I swept the last bit of
peanut shells, a chip bag, a piece of banana peel, and some leaves into my
dustpan. My area was now clear, and I leaned against the bars behind me to
admire my work. I felt a poking in my side again. “Cut it out, Maurice,” I said
to the small orangutan. He was much too small for his age, but stronger and
more mischievous than those several years his senior. He was the most flaming
ginger in the zoo as well, aside from me. We had a bond, so I requested his
area for trash duty every single transfer even though it was always the grimiest.
I
was in training to become an In-House Custodian Associate, a huge step up and
raise from a Zoo Grounds Trash Boy. I would be in charge of cleaning up the
feces and trash inside my assigned animal’s cage rather than outside of it.
That would be the dream. But I would have to wait another eight to twelve months
for that promotion.
Maurice
noticed my boredom and started pulling off leaves from his perch and tossing
them through the bars to give me something to do. We were a team, him and I. I
headed around the other side of the cage to keep up with the monkey’s mischief
when my heart faltered, and I stopped stone-faced. I tried to catch my breath
as I took in the vision before me.
There
was no mistaking this man with his paper-edge thin eyes that could scald any
surface on which they rested. His hair was black and buzzed short and somehow
still able to be parted deep on the right side. His stride was precise and
quick, as if he possessed too much skill and control to make any unnecessary
movements. This man was a god. Chung Feng Nguyen was the best ping pong player
that has ever lived. He was the Wayne Gretzky of ping pong. The Michael Jordan,
if you will! This man knew he was an idol too, the finest human specimen to ever
walk these ungrateful grounds. He wore designer slacks and a luxury leather jacket.
He walked with his back arched, his chin raised, each step with power. His face
held a sneer.
I
needed to get closer to him, maybe make eye contact, sniff his jacket. Could I
bring myself to asking for an autograph? This was all too surreal.
I
was the reigning Westminster Valley High School ping pong class champ three
years ago for the entire four years I attended. I was worshiped in the ping
pong club. “Oh no, comrades,” I would say when their praise would become too
great, “don’t look up to me. He’s the true master.” I would point to the wall
sized mural of Chung in the club room. “We must all strive to be like Him.”
This,
right now, was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I had to meet the man who had influenced
me to become the man I was today. Maurice jabbered at me in annoyance as he
realized that I had been ignoring his cleanup game for the past several
minutes, but I headed toward the glory a few yards ahead of me.
The
crowds started to part as I got closer and I noticed there was another much
smaller Chinese man with the same angry glare right behind his left shoulder. He
must have come to the zoo with a brother or friend! I got more excited and
picked up my pace. Chung finally met my eyes, and I would have shed a tear of
happiness if he hadn’t betrayed a look of alarm in his eyes. It would have been
very easy for Chung to have hidden any emotion in his eyes because they were
mostly concealed. He must have given me this look on purpose...
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