Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

I didn’t have the heart to tell Michael that there were an infinite number of things I’d rather do then go to Glen’s bowling alley, however I refrained.

I can count on one hand the number of times I’d been to Glen’s.

All of which were the birthday parties of relatives. However as expected the place hadn’t changed much in the five or so years since my last visit.

It was dark, too dark to see where you were going, yet too light for the cheap glow in the dark stickers which clung limply to the walls, peeling in many places and lying in pathetic heaps on the floor in others.

It was hot, disgustingly so, like Glen had the heat on instead of the AC even though it was mid October and sort of sweltering during the day. The entire place smelled like the lung of a chain smoker, mixed with urine, something distinctly fecal, and the pungent stench of bleach which was used to clean the place after little kids puked after too much birthday cake.

A loop of nineties hits was placing faintly through the loud speakers, however they weren’t the good songs, played by the bands punk and grunge teenagers wear on t-shirts. Instead they were disgustingly poppy love ballads, which dripped with the sort of effortless cheese factor and awkwardness the eighties and nineties seemed to ooze like pimple puss.

Looking around the relatively empty establishment, except for the lane at the very end where an elderly couple and their obese adult children were playing a game over a pitcher of warm beer and cold pizza, I sighed.

“H-have you ever been here before?” Lyra asked conversationally.

Surprised that she’d spoken to me since the two of us had been sitting in silence since the boys went off to get our shoes, a task I was perfectly capable of doing myself, however since Ashton was doing it for Lyra Michael felt the need to do it for me, I nodded slowly.

“Yeah.” I replied, “A few times, but not recently. How about you?”

“Never.” She mumbled, “I don’t like bowling.”

“Me neither.” I admitted.

Shooting me a shy smile she tucked her hair behind her ear, then deciding against it, untucked it again.

“You um… you’re dating Michael?” she blurted out, awkwardly.

Smiling at her sympathetically since she seemed to be the human equivalent of a turtle, dying to return to her shell, I nodded.

“That’s nice.” She mumbled, “He’s a nice boy.”

“You’re dating Ashton?” I questioned, trying to keep the ball of conversation in motion.

“Yes.” She whispered.

“He seems nice.” I noted.

“He is.” She mumbled.

“I hope it didn’t bother you that we went to Olive Garden.” I said nervously, “It wasn’t a romantic thing.”

“I don’t care.” She assured me.

“Have you um… have you two been dating long?” I pressed.

“A while.” She answered.

I could since that she was extremely uncomfortable by the alarming shade of crimson of her cheeks and they way she couldn’t stop fidgeting so I stopped talking.

We sat in silence after that for several minutes until Michael, Lola and Ashton returned, carrying and wearing bowling shoes.

“Did you ladies talk?” Ashton laughed, “Or were you just sitting here staring at each other.”