Adam’s Apple

Although I was good at table tennis, I was never good at the actual full-scale sport. As elegant and graceful as I may seem when attempting to strike the tennis ball, I discovered that, for me at least, tennis should be played vertically rather than on the ground’s surface. I don’t care if they have to string someone up and hang them from a window. I just can’t seem to be able to swat the ball in a nice curve across the net.

One of the kids who played tennis back in the States went by the name of Tom (although I think it was Bob but Tom is just easier to type). He was incredibly short and chubby, in stark contrast to my elongated and slim being. I was definite he was jealous, especially that he was the one who called me Sarah’s boy toy.

I later discovered he had a crush on her.

Anyway, I played with the school’s team even though I was not registered at the school nor did I even pay the trainers for their valiant efforts to suppress their urge to swat my head out of court. I got in because “Sarah said so” and it was the first time Americans got introduced to the term “wasta” (in return though I had to let them use my dad’s mobile phone to call their girlfriends).

That day we were playing double team. Me and Sarah against Tom and Melissa. They looked ridiculous as Melissa was twice as tall as Tom. Sarah and I didn’t look better either. She wore a horrendous pink skirt and t-shirt while I wore white shorts and a white t-shirt (both of which ended up being see-through). Being “the man” (LoL) I had to serve the ball.

It took 4 balls on the pine tree until I got it right. Two balls were almost mine.


I hit Tom’s head with a ball.

He didn’t take it lightly.

As the game progressed I let Sarah take the shots, unless I really really had to or in case I had to pull off a special move. They were my signature moves that sent the ball zipping through the infinite vertical as Tom and Melissa hysterically tried to squint and see where the hell the ball is, only to be blinded by the sun and miss the ball entirely and we score. They called it cheating, but hey, there are no “outs” in tennis for the vertical shots. Right? The shots all remained in the rectangular horizontal perimeter.

Tom felt agitated by my shots, coupled with the fact that I was playing with Sarah (and, as I was behind her, I got to see her butt and legs and she moved, which, if any of you know me, probably was not the case). My final two serves hit both Tom and Melissa and anyone watching would swear I was born to be a tennis ball sniper.

When the game ended, Tom was flaming red and heating. Melissa was absolutely nonchalant as she thought we were all insignificant to play against in the first place. Admittedly, she was the best in school. But not good enough to avoid my shots hitting her abdomen.

As was customary, we had to “shake hands” with the other team.

Then it happened.


He wanted to exact his revenge.

I didn’t see it coming.

He served a ball.

At 3 meters away.

And it hit my throat.

My Adam’s Apple went inside entirely and then bulged out and tripled it’s size (now everyone knows why I can pull off an elevator-movement with it). I was out of breath and almost fainted. I liked the attention though, everyone was around me making sure I was alright (funny though no one bothered to do anything other than asking if I was alright, and I had to waste my breaths on answering them).

I could see Tom’s face. Glowing with glee and joy over his triumphant revenge. He thought he had it all now. My voice got forever scarred (this is also why I sound like a smoking goat) and I would never be able to woo Sarah ever again.

He had it all, he thought.

Until Sarah’s tennis racket grilled into his face.