Not Done Yet - 4. Sighting In the Target

Sighting In the Target

The next day, James was out of bed and had breakfast early. He had a quick shower, slung the towel over his shoulder, and pulled out the brightest pair of trunk briefs in his drawer and put them on. His hair hung in his eyes as he reached for the phone. He pulled a card out of his wallet and began dialing the number on it.

“Hi, Mrs. Johnston. This is James Batisse…. How are you doing?... I never did thank you for all your help on my history paper last year…. I got an A on it…. Uh-huh….She liked the civil rights theme…. Thanks. How’s the summer job going? Is it more fun than putting up with a bunch of school kids who just want to party in the library? … Yeah, I suppose so.… Yes, she’s fine. She’s at work right now. Mrs. Johnston, I’m trying to find somebody, a kid I met a couple of days ago. He and his dad just moved to town, and I don’t know where they live. With you working in a realtor’s office for the summer, I was wondering if you could help. All I know is it’s on the outskirts of town…. Sure, his name is Casey Donovan. I don’t know his dad’s first name. They just moved from Taylor…. He’s fifteen…. Yep, I expect you’ll have to put up with him next year…. Do you think he might know?... That would be great. Thank you very much, ma’am. I really appreciate it…. Would you please ask him to call me back at this number?... It’s 512-308-2228…. Thanks, it was nice talking to you, too. G’bye.”

James looked down at the sheet of paper with the ink smears. “Dude, everything living leaves tracks. I’m gonna cut across your trail.” He tried to look out the window, but the sky was overcast, and the tree outside cast a shadow over the window. All he saw was his face reflected in the glass. There was a furrow between his eyes.

Walking to the closet and feeling the two pegs inside over the doorway, he lifted the bow hanging on them and brought it down. It was his take-down bow, the string loose. Setting one end down on the floor next to his foot, he squatted partway, rested the bow against the back of his right arm, and reached over his shoulder. He seized the upper limb of the bow with his right hand, and the string in his left, and pulled the limb down until he could hook the string in place. He straightened up and examined the bow, paying special attention to the string, feeling for any damage or wear.

Turning to the mirror, he set his feet, drew the bow fully, and held his position for a slow count of twenty, studying the reflection, adjusting his stance slightly. His shoulders began to tremble. Then he relaxed. Slowly, he allowed the string to return. Quickly, he unstrung the bow and took it apart. He picked up the small pack by his desk, and put the bow inside. He pulled out a quiver with half a dozen practice arrows from the closet, and put that in the pack, too. “He can learn the hard way about the bowstring slapping his forearm. After he gets his form down, I’ll lend him a guard.” The smile on his face was of pure mischief.

He threw on some clothes ad ran his fingers through his hair so it would finish drying and lay right. As an afterthought, he took off the T-shirt and sprayed on some body spray.

While he was pulling his shirt back on, the phone rang, and he picked it up on the first ring. “Hello?... Yes sir….. Thanks for calling me back…. Yes sir…. We met a couple of days ago, and he wanted to learn to shoot a bow… I was going to take him one to practice with…. Uh huh….” He began scribbling quickly on the paper in front of him. “1723 Pecan Street…. Yes sir…. Yes sir…. I will. Thank you.” He hung up the phone, folded the paper, and stuffed it in his pocket.

Dressed to ride that morning, James slung the pack over his shoulder and headed for the hallway. For once, he was wearing sneakers, instead of his moccasins, as he ran down the stairs and out the door. He almost forgot to lock the door. “Slow down. No mistakes.” He pulled out his bike, and once he climbed onto the seat, he started off in a high gear to Pecan Street. It would take him about forty-five minutes if he pedaled all the way.

***
In the little house on Pecan Street, Casey walked all through the house twice, but nothing had changed. His dad hadn’t returned overnight. He began to softly talk to himself. “Where IS he? Where the fuck IS he? He’s never done this before, no matter how drunk he got.” His stomach growled loudly, and he looked at the clock on the stove. “Well, I can’t just wait around for him with my thumb up my butt. Guess I’d better get some food in me.”

In the kitchen, he started opening cabinets, taking a mental inventory. Luckily, his dad had gone grocery shopping, if Pop Tarts and cold cuts could be called groceries. A loaf and a half of bread, sandwich meats to last several days, a jar of mayo, eight boxes of Pop Tarts…. There were a few more things to eat, but they would take some prep work. He opened a pack of Pop Tarts, and started eating one.

He pulled out his wallet and counted his money. Eighteen dollars. He pulled a trash bag out of the cabinet and walked back to the bedroom, where he gathered up his dirty laundry and stuffed it in the bag, and rounded it out with some towels. “This ought to fill up a load. Glad I saw that laundry around the block yesterday. Wish we had some detergent. It’s gonna cost, getting it there.”

With his key in his pocket and a Hefty bag full of dirty clothes, Casey walked around the corner to the laundry, just a few doors down. The overcast had burned off, and the sun had been up long enough to enjoy the shade of a row of hackberries growing through and around the chain link fence. A mockingbird was up on a branch at the top, singing his whole repertoire, sounding first like a chickadee, then a wren, even a squirrel. Three times through the various calls, and he flew to the next tree to start it all over again.

Nobody was at the laundry, so he walked right up to the bill changer and got a fistful of quarters. After buying detergent, he had his choice of washers. He loaded one up and got it going, and while the machine was filling, he sat down and picked up an old magazine somebody had left. He read about the new car that was just coming out last year, the scandal everyone had been talking about on the news several months ago, and the upcoming election, where most of the experts had already been proven wrong – the other party had already won big. He read that magazine from cover to cover. Then he found another, only putting it down to toss the clothes into a dryer. While he folded his clothes, he was yawning broadly.

He walked out of the laundry with his clean clothes back in the Hefty bag. Down the street, something was moving at his house. There was somebody sitting on the steps leading to the kitchen. It looked like another kid, with dark brown hair. He looked up, and Casey stopped in his tracks when he saw one eye the color of a Hershey bar looking back at him. A shy smile followed, as James stood up.

“James! How the hell did you know where to find me?!”

James winked at him, and grinned. “Everything leaves tracks.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Casey brushed past and unlocked the door. “Come on in.” It was almost a growl. He walked to the kitchen table and pulled his clothes out of the bag, folded the bag, and put it in the pantry. He didn’t look at James.

James frowned slightly, and shifted his weight back and forth a couple of times, hitching the pack up higher on his shoulders. “Listen, I’m sorry I came over uninvited, but after the way you left yesterday….”

Casey stopped and sighed before he turned to face him. “No, don’t you apologize. I showed up unexpected on your doorstep, and I know I left suddenly.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry. I’m surprised to see you, is all. So, how’d you find me?”

“This is a small town, dude, and I know lots of people. The school librarian is a friend of mine, and she’s working at a realtor’s office for the summer. The realtor called me back and said he only knew of one house that rented in the last two weeks – this one.

“I brought you something.” He took off his pack and pulled out the bow and quiver. “You ran out before we could get you started shooting yesterday. Do you have some time?”

Casey stared at the bow and quiver. His eyes grew huge. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no sound came out. He looked at James; he looked at the bow; he looked back at James, and tears started welling up in his eyes. “Dude!” He turned and dashed the tears away, then turned back.

James smiled brightly, and said, “It’s only a loan. Don’t get any ideas. I will want them back, eventually.”

“OMG! I can’t believe you’re doing this! Sure! I’ve got time right now. I’ve never seen a bow like this. How do you put it together?”

For hours, the boys worked with the bow. James taught Casey to put together and string the bow, making him practice it several times, so he’d remember how to do it easily. Then he had him draw and relax over and over, until Casey’s back and arms were dripping with sweat. James pulled a marker out of his pack and marked a small X on an old box, set it on the ground, took twenty steps back, and put on his wrist guard. He hung the quiver over his shoulder and settled it into place. Casey handed him the bow, which was unstrung and taken down. He watched as James assembled and strung the bow, pulled and nocked an arrow, drew and released. The bowstring softly sang as the arrow pierced the box, right at the cross of the mark he’d made. James handed the bow to Casey. “You’ve done everything but shoot. Ready to try?”

“Hells yeh!”

“OK. Put on the wrist guard like this. I decided to be nice, and warn you to wear a guard, so you don’t get slapped silly from the bowstring.” He showed Casey, then took it off his wrist and put it on Casey’s. “Take your stance; here’s an arrow. Don’t just hit the box. I want you to put that arrow right through that hole I just made. Always focus on the smallest target.” He stepped in close behind Casey and adjusted the boy’s stance a little, breathing in his scent as he turned the boy’s hips, and watched him nock the arrow. “Now draw smoothly, all the way back, and line up the bottom of the arrow with your target. When you’re at full draw, release. Don’t wait. You should have it sighted in all the way through your draw. Time it so that you reach full draw just as you finish inhaling, and before you let it out.” James stepped back. Casey shifted his weight and rolled his shoulders twice, focused, drew, and released right away. The arrow flew and pierced the box, less than three inches from the mark.

He let out a loud whoop. He jumped into the air, eyes bright, and pumped his fist three times. “I can’t believe I even hit the box! Oh my God! Can I try it again?!”

James laughed loudly, took the quiver off his shoulder, and put it on Casey’s. “Here. You have four more shots before we have to chase them. Make them count.”

Of the next four shots, one missed the box, two hit outside his first shot, but the last one was the closest yet. James watched him from behind, his gaze dropping to Casey’s butt. “James, you’re the best teacher.” Casey smiled so wide, his dimples doubled.

James just smiled back at him. “Come on. Let’s chase some arrows down.” He walked up to the box and they found five right away, but the last one, which had missed the box completely, took a while longer. Casey put them in the quiver and started to hand it to James.

“No, I told you I was loaning them to you, so you can practice. We’ve done a lot for one day. You don’t want to shoot when you’re tired. Besides, you’re going to be sore and stiff tomorrow. Don’t try to shoot until the day after so you can heal up some. Instead, do some pushups and pullups; make sure you warm up your shoulders.”

Casey looked down at the ground, then locked eyes with James. “You’re the best, dude.”

James walked over to his pack and slung it onto his back. He raked the hair back from his forehead. It fell right back down to cover one eye. “Well, I need to get home. I need to get something to eat.”

“Hey, you want a sandwich or something… unless you’ve just got to go?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

Casey led the way in. As soon as he turned, James adjusted himself and followed him in.

After a couple of sandwiches and a lot of joking around, James said he really had to go, but, “Why don’t you come over Thursday, and we can ride up to the park? I’ll show you around. The old buildings are really cool.”

“OK, I’ll be there early.”

And with that, James left. Casey stood at the door, looking after him. When he walked back into the house, he picked up James’ archery gear and took it back to put it in his closet. “I don’t want the old fucker to get a look at this. He’d try to sell it.”