Graf #5

It is a standard bowling pin. You might find eleven other pins like it in any bowling alley in America but instead this one sits alone on my mantle. It is a trophy of sorts from the insanity of my youth. I was once a regular at a bar called Brewsters. I spent many nights there and much money that I didn't have. My three amigos, John, Matt, Anchor and I would raise havoc there every time we had the chance. One night they shut down Karaoke early and our drunken crew wandered into the bowling alley attached to the bar to find a bathroom. The bowling alley had been closed for hours and was empty with noone to watch it. The bartenders next door were busy with their thirsty customers. We were off at the races. We spent an hour bowling every ball in the place down the lanes and the bar actually closed while we were busy wreaking awful mischief on the bowling alley. In my stupor it seemed like a good idea to bowl myself down a lane and I learned that although they are slippery to the shoes they give you, the lanes actually have great traction. I got a running start and threw myself hard onto the floor, realizing my mistake immediately. I moved approximately zero inches very quickly. Undaunted I crawled on my hands and knees and grabbed one of the pins, using it to smash down the others I stood like a conquering hero brandishing a war club. Then I fell down because I forgot that the lane was slippery to my leather soled shoes. I snuck that pin out shoved in my pants looking like the victim of a pornographic accident and kept it as a trophy. Since then it has been with me. Not because of the craziness of that night or the many that followed but because I used it to destroy a bottle of rum. One night, lying drunk and despairing in my dirty, unfurnished apartment I said 'enough.' I stood on shaky legs and wobbled to the kitchen, kicking aside the empty bottles and the rotten food containers. I picked up the pin lying on the floor next to the sink and I swung hard at the object of my wrath. The bottle smashed into a million pieces and sprayed dark, sticky rum like blood onto all the white walls. I fell on the floor cut in many places and decided that my karmic debt was finally paid. The destruction of that bottle became a symbolic act to me and allowed me to finally gain control of my life. After the wasted years and the suicidal self-pity I was freed from a life of walking regret by the simple smashing of a bottle in a fit of defiance. I defied my pain, my past, and the memories that held me in sway with their stinging bite. I became a man that day and I owe it all to a simple bowling pin.