is watching me. I freeze, one foot arched in a half step.
Slowly I turn and scan my eyes over the people streaming around me, umbrellas bobbing and dripping with rain. No one seems out of place or even to notice me.
I resume walking, but I can’t shake my unease. I turn again, glancing quickly behind me, and as I swing back around, my gaze falls on the sleeve of my trench coat, where beads of water have begun to gather on the outer edge.
Suddenly, a memory surfaces, unbidden. Me grabbing tissues. Wiping off fingers smeared with blood. My own fingers.
The thought makes me reel, but I try to grab hold of the image. Still, as quickly as it came, it slips from my grasp.
I’m at an intersection now, waiting for the light to change. I wonder if I should turn back.
But before I can decide, there’s a jab between my shoulder blades, and then I feel something really hard being rammed into my back, knocking the air from my lungs and pitching me forward.
A second later, I fly into the street.
23
I land hard and skid across the wet pavement, my palms burning as the asphalt tears my flesh. A horn blares, then another, and a car screeches to a halt only inches from my head, it seems. Terrified, I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that could protect me.
I sense people scrambling, and when I open my eyes, I see that several pedestrians have clustered around me.
“Are you okay?” a woman asks, squatting down.
“Better not touch her,” a male voice says.
“No, I’m okay,” I mutter, lifting my head. “I—” I’m having a hard time even catching a breath.
More horn blaring, insistent and irritated.
“Are you able to get up?” the woman says. She’s in her twenties, I guess, and I feel instantly grateful for her kindness.
“Uh, I think so.”
The man, who turns out to be middle-aged, and the woman help me struggle into a standing position and hobble to the other side of the street. The man has grabbed my umbrella and hands it back to me, still furled.
“Did you see who did it?” I ask.
“Did it?” the woman says.
“Pushed me.”
She shoots the man a look. “I think you slipped,” she says, glancing back at me. “The sidewalk’s really wet.”
“No, I felt it,” I tell her. “A shove.”
“A couple of people were trying to cross against the light,” the man says. “And I think one of them must have jostled you. Are you sure you’re okay? Can we call anyone?”
“No, that’s all right. Thank you for your help.”
They hurry off, but I remain there, still catching my breath, and trying to process what happened. Was I simply shoved aside by an asshole too impatient to wait for the light?
I glance down. My palms are raw, and even in the dark, I can see that one of my pants legs is shredded.
I sense someone else hovering near me and I turn to see an older woman with white hair tucked beneath a wide-brimmed vinyl rain hat. She seems to be standing preternaturally still, like an apparition only I can view.
We make eye contact, and she takes a step toward me.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asks.
“I think so.”
“You were pushed,” she says.
“You saw? What did the person look like?”
“I didn’t see it, but I felt it. An arm shooting out. You should call the police.”
I survey the intersection. I can’t imagine anyone who would do that sticking around to face the consequences.
“I think it’s too late for them to do anything.” There are probably CCTV cameras trained onto the corner, like Mulroney indicated, but since people were so tightly bunched together, the video probably wouldn’t reveal much.
“Still, you should call them. They need to know what’s going on in this area. Good night.”
Her concern seems to be more for the neighborhood than for me. As she turns away, water flicks off her rain hat. Moments later she melds into the pedestrian traffic, as if she was never here.
I’m still breathing hard and my coat’s streaked with dirt, but I banish the urge to return to the apartment, wanting to get my bearings first. I hurry the remaining half block to the bistro, checking constantly over my shoulder. I collapse my umbrella and secure a table by the window so I can keep an eye on the street and whoever might be out there.
But for the moment, I glance down at the metal table and mentally play back the scene from five