How could he just go away like that? Where did he go? Is he lost?
And there he was.
(My husband. Who’d you think?)
There he was staring through scopes of a really fancy bow set. What’s the proper word? Archery thingy? Arrow holder?
“Do you think the boys would be interested in learning to shoot an arrow at targets?” he asked.
“Hmmm…maybe. What if they are shooting at a target and they tilt the arrow up just a little too high and, BAM, someone’s dead?”
In steps Mr. Bow & Arrow Man to the scene… He was just off the side for a while and then suddenly was with us to answer every bow and arrow question known to man and small rodents. I had to do a double take to make sure he wasn’t a fox dressed in Robin Hood attire.
|This actually looks just like that guy at Academy. Source|
The next few minutes went like this:
Us: Light, playful, inquisitive question about the tilt of the arrow by our 9-year-old and the impending doom of our neighbor doing the backstroke in his pool.
Him: Super serious answer about how children should always be supervised around bows and arrows. Surely we weren’t suggesting children should be able to play with a bow and arrow alone in the back yard?
Us: Slightly-more-serious-given-his-tone question about, ahem, I don’t know…the size of the bow. Or, or, or…the strength of that cord thing! The thing you pull back!
Him: Very serious answer given. Eyebrows raised in our direction. Cordial and professional response given. Slight condescending tone may have been present. Hard to tell. Talking like he’s being interviewed in front of Congress. Brows are furrowed. Voice is stern.
Us: Okay-this-guy-is-intense-let’s-try-to-wrap-up-this-conversation comment by me with a discrete nudge to my husband’s side. We aren’t getting a bow and arrow right now. You know it. I know it. Academy guy probably knows it. Let’s end the awkwardness.
Him: Diving into deep conversations on bows and arrows now. There is no holding him back. He’s now waxing poetic on how wonderful it is to see girls taking up the bow and arrow these days. Gazes off into the rafters. Becomes more grounded. Continues talking about the bow and arrow.
Us: Giving-each-other-sideways-glances-and-trying-to-stifle-laughter-while-doing-the-slowly-backing-away-move-while-agreeing-to-him-about-the-pink-bows. The guy was impressive. Very well spoken. Very smart. Great vocabulary. Uses words we never knew existed. We wonder why he doesn’t take his bow and arrow show on the road.
Him: Still in front of Congress. Not to be messed with. A real pioneer. Giving off the I-would-have-made-it-in-the-wild-west air. Ready to answer any question thrown at him, preferably like an arrow. On fire. Preferably by the “girl on fire”. Katniss. Everdeen.
Us: The-abrupt-goodbye-because-clearly-no-other-way-is-possible farewell is given. Feel badly. Feel ignorant. Feel like the neighbor’s life isn’t worth risking. People should be able to backstroke in peace.
Him: *Stares into our direction as we escape with our basket around the corner. Probably returns to polishing his expensive bow and arrow set. Daydreams about downing a buffalo with one shot.*
We were clearly not on the same wavelength. HE KNEW HIS BOWS. This is a good thing, as he is the bow and arrow seller, after all.
We were just a bad match. His knowledge surpassed ours by light years. Clearly.
You want to know the best part of the whole deal?
HIS NAME WAS BEAU.