Withers.
I’m hit hard. Shockingly hard. Crushed against the board. I’d have sworn the body smashed against mine again before skating away. Legs buckle and I’m on my knees, eyes rolling to the back of my head. Once I’m on the floor, I wait for pain to register on my neck, which backlashes, or in my legs which twist in an impossible way.
But it doesn’t.
Or perhaps it does.
I don’t feel it.
Instead there is a blinding, agonizing burn in my left arm.
My head turns sluggishly and I find the part practically detached from my body. As though skin was the only thing holding it together.
I’m numb before I see black.
1
Over two years later…
Damn crate was too high.
Who the heck stored these up here?
I rose another level on the tall yet sturdy ladder to finally reach the shelf with the newest shipment of golf balls and lowered them onto a nearby table.
Remembering to grin on the way down, since I knew I was being watched by eager customers, I placed the crate on the display table.
“Here you go, sir,” I pointed to the contents before stepping aside for him to take a look. “Brand-new. These came in three days ago.”
‘Cause the ones that came in last month weren’t good enough…
He was still staring at me in shock. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I know from experience that golf balls can deform if stored too long, so better to have the newest.”
I nodded. Biting a comment that while that might be true, it was only in extreme temperatures. Being that we were up north—in the fall—I was pretty sure he’s in the clear. But whatever.
The elder bearded customer plucked one from the box. “You know you could have got one of your associates to help me. I didn’t mean to make you climb up there.” The well-meaning gentleman glanced at my arm briefly. The arm that had been functioning just fine for over a year now.
Thanks, but my worker’s comp insurance is high enough.
I rubbed it to reassure him. “Nah, I’m good. I need to get off my butt more often anyways.” I winked and took another step back. “I’ll let you feel those out. I’ll be up front if you need anything.”
“Great thanks man, it was good meetin’ you.”
I walked away before he decided to ask for an autograph.
What the hell for?A voice in my head scoffed and asked.
I marched up front to Tisch, the store supervisor and also my sister. Any which way I referred to her these days, she was equally annoying. And frightening. I hired her because I hated dealing with people. And she dealt just fine managing my employees and rude customers.
She glanced at the shopper eying the golf balls like one would inspect a diamond. “What’s that guy’s deal?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll be in my office if anything.” I walked behind the register desk and slipped into my office, closing the door. As usual, I pulled the shades down the plexiglass between my office and the front of the store. Mysteriously that thing always ended up rolled back up.
It was no mystery. It was Tisch, trying to keep an eye on me.
Inventory wasn’t something I needed to do at the moment—or even for the next month, but hell, it beat being around my pushy sister.
I check my phone for messages. Why I bothered anymore was beyond me.
