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Tuesday 200 - #39

Dolores loved her bowling pin. It was a gift from the Ladies Scratch League when, after a decade as secretary, she had to resign. Her husband Arthur had been transferred.

After Tuacas and tears, she and her teammates, “The Lucky Strikes”, huddled in the parking lot of Stardust Lanes. “Never goodbye,” she told them, wiping away what was supposed to be waterproof mascara, “only so long. Promise you’ll come visit Missouri.”

Arthur split, but the pin remained. One Christmas she dressed it up like a wise man and put it under the tree. It soon became Cupid and then the Easter Bunny. Her kids made fun of her being so silly. After her stroke, they went out of their way to invent new costumes. Not much else made her smile.

One winter morning she found it wrapped in a ketchup-stained pillow case.

“What’s that?” she mumbled, watching the kids pack lunches.

“Beware the Ides of March,” said her Shakespeare-studying son. That afternoon, Dolores slipped in the tub and drowned.

“The Lucky Strikes” attended the funeral. Dolores looked resplendent, laid out in a faded blue bowling shirt, hugging her angel-winged bowling pin, on which they’d painted, “so long.”

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