It never dawned on Jermaine to not bowl. Being a bowler, and a part of the bowling league had always been his life long dream. Thursday nights could not come quick enough as he edged through the harshly boring week. The hum of the flourescent lights in his office would send him into a hypnotic dream. A dream where his sea green 12 pound ball would glide across the lane, disintegrating the pins that would evaporate into clouds shaped like obese winged fairies, with breasts that would undulate as their tiny wings flapped.
But Jermaine would have to wait for bowling. It was only Tuesday.
Lawrence sat across from him. Lawrence was on a call. His fleshy lips always flapping, never ceasing. The call ended. Jermaine would listen to Lawrence have the rest of the conversation, played out in voices that Lawerence thought were different, they weren't. He would gesticulate with his meaty, hairy hands and snort out of his bulbous nose. Jermaine also thought it grossly inappropriate to make fun of the blind, people can be cruel. Dolphins are different than people, Jermaine put his coffee cup down on his desk. His pectoral fins careful not to spill the steaming liquid on the pristine pillings of paperwork. Lawrence continued his imaginary dialog as Jermaine stared through him. Stared through his thoughtless rants on guide-dogs and canes.
Jermaine's mind wandered to last Saturday morning. He lay in bed with Marsha. She was a human who was more like a dolphin, more so than any human he had ever met. She held him, spooning him perfectly. He was thankful for this grace given to his race, to be able to be spooned like no other species. To be held, and never to be able to hold was an evolutionary crime, because with fins, you can never embrace.
