I drop my green and white pad and pen, put my hands up in the air, and try my hardest to not throw up all over the floor. All the truckers at the booth next to me immediately shoot up out of their seats and start yelling at the robber.

“I said get on the GROUND NOW!”

He shoots the man who could not decide if he wanted white or wheat toast, with gnarled hands, and a bushy beard. He clutches his chest and slowly sinks back into his seat.

As I start to get down to the ground the robber grabs me by my braid and yanks me over to him. He points the gun right at the back of my head and suddenly my face feels wet.

I hate this job.

This robber smells of too much cologne. Like he had somewhere to be after stealing money at a diner. Like he was in a rush and didn’t shower beforehand.

I really hate this job.

Charlie gets down on the ground and now I can’t see him, because he’s behind the counter. I then remember.

The gun. There’s a gun in one of the drawers behind the counter. Hope rises in my chest and up through my throat when I know I will live through this.

My face gets even wetter and then I realize I’m crying.

“Hey hey hey. Heeeey. It’s okay. We’re good. Don’t cry like that.”

The man with a gun to my head is now shushing me over and over again, trying to get me to stop crying.

He just shot a man and now he’s worried about me crying?

“Just open the register. Just open it ok? And then open the safe in the back for me. Can you do that for me uhh…..”

He pulls my braid hard, jerking my head back until he can leer down at me.

He squints at my name tag.

ANNABELLE.

“Can you help me, Annabelle?”

“Why are you so polite,” I blurt out.

“Well I used to be a waiter myself,” he says with a chuckle. “I respect those who serve.”

He loosens his grip on my braid and slowly pushes me toward the cash register. I try to go as slow as possible, but he pushes me even harder, and I fall to the floor.

The door opens, and Nancy is there.

She’s right on time, arriving at 6:07 AM every shift, even though she’s late to work and should be here at 5:15 AM. Everyone in the diner holds their breath.

“Oh. Oh sorry. Excuse me.”

She’s speaking as if she walked in on someone in the bathroom instead of a robbery. My head gets fuzzy as she shuts the door quickly and tears out of the parking lot as fast as possible.

The robber brings his attention back to me on the ground.

“Get up or I shoot another guy.”

I stumbled upwards and slowly walked to the cash register, praying that Charlie already found the gun. The robber never leaves my side and comes behind the countertop with me.

Crouching on the ground is Charlie, quietly opening the third drawer and frozen in place.

“Hey man,” the robber says.

“Uh hey. Hi,” Charlie laughs uncomfortably.

“What’cha got there?”

Charlie says nothing.

“Show me what’s in the fucking DRAWER OR ELSE!”

All courtesy is gone, it seems.

Charlie opens the drawer all the way, and the small handgun is now visible. The robber picks it up, checks for bullets in the chamber, and puts it in his back pocket.

Nonchalantly he aims his gun right at Charlie, and I shut my eyes. I shut them so hard I see red. I don’t want to lose Charlie this way. I don’t want to die at work.

A loud THWACK comes from behind and the robber falls to the floor.

Shaking and heaving, the stranger from out of town stands over the unconscious robber with a baseball bat.

Sirens are heard in the distance and quickly everyone runs out of the restaurant. The stranger from out of town sighs and sits on the chest of the robber, unsure of what else to do before the police arrive.

Charlie holds me close, and I bury my face in his chest. For the first time, I felt something different in my chest. It’s deep and powerful and I don’t want this feeling to ever go away, but it does when Charlie eventually lets me go.

I think I’m going to quit my job next week.