A Multitude of Mishaps

Of Multitudes and Mishaps

Colleen Wang

Zara lived in her own bubble. Behind the counter, sketching on the back of a menu, one earbud in, nodding her head to the music, watching the dust motes slowly swirl in the sunlight. It was a slow day today and most people were gone.

And it was rudely disrupted by a bloodied and battered boy crashing into the one and only Mildred’s Diner, hissing, “Sh*t.”

She stared for a while, the voices of some generic band still singing in the background, at the bright red puddles on the gray floor she had cleaned just a couple minutes ago. “Is that blood?”

He still had the energy to snort. “Yeah, it’s blood. What did you think it was, fruit punch?” It wound through his fingers, forming small rivers down his forearm. It looked like that cut on his face was pretty deep.

“Shut up.” Zara wordlessly rummaged through the counter until she pulled out the first aid kit. She blew off most of the dust and threw it at his feet. She went to get a mop while the mystery boy reached for the metal box with a groan. The girl heard the movement stop, then another quieter, yet no less angry, “Sh*t.”

She sighed. “What.”

“The nearest sink is too far away.”

She supposed he had a point, but still rolled her eyes as she grabbed a towel from the kitchen, ran it through with water, then threw it to him.

“Is this a kitchen towel?”

“Yes, it is. No way I’m letting you stain a new one with blood.”

He huffed in response.

Zara was about to mop the blood up when she heard a third and final, “Sh*t!”

“What is it n—” She stopped short when she noticed several men walking towards their direction and shuddered at the memory of the one time she served them. They had promptly been kicked out after. There was no way they were all gathered together to hunt this guy who just happened to collapse in the restaurant she worked in. No way...

“Yeah, they’re trying to find me,” the boy spat out while crawling behind the counter.

“Sh*t!” Now it was her turn to swear. There was still too much to hide: the blood on the floor, the bloodied towel, the first aid kit She looked around frantically. Her experience from busy hours of serving people kicked in, and she pulled out the bucket with a mop, kicked the box into a corner, and dropped the towel into the water bucket. The water sloshed everywhere as she took out the mop and threw it on the bloodstains.

Zara turned around and was face-to-face with one of the guys. Her voice stuck in her throat, but she swallowed and asked, “Can I help you?”

“We were wondering if you saw a guy that came around here. Black hair, beaten, bloody. Pretty memorable, don’t ya think?”

She affixed him with a cold stare. “I have seen nothing of the sort.”

His gaze flicked to the mop she was awkwardly holding. For once, she was glad that the cleaning boy never did his job, as the disgusting and brackish water was doing wonders in concealing the red of the blood.

“You sure you didn’t see anything?”

“Obviously not. And if you continue to harass me, I have the police on speed dial this time.”

“Fine. We’ll keep an eye out.” He looked over Zara again, but soon scoffed and motioned for the others to leave.

She watched them slink away, making sure they were actually leaving. The moment they did, she rushed to the spot behind the counter—only to find it empty. Zara picked up the note written on a stray receipt on top of her drawing. Thanks for saving my a**. I owe you one. Nice drawing, by the way. -Kai.

The entire mishap was a pain in the rear and she was pretty sure he got blood on the pen, but Zara couldn’t help but grin. After she cleaned everything up, she returned to her slice of peace—just holding a receipt and smiling a bit wider this time.