Chapter 3: Running Late


    He opened his eyes to sunlight that was far too bright for an opening shift, and for one peaceful moment, everything was fine. Then his brain caught up with his eyes.


    "Shit!"


    7:47 AM. His shift started at 8:00.


    His last of 3 alarms had been going off for far too long before it finally penetrated his consciousness


    James lunged out of bed, his feet tangling in sheets that still smelled faintly of his mom''s fabric softener. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall, heart pounding.


    His phone buzzed. Chris: "Dude where are you? Carmen''s already asking if you''re alive."


    Great. Late on Carmen''s birthday. Perfect.


    James grabbed the first clothes he could find, yesterday''s jeans from the floor (still technically clean), and a polo that might or might not have been his work one. He hopped toward the bathroom while trying to put on socks, a maneuver that nearly ended with him face-planting into the doorframe.


    The bathroom mirror showed exactly what he expected: hair sticking up at impossible angles, dark circles under his eyes that made him look like he''d lost a fight. He splashed water on his face and ran wet hands through his hair, trying to achieve something that wouldn''t frighten customers.


    7:52 AM.


    No time for breakfast. No time for coffee. The thought made him want to cry a little.


    James shoved his wallet and phone into his pockets, grabbed his keys, and half-ran down the three flights of stairs to his building''s entrance. The morning air hit him like a slap, humid and already too warm, promising another sweaty day of explaining to customers why their phones were overheating.


    The bus stop was visible from his building''s entrance. So was his bus, pulling away from it.


    "No, no, no!" James broke into a run, waving his arms like a man having a public breakdown. The bus driver either didn''t see him or, more likely, chose not to. The red taillights disappeared around the corner, taking James''s last chance at being only somewhat late with them.


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    He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. When did he get so out of shape? The next bus wouldn''t come for thirty minutes. He pulled out his phone, fingers shaking slightly as he opened the ride-share app.


    The prices were surge-level high, because of course they were. James did some quick mental math, weighing the cost against potentially losing his job. His finger hovered over the confirm button when another text came through.


    Chris: "Boss is asking where you are. Told him you texted about car trouble. You owe me."


    As if they pay me enough to own a car.


    James hit confirm on the ride, watching his grocery budget for the week vanish into digital ether. The app showed his driver was eight minutes away, driving a blue Honda Civic. He paced the sidewalk, checking the time every thirty seconds, as if that would somehow make everything move faster.


    7:59 AM.


    His phone buzzed again. Carmen this time: "Everything okay? Chris said your car broke down but you take the bus?"


    James groaned. Of course Chris hadn''t coordinated his lie with reality. He started typing a response, deleted it, started again. What was the protocol for explaining why your coworker lied about your non-existent car problems while you were already late on their birthday?


    The ride-share app pinged. His driver had arrived. Two blocks down the street.


    The location pin showed the car stopped on the wrong side of the intersection. James checked the time again: 8:03 AM. Officially late now. He took off at a jog, his work shoes (which he''d just realized weren''t properly tied) slapping against the pavement.


    The crosswalk signal was red, but there was no traffic coming. James bounced on his heels, waiting for it to change, the summer humidity already making his hastily-fixed hair start to wilt. His phone buzzed again, but he didn''t check it. The light changed, the walk signal lit up, and James stepped off the curb.


    Later, he would remember thinking about what to say to Carmen. Whether to pretend he''d remembered her birthday all along or admit he''d needed Chris''s reminder. Whether she''d like the gift he hadn''t bought yet. Whether she''d laugh at him for being late, in that way she had that somehow never made him feel bad about his mistakes.


    He didn''t see the car until it was too late. A silver SUV, making a right turn, the driver looking left for oncoming traffic. James had just enough time to register the absurdity of the situation, that after everything, he was going to be taken out by someone who couldn''t be bothered to look both ways.


    The impact wasn''t like the movies. There was no slow motion, no life flashing before his eyes. Just a sudden, shocking force that lifted him off his feet. A brief sensation of flying. Then pain, bright and overwhelming, as he hit the pavement.


    Somewhere above him, people were shouting. A car door slammed. Running footsteps approached. James stared up at the morning sky, thinking absurdly that he should call the store and let them know he''d be a little later than expected.


    Then everything went dark.


    The last thing he heard was a siren in the distance, growing closer.