Aaqib Majid
Owen, 13, had been enjoying a really ordinary Saturday afternoon. He was lying on his bed, reading a comic book, the early spring sun filtering through his bedroom window. Only the occasional bark from the neighbor’s dog and the noises of his sister Lily, who is eight years old, playing in the backyard broke the silence. Because of her vivid imagination, she frequently kept herself occupied for hours by constructing stick castles and hosting tea parties for her stuffed animals beneath the large oak tree.
As an older brother, Owen had always been protective. He had a strong bond with Lily, despite their arguments about TV remote controls and who got the final cookie. She was adventurous, kind, and had a laugh that could make even the worst day better. Owen’s heart therefore skipped a beat when her lighthearted chuckles abruptly changed to a scream—a terrifying, terrified scream.
He ran to the window, dropping his comic book. It took a moment to realize what was happening below; it was like something out of a nightmare. In the arms of a man dressed in black attire, Lily was struggling. She was being pulled by the stranger toward the yard’s edge, where a narrow path went into a thicket of trees. Her screams reverberated throughout the neighborhood as her small fists hammered at him.
Owen didn’t think twice. With adrenaline rushing through him, he turned and looked around the room. The bright orange plastic baseball bat he had purchased from a local toy store’s sale rack caught his attention. The only weapon he owned was a three-dollar item that was dented from too many backyard games. His heart thumping in his chest, he snatched it and ran down the stairs.
Just as Owen got to them, the man looked up, surprised by the sudden noise. Owen swung the bat with all of his strength without thinking, making contact with the man’s arm. The man let go of Lily and staggered backward, howling in agony.
Owen stood between him and Lily, wielding the plastic bat like a knight with a sword while the obviously agitated abductor attempted to regain his composure. Although his hands were shaking, he maintained a solid posture. The man glanced at the irate adolescent kid and the oncoming neighbors who had fled into the woods after hearing the screaming.
He wasn’t pursued by Owen. Immediately after dropping the bat, he knelt down to Lily, who was sobbing and holding onto her scraped knee.
“He tried to take me,” she said, nodding in between sobs.
“I understand. He is now gone. I’ve got you.
The air was filled with police sirens within minutes. After a number of neighbors dialed 911, Owen had already taken Lily inside and was sitting on the couch with her, a blanket wrapped around them both, when the police came. Aside from the scrape on her leg and the psychological damage that would undoubtedly last for a while, she was shaken but unharmed.
Owen was praised by the police for his bravery and fast thinking during their in-depth questioning. They searched the surrounding forest and gathered proof, but the man was nowhere to be found. However, the family was reassured by the cops that the inquiry was a top priority.
Word of Owen’s valiant deed traveled swiftly. By the next day, the tale was being shared by local media, which referred to him as “the brave teen with a $3 toy who saved his sister” and a “backyard hero.” He hadn’t done it for the headlines, and Owen was overcome by the attention. He simply did what any older sibling would do.
For her part, Lily appeared to be recovering rather well. For a few nights, she slept with her bedroom light on and clutched to Owen more, but her soul held firm. “I think your bat needs a trophy,” she even joked afterwards.
Owen grinned. He didn’t feel heroic. He had often relived the incident in the silence that followed the commotion, wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t looked out the window at the right time, if he hadn’t moved quickly enough, or if the man hadn’t been scared away by the toy bat. He kept returning to the same conclusion, though: he would have done it again without hesitation.
His parents were unable to quit embracing him. His mother cried every time she spoke of that afternoon, and his father told him he had never been more proud. Owen retained the original plastic bat as a memento, a tiny memory of the day he defied fear and used only bravery and a toy to protect his sister.
A professional baseball player who had heard about the incident and wanted to personally congratulate Owen called him in the weeks that followed, and he was also honored at a school assembly and given a diploma by the local police department. Knowing that his sister was safe—still running through the yard and laughing beneath the oak tree—was the greatest prize for Owen, though.
Once a haven for unrestrained enjoyment, the backyard now had a new purpose. It was the location of a near-tragic event and the triumph of courage and strength.
Though things had altered, Owen was aware that life would continue. He paid more attention to his sister, looked out that window a bit more, and recognized the responsibility that comes with being someone’s guardian. Some heroes simply carry a cheap orange bat and a loving heart; others don’t even wear a cape.