Frame of Fame

   “You have three-hundred and forty Twitter followers?” I gasped.
   Eb blushed a little. “Well, a lot of them are from work. Becky says …”
   “Will you two shut up,” interrupted Uncle Billy.
   I looked at the little crowd that had gathered around our lanes. Hank was carefully wiping off his bowling ball, his face was grim. He was about to roll a frame that could give him a score of two-seventy, a personal best and the best our team had ever registered.
   “You can do it, Hank,” said one of the earnest spectators.
   “We’re with you, buddy,” said another.
   “I guess we better watch this,” I said.
   Eb nodded and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
   Hank took his stance, eyes narrowing as he stared at his target. The crowd grew quiet. And then he was in motion, arm back, ball released and hooking nicely into the pocket. A crash of pins, nine falling immediately, one, the ten-pin, wobbled gracefully for moment, then settled, standing upright. The crowd groaned. Hank’s shoulders sank.
   “Nice try Hank,” said one of the spectators as he turned to walk away.
   “You’ll get ‘er next time,” said another.
   Billy shook his head, “What a putz.”
   Ed stood and walked over to Hank, putting his arm around his shoulder. “Well, we’re proud of you any way,” he said as he gently guided Hank back to his seat.
   I spotted a familiar figure walking down the isle toward our lanes. It was Alma Beeler.
   Billy spotted her too and slid over closer to me. “What the hell is she doing here?”
   “What’s going on?” asked Alma as she walked up. “I saw a big crowd down here.”
   “Hank just missed rolling a personal best,” said Eb.
   “Well, that must of been exciting,” said Alma.
   “It was … until he whiffed the strike,” said Billy.
   “Oh, hello, Billy,” she said, “I was hoping I’d see you here.”