John

I’m two hours into my shift the next morning when I glance at my vibrating cell phone.

Meyer: need to talk

Meyer: @ station ASAP

As I read, the grocery store becomes a vacuum. I can’t breathe; there is no air. I bend at the waist, my hand pinching my aching side.

Breathe. Breathe. I need to breathe.

A nearby checker asks if I am okay. I stand up straight, nodding in her direction. “Call another manager to the front now,” I order.

I walk ...