Kittens, Siblings, Bowling, & Barracks - a work of fiction

Fuck, bowling is dull. Why did I ever let Frankie talk me into joining this league? My stupid idiot brother and his stupid idiot friends... couldn't they find one more idiot to fill the roster? I guess I AM the idiot, after all, I agreed to bowl with these stooges every week.

"Oh, Thomas, it'll be great! Just like old times!"

"Old times? We never went bowling together. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, not OUR old times, but MY old times... in the barracks in England all the guys would line up their shaving cream bottles and we'd use just about anything round to throw at the bottles like we was bowling! Its how we managed to get through those years without going bored to death."

"Psh." I rolled my eyes at him. "Fine."

I can't even hear myself think between the constant hum of the ball returns, the crashing and cheering every time a ball makes it to the end of a lane, and all those assholes throwing back cold ones like they won't feel it in the morning. And Frankie too, drinking himself even more stupid. I can't drink like that. I can't drink at all. Doesn't matter how good it tastes going down, it always takes me to places I'd rather keep forgotten.

Frankie may have been in the Air Force and put in a lot of hard work, but he never saw a real war. He was too young. By the time I got home from Germany Frankie was already in basic training, but the war was over. Keeping sane in the barracks for him meant drinking and bowling and acting like a clown. Keeping sane in the camp for me meant learning to sleep with my eyes open, and keeping the other guys at an arms length because you never knew who was gonna make it back at the end of the day.

I think the only moment of calm I knew in those years was when I was out on trash duty, keeping our living space as clean as it could be in those conditions. I moved a box that had been tossed behind a tent and found a litter of kittens mewing softly. I'm guessing the mother was out, looking for food, but the kittens all seemed well-enough fed to be healthy. Only one of them didn't flinch when I reached towards them, so I scratched him behind the ears and was suddenly 13 and back home on my porch, discovering the litter of kittens that our house cat had managed to hide from us.

By the next day the kittens were gone. I was never sure if someone scared them off, or if the mother cat moved them to a safer place.

"Eh Thomas, your throw buddy!"

"My throw. Right." Idiots.