The head of the English Department came up to my desk and said, “Michael, are you busy right now?”
I paused The Lion King and swiveled my chair to face her.
“What is it this time, Mrs Oh?” It must have been something pretty serious for her to come to me directly. Mrs Oh was fierce. She didn’t always play by the rules, but damn it, she got results.
“It’s the table tennis tournament. It’s happening this afternoon and we were wondering if you wanted to join?” Mrs Oh was never one to mince words.
I slowly nodded as the weight of her words hit me. It was the last thing I wanted to hear. I got up and walked over to the window that overlooked the school’s sports field. I thought about the oath I’d taken all those months ago, in another life. I had hoped to leave that all behind me, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of teaching, it’s that you can’t outrun your past.
“I really like this movie,” said Mrs Oh, nodding towards my laptop. “This is the part where the baboon explains that you can’t outru-”
“Damn it, Mrs Oh,” I snapped, “I told you, I don’t do that anymore! Not since, that day…” I gazed out at the horizon. I was thinking about the last table tennis tournament, which had taken place six months before. It had not ended well.
“Okay,” said Mrs Oh cheerfully. “Well if you change your mind, we’d love for you to join us.” She started to leave when I rounded on her.
“Alright, I’ll do it this one last time. But I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Great!” said Mrs Oh. “I’ll put your name down.”
Later that day, the school’s gymnasium was a war zone. Teachers crowded the place, jostling for the chance to play at a table, to test their mettle and show off their skills. To be a good table tennis player you need lighting fast reflexes and snake-like agility. I’d honed my table tennis skills over the course of one half hour in a hotel basement one summer many years ago. I knew I wasn’t as fast as I used to be, but I still felt that I had what it takes.
The world of table tennis is cutthroat. One wrong move and the ball could get away from you, and if that happens… well, I couldn’t allow myself to even think about that. Losing wasn’t an option for me. It never was.
As I walked into the gymnasium, all eyes stopped to watch me. I understood that look. I knew it well. They were appraising me; sizing me up to see what kind of an opponent I’d be. I knew I wasn’t much to look at – I still had my teaching clothes on and I was wearing sandals – but that was all part of my strategy. I didn’t want them to fear me. Not yet, anyway. That would come once we started playing.
Another teacher locked eyes with me and beckoned me over. “Want to practice?” he asked. It was an innocent enough offer, but I knew his game. This was a test, and if I failed it I’d fail my mission. I could not afford to fail.
He handed me a paddle and went to stand at the other end of the table. “Ready?” he asked.
“Born ready,” I said, not breaking eye contact.
The teacher served. The ball bounced once, arced over the net, bounced again and then struck me in the chest. He’d won this round, but he wouldn’t win another. I’d make sure of that.
“Okay, no problem, let’s try again,” said the teacher, producing another ball. This time when the ball came at me it bounced over my shoulder and away into the crowd of teachers.
“Okay, you should hit the ball back, okay?” The teacher was being friendly, but it was all a facade, and I could see right through it.
“Just serve the damn ball,” I said.
After a few practice rounds, I could feel my old skills coming back to me. All those minutes in that hotel basement suddenly felt like they had happened yesterday. I felt energized, and when the ball came at me for the fourth time, I swung wildly, hitting the ball with all my force, sending it zooming to the other side of the gymnasium.
I was back. I walked over to my opponent and pointed my paddle directly into his face. “AHA!” I cried. “Take that, ya doofus!”
My enemy smiled peacefully and told me that I needed to make the ball bounce on his side of the net in order to score a point. “But it was a very nice hit,” he said.
So that’s the kind of game we were playing, was it? Street rules.
The thing about street rules is that there are no rules.
A few minutes later, the tournament officially started. I spotted Mrs Oh, and sidled up to her. “What’s my target?” I whispered.
“Oh,” said Mrs Oh, looking around. “You’ll be playing against Mr Kim.” She pointed across the gymnasium to a man who was idly bouncing a ball on a paddle. He was obviously a master. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Mr Kim appeared friendly, but I wasn’t going to be taken in. I’d learned the hard way that you can never trust anyone when it comes to table tennis. I wasn’t going to be making that mistake three times.
Mr Kim served, and I roared with primeval rage as I swung for the ball. I missed, and my paddle went clattering across the table and onto the floor.
“One point to Mr Kim,” said the umpire. I wondered briefly if he was being bribed by my opponent.
Mr Kim served again, and this time the ball went wide and missed the table, giving me the advantage I needed.
“One point to Michael,” said the umpire.
My training was starting to pay off.
It was a tense four minutes, and towards the end I was down ten points to two. I’d worked myself up into a sweaty rage, but nothing I was doing was working. My opponent was more formidable than I’d anticipated. He needed only one more point to win the match, and I was not going to let that happen.
It happened, and I retired to a quiet corner of the gymnasium to lick my wounds. He may have won the battle, but he had not won the war. I knew that I would get my revenge, all I had to do was wait for the right opportunity.
“Are you having fun?” It was Mrs Oh. She had come for a status report.
“I’ll get him next time,” I said, looking past Mrs Oh, straight at Mr Kim, who was starting another game.
“You looked like you really enjoyed it.” Mrs Oh was provoking me. But I don’t get provoked easily. She continued: “I saw you tried to take your shirt off at one point. You are so passionate!”
“Look,” I said, “finally meeting my handler’s eye. “I gave it all I got, but I guess my best wasn’t enough. Next time, find someone else to fight your damn war.”
Mrs Oh didn’t know what to say. She shuffled her feet for a moment and then said, “All the teachers are going out for dinner after this, if you would like to join us?”
But I wasn’t listening. I was already heading for the door. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t outrun your past, but you can sure as hell try.
The Hangul Games 