A Sweet Target

You know, the person who coined the phrase ‘easy like Sunday morning’ obviously never lived in our house.

Sally is home.

I could probably just end there.

Sigh.

It had started out as a normal, sleepy Sunday. Mom and Dad up in their room at the top of the house. Sally and Mort in their apartment in the basement.

And me in my little room down the hall behind the kitchen.

It even stayed that way for an hour or two.

Normal. Sleepy.

Then Dad got…ambitious. He and Mom have been redoing the room next to theirs for their anticipated arrival and he was antsy to get to a hardware store and pick up some paint and other stuff designed to organize their disorganized mess.

Dad loves a hardware store!

Must be something left over from his mine engineer days.

Sally volunteered to drive over and get the stuff, but Dad refused. Something about Sally not knowing what equipment he would need. It’s a ‘guy’ thing.

So he and Mom left.

Sally, Mort and I were sitting on the front lawn. Just watching the neighbours do normal, Sunday things. Mrs. Michaelson was in her garden.

The Baginses had dressed their boys in white shirts and ties and packed them off to church.

Scary Gary and his brother were dragging something across the park.

Sally perked up. She jumped up and started across the yard with Mort right behind her. I followed slowly.

“Hey, Scary Gary!” Sally hollered. “I haven’t seen you in dog’s years! We need to catch up. Need a lift somewhere?”

The brothers stopped and looked at her. “Naw, we don’t need a lift, Sally,” Gary said. “We’re here already.” He indicated the park in general.

“K. What’cha doing?”

“We’re going to put this up on a tree and have some target practice.”

“Oooh!”

I closed my eyes. Did I want to look?

I did.

Gary and his brother had been towing a target.

It was then I noticed the bows each boy had slung across their bodies. And the little quivers of arrows.

Let me point out the dangers, in case you missed them:

Bows.

Arrows.

Target.

Gary.

Sally.

Did you just hear an air-raid siren?

Well, you should have.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said in my strongest voice. Which may well have been a whisper as much as it was heeded. Gahhh! Why did Peter have to choose today to go and help his Grandmother?! “Sally! Seriously! Bows? Arrows? Small boys? You?!!!”

The group, chattering happily, carried—now that Sally and Mort were helping—the target to the line of trees on the far side of the park.

I stood well back and chewed my nails while they set up the target and discussed where to stand for ultimate effect.

Madagascar flashed into my mind. That sounded like somewhere far away enough.

Then Gary stood at the line, pulled his bow off his body, strung it—okay, yes, he looked like he knew what he was doing—and nocked an arrow. Then shot.

It fell short.

He and Sally discussed trajectory and force and lots of other words I didn’t know. Then Gary shot again.

This time, his aim was better. He actually hit the target.

Then it was his brother’s turn.

He did better right from the start. Bigger. Stronger. I guess those qualities make a difference when one is flinging projectiles into the heedless unknown.

Then Mort took Gary’s bow and stood on the line.

His shot went wide—landing somewhere in the trees behind the target.

His second shot, too, went wide. This time on the other side.

Smiling, he handed his bow to Sally.

Sally?!

Oh, dear.

Sally stood there, calm and unruffled.

I was the one sweating bullets.

She drew the string back and let fly.

The arrow went straight to the center of the target. I am not making this up!

Robin Hood would have been proud!

Then she shot another and it did the same!

A tiny spurt of pride—and relief—went through me. Well done! Well—

She nocked a third arrow.Oh, wait, aren’t we tempting fate?

This time, just as she shot, the target—none too steady to begin with, fell over.

Suddenly I was remembering the first day we met Scary Gary. When Sally and the two boys had sent a rocket through their family’s front window.

Happy times.

This time, the arrow sailed past where the target had been and disappeared.

We waited for the expected screams. And they came.

My heart stopped.

Sally dropped her bow and started toward the sounds. Say what you will about Sally, she’s no coward.

I started forward as well.

Reaching the edge of the forest, just in time to see a disgruntled woman, covered in frosting, heave a cake with an arrow sticking out of it at my sister’s head.

Dark chocolate.

It looked delicious.

It hit with a wet ‘splat’ and split in two. My sister managed to catch one of the halves before it dropped into the leaves at her feet.

I tried to put the scene together. It looked like Sally’s arrow had found someone’s celebration, just as they had gotten to the ‘sweet’ part.

It had sent the cake end over end and into the woman’s face.

Whereupon she had returned the favour. Or flavour. *snort*

Now both of them were staring and/or glaring at each other. It was kind of hard to tell through the frosting.

Then Sally apologized, citing the faulty target, and pulled out a bill I’d never seen before.

It looked like it had a lot of zeroes on it.

She handed it to the woman, whereupon (that word again) the woman threw her arms around Sally and hugged her.

Huh. Didn’t see that coming.

Sally retrieved her arrow and, still clutching half of the cake, started back into the park.

The rest of us followed.

And all I could think was:

Someone killed the cake, oh, what a pain!

I don’t think that I can take it, cause it took so long to bake it, but a thousand dollars makes it right agaaaain…

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post—all words to be used at least once. All the posts are unique as each writer has received their own set of words. And here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. 

My words:  disorganized ~ equipment ~ sleepy ~ catch up ~ need a lift ~ easy like Sunday morning, were sent to me, via Karen, from my good friend, Tamara! Thank you!

Now see what my friends have done with their words!

BakingIn ATornado     
TheDiary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver 
Climaxed  

Part-timeWorking HockeyMom