Last weekend I shot a crossbow and it was very fun and I hit the target.
Barely!
According to Google, a crossbow is a medieval weapon consisting of a bow fixed transversely on a stock having a trigger mechanism to release the bowstring, and often incorporating or accompanied by a mechanism for bending the bow.
Of course, when I went out to the garage where the guys were shooting, I did not know this.
I actually only had eyes for my grandson, who somehow has sprouted into this tall, lanky teenager with a shock of unruly brown hair. His smile, so completely boyish and unassuming, was contagious.
He was with his dad, his grandpa and another guy. The other guy’s importance was enhanced by the fact he, and he alone, owned the crossbow, the garage, the target and the knowledge to make this shooting practice a success.
And, the other thing that moved the guy up the ladder of importance was that he was in possession of a small amount of Tannerite (a product that explodes when struck by a bullet shot from a high powered rifle.)
It was a guy’s world out there, for sure, in the garage. There was the crossbow and guns, the Tannerite and targets such as tomatoes, cucumbers and paper.
“Hey grandma, do you want to shoot?” said my grandson, the slight hint of a challenge glinting in his green eyes, framed with dark, expressive eyebrows.
“Sure,” I said, accepting the challenge easily, like I had time traveled to medieval times and shot a crossbow lots while I was there.
He, the guy who owned the crossbow, got me all set up explaining slowly and carefully how to shoot it.
I tried to focus on his words and the target simultaneously but I couldn’t seem to do either very well.
I took off my glasses and whined about my bad eyes and then I tried again.
“Try holding your breath,” my grandson said, his voice tinged only slightly with impatience.
“It’s no big deal if you miss,” the man who owned the crossbow said. “It’s just if you do miss and the arrow is lost, we may never find it again.”
My whole body went tense like it was the bottom of the ninth with two batters out and me up to bat.
I willed the crossbow to be still, inhaled deeply, held my breath and fired.
The arrow flew, biting low into the target.
I expelled slowly, relief flooding my entire body.
The guys took off to rescue the arrow and I did a little adrenalin rush dance of victory.
It was a first for me, shooting that crossbow.
I quite liked it and it’s good to know experiencing firsts and adrenalin rushes like that have no age limit.
The experience was enough to almost make me wonder, “What’s next?”
Treena Mielke is the editor of the Rimbey Review.