The Boy Who Cried “Ow”

by Rohan Garg ’17, Creative Arts Editor

“Thirty more seconds,” yelled Mr. Jones.

Alex Zavalny panted heavily as he prepared himself for the next point. He had been assigned to face Connor Harrington, a chubby kid in the grade below him, in the final match of his summer tennis camp. After playing for about fifteen minutes, Alex was losing to Connor by two points. With just thirty seconds remaining until dismissal for the day, Alex had to quickly score at least two points to avoid what he hated more than anything else in the world: defeat. Alex detested defeat with all of his heart, and defeat to a chubby, unathletic kid such as Connor was totally unacceptable.

As Connor positioned himself to serve the ball, Alex contemplated his options. Should he hit a drop shot or should he smash the ball as hard as he could? Soon, a third option came to his mind. Alex wondered if there was a way to somehow bring this game to an end before the timer ran out. Alex saw only one way this was possible: he had to fake an injury.

Connor served the ball with great speed, but Alex miraculously managed to return the serve. However, luck would no longer favor Alex. Two shots later, Connor hit a strong shot straight at Alex. Standing with his feet planted firmly on the ground, there was no way that Alex would be able to take a quick step back and then swing his racket to return the ball. The ball was coming at him with the speed and trajectory of a bullet, and he viewed this as a perfect opportunity to execute his plan. Putting his hand near the path of the moving ball, Alex held his breath as the bullet flew less than an inch over his fingernails. Just after the ball whizzed past him, he yelled, “Ow, my hand!” at the top of his voice.

Mr. Jones quickly rushed over to Alex like a medic to a fallen soldier. As Mr. Jones examined Alex’s fingers, Alex clutched his hand and cried out in excruciating pain.

“Alex, are you okay?” Mr. Jones asked.

“Not really,” Alex replied. “I think I might have dislocated my index finger. I’m having trouble keeping it straight and it feels numb.”

“Okay, I’ll take you to the nurse.” Prior to leaving the tennis courts, Mr. Jones announced that since Alex was no longer physically able to continue playing, Alex would have to forfeit the match. Alex grinned, satisfied that he had won a psychological draw.

This was not the first time that Alex had employed such a trick. When Alex was nine years old, he played goalie for a team in his local recreational hockey league. Once, he faced Jack Davis, one of the best hockey players in the district. As the player skated towards the goal, Alex came out of the goal in an attempt to narrow the angle at which the player could shoot to score. However, Jack managed to skillfully weave around Alex to present himself with an open net. With no defenders and an open net, a goal was undoubtedly going to be scored. Before the goal could be scored, however, Alex shrieked, “Ow! My leg” so loudly that his screams reverberated through the entire hockey arena. Just as Jack was lifting his stick to slap the puck into the open net, the referee blew his ear-piercing whistle to stop play and tend to Alex’s so-called injury.

Two weeks after the conclusion of the tennis camp, Alex and Connor joined several of their school friends and Mr. Jones for a five-day camping trip to Yellowstone National Park. On the second night, everyone gathered around a campfire to tell stories. When it was Mr. Jones’ turn, everybody listened intently.

“When I was ten years old like all of you,” Mr. Jones began, “I went on a family trip to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. One afternoon, my dad decided that we would go on a hike because the weather was perfect. When my parents stopped to take a water break, I quietly went off into the woods on a different trail. I walked slowly for ten or fifteen minutes until I came face-to-face with a black bear. I stared the bear in the eye for at least ten seconds. The bear growled back at me with a thunderous sound that seemed to echo through the woods. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. How was I supposed to escape this monster in my path?”

The children listened intently. “Finally,” Mr. Jones continued, “I decided to hide behind a tree, because no other idea crossed my mind. After hiding behind the tree with my body glued to the thick bark of the tree trunk for about five or ten seconds, the bear began to move away in the opposite direction. I was safe, and I managed to stay alive. So tomorrow, when we all go on the hike by Greenwood Lake, we are all to stay together. Nobody will go off course. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” replied the campers in unison. The campers returned to their tents and went to sleep. The following morning, the group set out to take the hike in the hills around Greenwood Lake. Alex and Connor trailed at the back of the line of campers led by Mr. Jones at the front. At one point, while descending a rather steep slope, Alex tripped on a rock that jutted out from the ground. He quickly lost his balance and fell with a heavy thud on the muddy trail. “Ow, my knee,” Alex cried. Alex could feel a severe pain in his knee. When he tried to stand back up, he had trouble bending his knee. He felt as if a bullet had struck him on his kneecap and shattered it into pieces.

Mr. Jones, who was busy talking with a camper far ahead, could not hear Alex’s cries, leaving Connor to tend to Alex’s wound. Connor paused and thought, “This is just probably another one of his so-called injuries. First at the hockey game, next at the tennis match, now on the hiking trail.” With that, Connor abandoned Alex and caught up with the other hikers. Alex couldn’t believe what had happened. He was almost positive that his knee was broken. Connor and his friends couldn’t just leave him alone like that. He lay down writhing in pain on the muddy trail, hoping that someone from the group of campers would return to help him. But he waited and waited, and nobody came.

About an hour later, as the group of hikers ate sandwiches for lunch, it occurred to Mr. Jones that Alex was missing. “Listen up,” Mr. Jones began. “Do any of you know where Alex is?” Mr. Jones scanned the row of campers, searching for a reply, but he didn’t get one. When his gaze finally fell upon Connor, Connor began to sweat, but he kept his mouth shut. “Well, if nobody knows where he is, we’ll have to retrace our path,” Mr. Jones announced. After quickly finishing their lunches, the campers headed back to the trailhead. As they neared the location where Alex suffered his injury, Connor rushed ahead and searched eagerly for Alex. Soon, he noticed something blue protruding out from behind a large oak tree. “Guys, look,” said Connor.

Everyone gathered around Connor and peered behind the oak tree trunk, only to see a familiar face. Alex was lying down, as if he were trying to hide behind the oak tree from something. However, Alex was not breathing. Mr. Jones bent down to examine Alex. He looked at Alex’s face and noticed that it was covered in claw marks that closely resembled those of a black bear…