Day 24—Monday

“My pet project is dead since Carly is gone, so I might as well focus my skills on you,” Chieko said as she lifted my elbow and repositioned my back foot.

“Gee, thanks. I feel so special,” I said, collapsing my stance and dropping the bow and arrow to the ground.

“Don’t be a butt-butt.” Chieko lifted my arms and pushed me back into position.

“That’s Carly’s word!”

“Yes, and I’m making sure it lives on at Meadow Wood while she’s home recovering in an air-conditioned room with cable TV and a laptop and a cell phone,” Chieko claimed.

“Wow, you’re not jealous.”

“Not jealous enough to break a bone,” Chieko countered.

I rolled my shoulders back, checked my feet, then looked at the target. I pulled my right arm back as far as I could, elbow out, held it a nanosecond, and released.

My arrow soared several feet over the tire and disappeared into the woods beyond.

Arrows flew down the row on either side of me, but none of them reached their target. Instead of the beautiful crisp sound of contact, the air was filled with the zip-zing of an arrow releasing, then the quiet plunk of it hitting the ground. A collection of grunts and a few curse words followed these attempts.

Chieko stood back watching the archery fiasco, shaking her head in disappointment.

Finally, she threw her hands up in the air and waved them like an overcaffeinated air traffic controller. “Bows down! For the love of God and all things holy, EVERYONE STOP!”

We all stopped.

“You are shaming my skills as an instructor!” Chieko reprimanded us. “Drop your weapons.”

We all dropped our gear to the ground.

“Step back and spread out,” Chieko ordered.

We did.

“Now stretch your arms up in the air like this.” Chieko reached her arms up high, then lifted up onto her tippy-toes to reach even higher.

We all copied.

Next she dropped her torso down and bent at the waist, letting her long, thin arms dangle in front of her calves and her fingers rake through the mixture of grass and weeds at her feet.

We copied.

Then she raised herself back up and stood still as a tree, her eyes closed, her hands held in prayer right in front of her chest.

We stared at her, and somehow she knew it.

“Copy,” she ordered. “Eyes closed.”

We all copied her stance and closed our eyes.

“Pay attention to your breath.” Her voice got softer, more soothing. “Feel your chest rise and fall. Feel your diaphragm fill and release. Feel each breath. Settle into it.”

The range fell into silence as we followed her directions. At first, I felt kind of ridiculous, but then I got lost in the darkness behind my eyelids. I felt the world shrink around me as I paid attention to my breathing. I felt both wobbly and stable at the same time, and everything outside me disappeared. Then, after one minute or five minutes or who-knows-how-many minutes, my world expanded and opened back up.

Everything was calm and even and connected and whole.

“Open your eyes,” Chieko said softly, breaking us out.

My eyes didn’t want to open. I wanted to stay in that peaceful place.

“Guys!” Chieko ordered. “Snap out of it and open your eyes.”

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one trying to stay in my quiet place.

“Now pick up your gear and get in stance,” was her next order.

Once we were lined up and in position, Chieko continued her directions. “Breathe the same way you just were. Find your target. Don’t just look at it—feel it. Feel the space between you and it. Connect with it. Then . . . go.”

A series of releases and thwacks followed. Every single shot was a hit. And mine was in the middle circle.

Bull’s-eye.

Chieko scanned the targets.

“There’s hope for you yet,” she told us, then said under her breath, “I definitely don’t get paid enough.”

I smiled at Chieko. It was obvious she loved teaching us, even though she acted like we frustrated her beyond belief. And I smiled at myself for my perfect shot.

“Continue,” she said, sounding somewhat exhausted. “And don’t assume you know where the target is just because you see it. You have to connect with it. Don’t rush.”

And then she looked straight at me as she walked off to grab her water bottle and said, “You have to be patient and do the work, or you’ll never hit true.”