to collect their meal coupons and tokens for the pinball machines. (Learning about the pinball machines had been a blow. Games tended to be loud and bright and I hate loud bright places.) But I’ve prepared for it as best I can, and I find myself feeling cautiously optimistic.

I feel pleased to see that I’ve beat Wally here, even if he arrives just a few minutes after me, at 6:33 P.M., jogging up the ramp, hat bobbing on his head. He’s in such a hurry he almost runs past me.

“Wally,” I say, as he’s about to jog through the entrance.

He slows to a stop and smiles tentatively, his gaze close to my face. Then he begins to speak.

“I’m wearing earplugs,” I say. “So I can’t hear you.”

Wally blinks. Then his mouth moves again.

“I said I can’t hear you,” I say louder.

He pushes his glasses up on his nose and then gestures for me to remove an earplug. Reluctantly, I do.

“I just inquired as to why you are wearing those,” he says, pointing to my eyes.

“The swimming goggles? I find they work better than sunglasses to block out the garish lights at these kinds of places.”

The barest of smiles appears at Wally’s lips. “I … see.”

I am aware, of course, that the goggles are a fashion faux pas, but I’d hoped that people might just go with it and assume they were some sort of new trend.

“Listen,” Wally says. “While your earplug is out, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for being rude the other day. I hadn’t been to this sort of meeting in … a while. And you were right, it wasn’t about not being able to find a parking spot. I shouldn’t have got snappy with you.”

You were right. These words remain lodged in my head. You were right. And not just about anything! About something in the muddy confusing world of feelings. I can’t wait to tell Rose.

“Are you feeling better now?” I inquire.

He nods. “As a matter a fact, I rescheduled my meeting for tomorrow afternoon.”

I give a little clap that feels quite jaunty and I make up my mind to try it again tonight. “Fantastic news. And you’ll park at my place?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, replacing my earplug. Wally opens his mouth again, but when I point to my earplug, he closes it again and we venture inside.

My senses are assaulted the moment the doors open, even with the goggles and earplugs. The inside of the bowling alley smells like popcorn and hot dogs and cotton candy, a smell that coats my skin and clogs my pores and fills me up from bottom to top, like sand inside my skin. My sneakers stick to the patterned carpet as I walk; the flashing neon lights burn into my retinas. The music blares from all directions—the game machines, the bowling lanes, the overhead speakers—and while the earplugs dull this slightly, it’s still overwhelming. I keep my head down and forge through it, wading farther into the wild. Along one wall, about a dozen kids crowd around a long metal table singing “Happy Birthday” to a boy who, according to the numeral on his cake, is eleven years old. Everyone coexists in the space, entirely unperturbed by all of it. Everyone, apparently, except me. On the back wall, I locate a sign that reads BAYSIDE LIBRARY TEAM BUILDING, and usher Wally toward it. Carmel is standing there, wearing a red shirt and a short scarf tied at her throat. Strange as it sounds, she looks rather nice.

“You’re wearing a scarf,” I say to Carmel.

She studies me curiously, then says something I can’t hear. I turn away from her, looking instead at a group of youths standing around a vending machine dispensing Pokémon cards. Their appearance suggests they are around ten or eleven. Rose and I went bowling when we were a similar age. I was apprehensive about it, but when Rose suggested to Mum we stay home, she just became more determined to take us. “It will be great fun,” she’d said, before she and Rose got into an impassioned argument that only made things worse. Eventually it was clear that we would have to bowl.

When we got there, my strategy was to remain focused on the bowling. I’d read a book about bowling technique and I got three strikes that night. It might have been fun if not for the back-and-forth between Mum and Rose the whole time. “The food is cold.” “My shoes don’t fit.” “It’s not your turn!” And then, as we waited in line to hand back the shoes: “You ruined the evening. This is why we can’t ever go out. What is wrong with you?”

Rose cried all the way home.

I look back at Carmel, who is talking animatedly to Wally, frowning and smiling and nodding at intervals. I haven’t seen Carmel smile much before. I notice she has a silver tooth, close to the back. As they talk, Wally rummages through a tub of bowling shoes. He catches my eye and mouths, “Foot size?”

“Seven,” I reply, and the next thing I know I am sitting on a bench while Wally fits me with bowling shoes. It’s bizarre having someone put your shoes on, as if you’re a child or a mannequin. I tell Wally it’s unnecessary but he keeps doing it, so I let him. It’s actually rather nice.

By 6:45 P.M., the whole team has arrived and Carmel gathers the group to deliver some sort of welcome that I can’t hear. Then we are divided into teams and Wally and I are placed with Gayle and Linda, who are delighted by Wally’s presence, judging by the amount of unnecessary touching of his shoulder, forearm, and hand.