Making Spares

Mr. Meyers lost his two sons in American wars and his wife to her own cells that went wild with disease. He coped by bowling. Every afternoon. For a decade.

Then he saw a boy one afternoon in the custody of police going into the Juvenile Detention Facility. Mr. Meyers stopped his car, seeing the place for the first time, imaging the people inside. The next day he went in and offered to take a kid bowling once a week.

They gave him Reuben. A wild-eyed, wild-haired ball of surly anger.

Mr. Meyers took him to the bowling alley.

“I ain’t bowling,” said Reuben.

Mr. Meyers played without him. But the boy began to watch. Creep closer.

“I can beat you, old man,” Reuben said.

“I don’t think you can,” Mr. Meyers said softly.

Then Reuben picked up a ball and surprised both of them.