Lost But Found

Chapter Ten: Stitches? No, I Refuse!

"Hey, check out her name!" A lady who looks to be in her mid thirties, points out my name tag pinned on the yellow apron I'm wearing, to her friend standing beside her. I notice that the two are dressed in matching red Adidas tracksuits.

I've just served both of the women their takeout bags, which are designed with the Pita Pan's company logo. A pita bread dressed like Peter Pan himself.

"Your name is Remi? That's my daughter's name, too," says the friend of the lady. She has blonde, long, curly hair. It almost reminds of Taylor Swift's hair back in 2008, when she still was singing country music.

"Well, sounds like you've got good taste with names," I say awkwardly to her.

Can they please leave already? I prefer to avoid conversation with customers.

"Nah, that kid's an idiot. She's ten-years-old," the woman says casually as if she was talking about someone else's child.

I'm taken back by her statement, how am I supposed to respond to this?

"Rachel,"  blondie's friend nudges her, "We're going to be late for the yoga class."

"Oh geez," Rachel peers down at the time on her phone. "You're right, lets get going." She then turns to me. "Have a great afternoon!"

I fake smile in response. "Thanks, you too."

The two women walk away from the counter with their takeout bags in hand. Thank goodness blondie didn't continue talking about her daughter, if she did, I would have to stab a butter knife in my eye. And yes, I did say "butter knife" saying "fork" is too over-used. I'm not that cliché.

I continue the rest of my shift at ease. It's been a pretty slow day at work for a Sunday. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and check the time.

2:00 pm.

Great, I'll be out of here in another two hours and then I can go home and binge watch tv shows for the rest of night, whilst preparing myself for the school week.

"SON OF A MOTHER—"A shrill scream comes from the kitchen.

What the heck just happened?

I quickly pocket my phone and run into the kitchen to see what all the commotion is; I hope that Mr. Kid didn't set the oven on fire again. Sandra will kill both me and him.

"Koda?" I scan the room and see him huddled in the back corner by the metal sink. "What's going on? I heard a scream." I walk up to him and see a bloody rag wrapped around his left hand. In the sink lies a carrot covered in droplets of blood.

"Oh my gosh, you're bleeding!" I exclaim, stating an obvious known fact.

"No, I was trying to use red food dye on the carrot," Koda scowls. "Of course I'm bleeding!" He squeezes the rag tighter around his hand, applying more pressure.

"Alright, calm down. We'll—"

"I'm going to die! The Grim Reaper will be here soon! I can already feel death's cold grip!" He rambles on, clearly being overdramatic.

"Koda, you need to chill out. You're going to be fine."

"How do you know?" He says, sassy.

I rub the temples of my forehead. "Cause I just do!Now, judging by how much blood is coming from your hand, I think we should go to the hospital for stitches."

"Stitches? No, I refuse!"

"Your hand will not heal properly if you don't get them!"

"I can just wrap my hand in bandages and ointment. Voila, I'll be fine." He anxiously searches a cabinet above the sink for a first-aid kit but doesn't find one.