The Sting

December 1, 2008
By Stephanie Kovis, Fairfield, CT

I never thought that anything exciting or drastic ever happened to me. There was that one day though, when I was about 10 or so.
My friend Jackie asked me to go to her synagogue for a service. I didn’t want to go, but I went to make her happy. The evening started out great. We snuck around the dark hallways of the second floor with our backs against the wall trying not to make the sensors go off. I felt like a secret agent.
Once we were done playing upstairs, we went to the service. We sat in a room where the cantor talked and had us sing silly songs. It seemed to go on for hours.
After the service, we got to go on the playground to get away from the adults. I climbed up to the top of the slide and put my hands on the wooden bar above me to get more force. As I pushed off and slid down, I felt a strange pain on my wrist. I looked down and saw a small red dot on my wrist. I had no idea what had happened so I showed it to Jackie and the boy that we were with. The boy said I was just stung by a bee.
I was always terrified of bees and every time I would see one, I would run away. This was the first time (and only time) I was stung by a bee. I had no idea what to do. At first I didn’t know if it were a serious situation, so serious, I would have to go to the hospital.
“Do you think I should tell someone?” I asked nervously.
“Do whatever you want,” Jackie exclaimed.
How could I decide what to do if this has never happened before? Was this a serious situation? It only took a few minutes for me to realize that I should tell someone. I told Jackie’s mom and dad, and the whole thing turned into something way bigger than it needed to be. Not long after I told them, almost all of the people at the synagogue knew what had happened. I was terrified. It really wasn’t any of their business.
They took me into the kitchen to put iced on my wrist. I looked around the kitchen and saw the group of people standing in here with me. I wanted to shout at them to leave but all of a sudden everything went blue for a couple of seconds. Before I could tell anyone, I fainted.
When I woke up, I specifically remember thinking why does the side of my head hurt if I got stung on my wrist. It turns out that I hit my head on the tile. You would think with the big group of people there, one of those idiots was to catch me before I hit the ground. It was like a never-ending nightmare. Apparently there was a doctor there who helped me up.
Suddenly, I felt sick so he picked me up and ran me to the bathroom. Someone called my parents (thank god) to come save me from these people who were STILL making it seem as if I were bitten by a rattlesnake.
When they picked me up, I was relieved. It was later on in my life when I realized something. I realized how much I need my parents in scary situations. They comfort me instead of getting me terrified about what is happening to me. They always help me through it.

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