Pulse

30

D eena was skating fast with a tray full of food. Hamburgers, mostly. The famous (so the restaurant claimed) Roller Burger. There were two beers on the tray, a small egg cream, and two orders of fried onion rings. She didn’t see Rolf, one of the busboys, with his tray full of plates and stacked cups, speeding toward the kitchen.

“Hey!” a man at one of the tables yelled, seeing the imminent collision.

Both Deena and Rolf turned their heads to look at him, which is why they collided with such force.

Deena was sure she’d blacked out for a moment. Her back hurt, just below her shoulder blades. And her head was throbbing. When she opened her eyes she was looking up at one of the slowly revolving ceiling fans. There was also a circle of faces above her, staring at her. Most of the faces wore concerned expressions. She caught two of the men and one of the women obviously enjoying her pain and embarrassment.

That was when she felt the real pain. Her right ankle sent spasms of agony up her leg.

“Could be sprained,” she heard a man’s voice say.

“It’s not sprained,” Deena said. If she could get upright, the pain might go away. She might not lose her job. “I’m telling you, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s gotta hurt, Deena,” her boss said, though she couldn’t see him.

“Gimme a chance!”

Hands reached for her, levitated her, and set her on her skates.

And the pain did go away. Her ankle felt numb, though. One by one the hands removed themselves from her arms and shoulders.

She stood still for a moment, and then attempted to take a step.

Pain ran like electricity up her leg and she heard herself scream. She landed hard on her ass and sat leaning back on her elbows. The woman who’d been enjoying her pain was grinning at her now.

I’ll remember you, bitch.

“Call nine-one-one,” Deena heard her boss tell someone.

“Hey! What about me? I’m hurt, too.” It was Rolf, the busboy. Deena looked over at him. He was lying among a mass of broken plates and cups, but she knew he wasn’t really hurt. He was making a joke of it.

“If we saw bone sticking out of your leg like Deena’s,” a woman said, “we’d take you more seriously.”

Deena’s stomach lurched. She looked down at her ankle. Looked away.

And passed out.