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“Oh my!” he wails. “Oh, what’s going to become of us?”
This is weird. He sounds like a damsel in distress from a Shakespearean play, rather than the rat bastard that I know he is. But the masked man isn’t amused at all.
“On your knees,” he growls again.
This time, Jimmy listens. Even as tears roll down his face, he tries to lower himself to his knees with both hands on his head. But that’s the problem. Jimmy’s about a hundred pounds overweight, and instead of sinking gracefully to his knees, he trembles for a moment and then falls in a clumsy heap on the floor.
“Oh!” he cries in a high, panicked voice. “Oh my! My knee! I have weak knees- Ahhhhh!” he screams.
Because this gunman is a madman. Instead of giving my manager a well-deserved kick or a blow to the head with the butt of his weapon, instead the gunman takes aim and then shoots. He’s blown Jimmy’s kneecap and my boss is now squirming on the floor in a pile of wobbly flesh while grabbing at his knee.
“My kneeeee!” he screams in agony. “My knee!”
The blood pooling beneath him is horrendous. It’s dark red and seems to grow exponentially larger as I watch, becoming a small lake on the diner floor.
“My kneeee!” Jimmy screams again. “I’m dying!”
Clearly, someone who’s screaming, “I’m dying,” is probably not dying. But I can sympathize with my boss even if he’s been absolutely horrible to me. No one deserves to be shot in the knee, even if they’re mean to their reports and unnecessarly cruel. So I run over to the gunman as he takes aim again.
“Please!” I gasp, kneeling beside my boss as he cries in agony. “He’s just a big baby! Take pity on someone who’s only a child!”
The gunman snorts and raises his piece again, taking aim once more. This time, it’s at Jimmy’s head. Fearing the worst, I throw myself over the trembling pile of flesh that’s my manager, shielding him with my body.
“Please!” I whimper again. “He’s nothing more than a child. Surely you can’t be so cruel as to shoot a child.”
The gunman doesn’t seem moved at all. In fact, I can practically see his finger pulling down on the trigger, and time seems to stop as my life plays out in slow motion before my eyes. What have I done with myself? Who’s important to me? Who do I love? The answers to these questions are scary. For one, I’ve done nothing of import. I’m a waitress working full-time at a diner with hopes of saving enough to get into community college one day. I live in a drab apartment that’s seen better days, but it’s the only thing I can afford. My sole companion is a tomcat, Henry, who’s seen better days too. He’s old and scratched up, with half of one ear missing, and seems content to lay on my couch and nap when he’s not eating the cat chow which I can barely afford. As to people, there aren’t many folks who’d notice if I disappeared one day. I’m an orphan, and I suppose the person who means the most to me in life is Mamie. The elderly black lady is my only true friend, and the only person who cares if I live or die.
As I lie crouched over Jimmy, shielding him with my body, Mamie stares at me from the kitchen window.
“You’s go!” she waves wildly. “Go go go!” she mimes.
What? What is she talking about? But it’s all too clear. Mamie doesn’t want me sacrificing myself for a lump like Jimmy. My manager doesn’t deserve it, especially after the way he’s treated me.
But I can’t leave him like this. Again, Jimmy’s probably one of the few people in the world who’d notice if I didn’t show up one day, and besides, no one deserves to die like this. So I hunch over his portly form again, ready to meet death if that’s what Fate has determined. My eyes close, and I begin to dream of a better future. Days where I’m not scrimping and saving every penny I’ve got. Days where I wake up on a bed of clouds, instead of my lumpy, stained mattress. Days where Henry has enough to eat, and doesn’t stay up all night yowling from hunger. The rainbow of dreams has already taken over my mind when suddenly a low voice interrupts my reverie.
“You stupid fuck,” the new voice says to the gunman. “What the fuck is wrong with you? We were told to take their shit, not to kill people. Killing people is Murder One. You ready to sit on death row over someone like this?” he says, gesturing to me and Jimmy huddled on the floor.
“Aw man!” the gunman whines, dropping the muzzle away from us. I let out a relieved sigh even as Jimmy vomits beneath me. The stress has gotten to my manager and he’s not doing well. There’s blood pooling beneath us, and I can almost see it pulsing from his leg. The bullet must have hit something important, and Jimmy’s bleeding out.
