Best of Miami Portfolios 2001 - Units.muohio.edu

A Narrative or Short Story—Kristen Price
My Hardest Test
I stared down at my hands, trying to control the shaking. My breathing came out slowly, if
it came out at all. I felt like bursting into tears. I stared at the boards in front of me. My head was
spinning, and my mind was racing. I couldn’t believe I had missed that break.
I had practiced this break time and time again. It was my best break of all. Normally, my
foot went through the board like a hot knife through butter. I could break double boards with that
sidekick and not blink an eye or break a sweat. But now—now that everything was on the line, my
foot jammed the board long before it should have penetrated.
My hands were still shaking furiously. I jumped from foot to foot, trying to shake off the
first two misses. Two misses. Two out of three possible chances wasted. The third chance was do
or die. No break, no black belt.
Normally I was a star student. My instructor even called me a bragging right. What was
happening to me? Why couldn’t I make this break?
“Face me,” Mr. Haungs demanded.
“Yes, sir.” Tears were beginning to well in my eyes.
“Listen carefully,” he began to talk. I felt a hundred pairs of eyes on me, but as he stared at
me and forced me to focus on what he was saying, the crowd began to disappear. I could only hear
what I was being told. It was the only thing that mattered now. “If you break this, you pass. You
become a black belt. If you miss, you are nothing more than you were yesterday. You may come
back to try in three months, but that’s not you. You don’t need to come back a second time. You
have never failed before. Don’t start now. Now, ask-”
Before he could finish, I was at attention, and broke in, “Permission to break my board, sir!”
“Are you going to break it?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir!”
“Louder!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Break that board!”
In one swift move, I threw everything I had at that board, every last drop of anything that
I had.
And my foot stopped—again.
I stared at the board in disbelief. I knew the crowd was staring at me exactly the same way.
I even heard my mom gasp. I know I did. My board holder handed me back my board, fully intact.
I accepted his hesitant offering in a daze. With a clouded head, I silently took my seat at the back
of the room with all of the other candidates. I felt soft pats on the back and heard whispers in my
ear: “It’ll be okay, honey. You’ll get it next time.”
All that I could manage in response was a quick glance, a forced half-smile, or a simple nod.
I knew that I couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, all that would come out would be sobs. Even
if I didn’t have my rank, I still had my pride, and I absolutely refused to let my classmates and my
students see me cry.
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