2024 MFP: Every Player Wins

         When Sal was a teenager, she worked at her father’s bowling alley. She began each shift by refiling the Every Player Wins. 

         She would unlatch the mirrored back of the machine and rip a four-foot-long tube of stuffies open with her teeth. The toys were smooshed inside the vacuumed sealed plastic casing like fuzzy rainbow sausage filling. They were so tightly packed that Sal had to tug the first ones out; she would grab a fistful of synthetic pelt and as it came loose it assumed the shape of an aquamarine wiener dog with green googly-eyes glued-gunned to either side of its snout. Or a Pikachu with a limp lightning bolt tail, or a unicorn with a frizzy mane, a heart with a toothy smile stitched into its center. Once a few stuffies were freed the rest shook easily out of the tube; a small avalanche of creatures in bold primary colors would tumble into the base of the machine. 

         During the end of shift clean-up, Sal had often found these toys abandoned on the floor beneath the bowling alley’s molded plastic seats. Once someone got an Every Player Wins stuffie on its own, they recognized it was a piece of shit but as a smorgasbord inside the machine’s mirrored box they were mesmerizing.

         After emptying the tube into the base she would reach into the machine and stir the teddies. Sometimes she caught her reflection; elbow deep in the Every Player Wins with the empty lanes behind her and the pinched claw dangling above her head. She would remind herself of the application to McGill University in Montreal that she’d filled out and the pictures of one bedroom apartments with balconies she’d clicked through on Kijiji. If she straightened too quickly, she smacked her head off the inside of the machine.   

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                              ***

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         As an adult, Sal lived in Ottawa where she worked as a simultaneous translator. She had a small apartment but she’d made it nice and she often had dinner parties. Everyone brought wine - no one got wasted. She wasn’t seeing anyone but just last week she’d been on a Tinder date and the guy - Mike - who’d been wearing a crisp dress shirt, pinned her against the wall of the bar and said “You’re sexy”. She hadn’t gone home with him but she enjoyed the feeling of him wanting her. She reminded herself of these facts as the plane swooped down towards the snow-covered shoreline of the island where she grew up. 

         Sal had booked her ticket home with the Bowling Alley Christmas party in mind. She made spanakopita in her mother’s kitchen before the party. Her mother’s new husband, Harry, was watching a true crime show in the next room and bits of the grizzly voiceover were drifting through the wall. Sal stood at the counter brushing olive oil over neat triangles of phyllo pastry while her mother folded laundry at the table behind her. Sal had bought a special silicone pastry brush specifically to make these hors d’oeuvres.
“You know that party is just an excuse for your father and Bev to get loaded - not that they need an excuse.”

Sal turned to face her mother who was holding an enormous gray sock in one hand, searching a tangle of hot clothes for the other half of the pair. Her mother looked like a child testing out a profanity. 

          “Don’t be nasty,” Sal said. 

         “I’m just saying, you don’t need to bother with all that because all they care about is beer but suit yourself. You’re dripping oil on your shirt.”

         Sal looked down and saw a dark circle spreading on her Christmas blouse. “Fuck.” 

         “...beyond recognition, dental records and DNA,” the voice on the other side of the wall was saying.

         “Jesus. Can you ask him to turn that down?” Sal squeezed some dish detergent onto her chest and wiped at it with a damp dishcloth. “It’s morbid.” 

         “He’s hard of hearing, Sal.” 

         Mostly Sal felt indifferent towards Harry. She could see what her mother liked about him; he was reliable, mild mannered and good with money. He was on board with the brand of 80s feminism that had defined Sal’s mother’s formative years and forged the woman she’d become, and at the same time, he was hard-wired with an old time-y sense of masculine responsibility that motivated him to do things like repaint the bathroom with mold resistant paint and drive Sal’s grandmother to doctor’s appointments. That kind of practicality was a relief to Sal’s mother after being with Sal’s father. 

         Sal’s mother left her father because he lied about borrowing money to buy an AC/DC themed pinball machine for the bowling alley. It was the pinball machine and the drinking. And the thing with Bev. And all the other money he’d borrowed. Sal had been nine when her parents separated and she’d somehow understood that those three factors, Bev, the money, and the drinking, were all spokes of the same chaos machine, spinning themselves into a dark blur that would suck in anyone who didn’t get the hell out of its orbit. Sal let the oven door slam shut on the hors d’oeuvres, “I’m going to change my shirt - can you watch these?” 

         “Soak it now and you might be able to save it.” In spite of the occasional brief outburst of vitriol, Sal’s mother always encouraged her to see her father while she was home. Sometimes she even spoke affectionately about her father or called him a “poor bastard” and suggested the trouble he got into was beyond his control -  in those moments it was Sal who got bitter and snippy. 

         Sal ran down to the basement and threw her shirt in a sink. She filled it with warm water and a splash of detergent then raced back up the stairs. She found her aquamarine cashmere turtleneck folded neatly in her suitcase. It wasn’t festive but it was dressy and for some reason that was important to Sal. She knew everyone else would be in t-shirts and hoodies but she liked to be put together when she saw her father.  

         “You’re going to be late,” her mother called from the kitchen. 

         Normally Sal hated being late but she took her time doing her make-up in the bathroom mirror while the spanakopita cooled on a rack. She packed the pastries between sheets of wax paper in a big Tupperware and drove to the bowling alley. 

         She recognized some cars in the parking lot. The party was for staff and their families, and long term regulars - most of whom Sal had known for her entire life. Rachel’s gray Corolla was parked closed to the front entrance. 

         There was a time when Rachel, daughter of Bev, of Bev’s Sports Bar, was the person who knew Sal best in the whole world. Bev and Sal’s father split the rent on the building. The bar had a separate entrance but Bev had installed a set of french doors that opened into the alley and customers were allowed to wander between the two venues with their drinks. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Drinkers found themselves bowling and bowlers found themselves drinking. Every night when the alley shut down Sal’s father had a beer with Bev or Rachel over on the bar side before heading home.   

         When Sal was a kid, her and Rachel played behind the bowling alley everyday after school. Sometimes Bev or their father would give them a toonie each and let them cross the parking lot to sit in the Tim Horton’s and drink salty hot chocolates. Sometimes Ralph, the janitor’s son, would be there too and they’d all kick a soccer ball around behind the building. All three had worked behind the counter of the bowling alley in high school. When they graduated,  Ralph moved to Alberta to work in oil fields at Fort MacMurray. Sal had gone to study French at McGill. Rachel had moved over to the bar side, splitting shifts there with her mother. Sal hadn’t seen Ralph in years but she had him on Facebook and he sometimes posted pictures of his twin daughters, most recently heading off to Kindergarten. Rachel had a daughter too. 

         As Sal crossed the parking lot, she reminded herself that she was beloved by her boss. That she and three girlfriends were taking a trip to Mexico in February. That when she switched her phone off airplane mode there’d been a message from the Tinder guy asking if she wanted to hang out again - which she probably didn’t but it was nice to be asked.

         Sal pushed open the glass double-doors and descended the steep steps into the alley. The disco lights were on. Alvin of The Chipmunks was squeaking about a hula hoop over the speakers. People were gathered around a card table draped in a cloth covered with poinsettias. Rachel opened her arms wide to welcome Sal with a hug.

         Sal put her things on the table and submitted to the hug. 

         “Everyone’s glad you’re here,” Rachel said into her hair. 

         Sal pulled away, she saw her father across the alley, helping a mob of kids program their names into a console. Sal would wait for him to come to her. 

         “Is that Angie over there?” Sal asked Rachel. “She’s getting so big.” 

         Sal pried open the sticky lid of the tupperware and started arranging her pastries on the serving platter her mother lent her. Bev tapped her shoulder and handed her a rum and coke.

         “That’s your drink, am I right?” Bev asked. 

         “You got me.” Sal laid the drink on the table without taking a sip. She knew that wouldn’t go unnoticed but she brought the car and she would be driving it home regardless of who took her refusal to get sloshed as a personal slight. It was better to accept the first drink so she could use it to ward off other drinks. She would just keep saying, “Still working on this one” all evening.

         Her father was holding a can of beer, smiling at the kids filming each other moonwalking in their sock feet. He didn’t realize she was there. She would wait for him to come to her.

         “Your father said you’re doing really well up there,” Bev said. 

         “I like my job.” 

         “It’s good money working for the government, benefits and everything,” Bev said.

         Sal nodded, “And here?”

         “Oh, we’re keeping on. Let me grab you some napkins for those.”

         Sal said hello to the regulars who’d been attending the Christmas party since she was a child, many of whom were in their seventies now. Crystal Pike, who lived across the road, had an oxygen tank strapped to the back of her wheelchair. When Sal was a child Crystal used to bring over plates of hot supper on nights when Sal did her homework behind the counter until her father shut the alley down. Women loved to do things for Sal’s father, it’d always been that way. Sal bent down to hug the elderly woman and Crystal grabbed Sal’s shoulder and squeezed it tight, saying,“You been away too long sweetheart, your father misses you, time to come home out of it.” 

         Sal kissed Crystal on the cheek and when she straightened up, she had a sip of the rum and coke. It had been ages since she’d had a rum and coke. In Ottawa she drank wine.   

         Bev returned with cocktail napkins from the bar side and introduced her to the handful of people she didn’t already know standing around the table and then said, “Your father know you’re here? DAVE!”

         Her father turned and his face brightened when he saw her; he jogged across the room. 

         “Sal!” He hugged her. “Merry Christmas. Is it good to be home out of it or what? Did anyone get you a drink?” 

         Up close she was startled by how much older her father’s face looked than the last time she’d seen him. The chipmunks were bickering about whether or not to do another verse. 

         Crystal said, “Look at the pair of you, I can never get over the eyes, same eyes.”

         Sal lifted her cup and downed the rest of her drink.

         “Did you hear we got a karaoke machine in here?” Her father asked. 

         Bev sidled over with another drink for Sal. “People love the karaoke machine,” she said.

         “We’re diversifying,” her father said. “You might think with the internet people’d be less interested in this kind of place but you’d be wrong. They’re looking for ways to connect, something different to get the kids off the phones.”

         Sal could feel a pitch was coming on but she couldn’t imagine her father trying to get money out of Crystal. If Crystal had any money to part with she would have given it to Sal’s father years ago.  

         “Are you going to do a karaoke number for us Sal?” Her father asked.

         “You should see Bev,” Crystal said. “What was it she did last week? ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’.”

         “Bev loves it.” Her father grinned. 

         “I loves it.” Bev pointed at the lanes; a pinsetter was malfunctioning, smashing the pins against the waxed floor again and again. Lane six had been jamming since Sal was a child - if there was a permanent fix her father didn’t know it or he couldn’t afford it. He sprinted away to fiddle with the mechanism in the wall that made the pinsetter temporarily serviceable. 

         At that moment Rachel’s daughter tugged on the hem of Sal’s dress. Sal remembered Angie as a toddler but this child’s head came up to Sal’s chest.

         “Sal, did you know I got a solo in the Christmas concert? It’s Monday morning. Mom said you can come.”

         “I said, ask Sal if she can come.” Rachel waved a half-eaten spanakopita, “These are awesome by the way, really awesome Sal.”

         “You can get a ride with us,” the child said. “Mom will pick you up.”

         As usual, after a few drinks Bev started getting sentimental. She told the story about when, as a child, Sal had peed in one of the plastic seats lining the alley and later that same evening the mayor sat in it. Everyone laughed, including Sal. In that moment, it felt good to see herself reflected in the family lore. On the mainland she was floating around loreless. She had another drink. She could always call a cab. She could always pick up her mother’s car in the morning.

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         At the end of the night it was her, Bev, Rachel and her father sitting in the bar – one last drink together before calling cabs. Rachel’s husband had taken Angie home hours ago. 

         “This is the next generation right here.” Her father slapped a hand on Sal’s back.

         “I’ll be changing it to Rachel’s Sports Bar,” Rachel said.

         “The hell you will,” Bev said.

         “Oh yeah, gonna throw you in the old age home and slap a big “Rachel’s” sign on here.”

         “But seriously,” her father said. “I want this to be here for you when I go, Sal. That’s my goal with this place. It’ll be something for you – to fall back on. That’s why I’m trying new things.”

         “The karaoke is really taking off,” Bev said. 

         “The thing about the karaoke, the machine set me back. I’m behind on the mortgage right now. I went with quality, otherwise there’s no point,” her father said. 

         “Thing is, and you know this yourself honey,” Bev was looking Sal in the eyes. “It’s a solid investment.”

         Sal felt some clarity coming on. This was exactly the situation she hadn’t wanted to end up in. Now she was drunk, trapped in Bev’s bar. She hated the greasy vinyl seats, the way you could see the swish marks left behind by rags on the bartop. She was going to have to come back in the morning for her mother’s car. 

         “Your father hates to ask,” Bev said.

         “I’ll get it back to you in six months tops. The karaoke is taking off, word is getting around,” her father’s eyes were watery with drink. 

         Bev reached for the pitcher in the center of the table and Sal covered the top of her glass with her hand.

         She couldn’t stand to look at either of them, she locked eyes with Rachel.

         “Let me call you a cab, Sal,” Rachel said. 

         Sal stood, “I’m going to wait outside, I need a breath of fresh air.”

         She hugged Bev and her father. Rachel followed her up the steep steps into a damp night.

         “Just let me know in the morning if you’re coming to the concert.” Rachel said. “You know Sal, if you can’t, you can’t. But if you can, it would mean a lot.”

         In the backseat of the cab, Sal took out her phone and transferred a chunk of her savings to her father. 

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                           *** 

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         Months later, Bev called Sal as she was biking home from work along the canal. The trees had lime green buds on them. She kept pedaling as Bev’s voice passed through her wireless headphones.  

         “Now listen, I talked to the doctor and he said it’s going to be okay. I was in there today,  I saw your father, he’s exhausted but he’s himself.”

         “What did the doctor say?” Sal asked. 

         “He’s still him.”

         “How long does he have to stay?”

         “How soon can you get here? ‘Cause we need someone to cover the karaoke on Thursday. Rachel’s been doing the cash on the bowling side but I’m going to need her over here Thursday.” 

         Sal plucked one air bud out and shoved it into her cleavage. Sometimes the wireless headphones felt claustrophobic.

         “Tell me exactly what the doctor said.”

         “I can’t hear you, it’s gone all fuzzy,” Bev’s voice was pissy. Sal stuck the ear bud back in. 

         “What exactly did the doctor say?”

         “Doctor said your dad got lucky this time but he’s going to have to change his habits. Are you going to tell your mother? I figured you’d want to tell your mother but I could.”

         Someone came up beside Sal, ringing their bell.  

         “Jesus, Sal what’s that racket? This is important, your father had a heart attack.”

         “I can get there by Thursday. Did they say how long he’s going to be in the hospital Bev? So I can tell my work.”

         “We don’t know yet my love,” Bev was tender again.          

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                           ***

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         Outside the sliding glass doors to the Departures Lounge a cool, salty fog was settling. Sal’s mother’s car pulled up with “Crazy Train” blearing inside. Harry was behind the wheel. When he saw her he killed the radio and rolled down the passenger window.

         “Your mother’s hair appointment went long.” Harry popped the trunk. 

         For the first time since receiving the news about her father, Sal felt like she might cry. She hadn’t talked to her mother about it yet. They’d discussed the facts - it turned out it wasn’t a heart attack, it was some kind of false heart attack, a temporary ballooning of the insides of the veins near his heart, which was apparently better - these were the facts according to Bev, recited by Sal to her mother. But Sal had been waiting to perform the private duet they did whenever one of their lives became seriously derailed by Sal’s father in some unexpected way. Their mother-daughter ritual of taking turns eviscerating Dave and apologizing for him. Sal wrestled her wheelie suitcase into the trunk. She’d taken the big one. The car stank of Harry’s cologne. 

         “She’s stuck with the bleach in her hair. Did she text you?”

         “My phone’s on airplane mode.” Sal lowered the back windows, pushing hard on the button so the glass shot down into the door. Wind swirled through the car as they sped towards the exit to the highway. 

         “I’m sorry about your Dad.”   

         “Yeah.” Sal said. “I mean me too. I’m sorry he’s sick. Or he’s you know -”

         “Recovering?” Harry offered. “Your mother said he’s recovering.” 

         Sal turned on her phone and a stream of texts from Bev filled the screen. They needed her at the bowling alley by three-thirty, there was a beer order coming in and five birthday parties booked. Rachel couldn’t make it down until her husband got off work and took Angie. Sal looked at the clock in the dash. “I’m going to need you to drop me at the alley,” she said.

         Bev was waiting out front when they pulled up. She hugged Sal tight and pressed a set of keys into her palm, saying, “The beer guys are at the loading dock, I’ll see you in there.”  

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                           ***

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         Sal made her way down the stairs and crossed the dark bowling alley, feeling her way to the light switches and flipping them as she went. Bev would be down soon with the beer guys, and then Rachel. Sal wondered how much Rachel knew about her father’s heart. She probably knew more than Sal. She’d probably been to see him at the hospital before Sal even made it back to the city. 

         She felt her phone buzzing as she bent over to take the locked tackle box with the cash float in it from its hiding place in the break room. MOM lit up the screen. Sal put the phone back in her pocket without answering. 

Bev was right, the night was chaos. Sal had brought her laptop in case there was an opportunity to catch up on work but there was no chance of that happening. As soon as the alley opened there was an endless stream of people at the counter needing things from her: to ring up their game, to find a pair of shoes a size larger, take their karaoke request, mop a spill, fix the pinsetter. 

Sal found herself jogging down lane six toward the malfunctioning pinsetter. She’d seen her father crouch and reach inside the wall but she didn’t know what he did in there. She could feel people watching her. At the end of the lane she got on her knees. Speckles of light from the disco balls swept back and forth across pins stuck in their stuttering dance, lifting and lowering, never landing. Behind a vinyl flap splashed with day-glo paint a sea of pistons and metal arms were chugging up and down. Sal could see where a ball had jammed the machine, blocking the spot where a metal elbow was supposed to catch. She got on her tummy and snaked her way inside the wall. She’d seen her father like this, half disappeared. She caught the ball between her fingertips and wiggled it until it rolled toward her and the metal joint snapped into place. When she found her way out of the wall, the pins had landed firmly in the lane.   

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