The Line

John’s attention was directed past the bright lights, the loud, thumping music and the hordes of drunken teenagers and young adults. He was concentrating on a girl in the queue, the same as he did every night. He had spotted tonight’s girl almost immediately. She was dressed for fun, all bright colors. A super–short, bright green skirt, a tiny pink bikini top, and her chestnut hair bunched up into lots of little pigtails, each dyed with a splash of purple and tied up with rainbow–colored woolly bands, just enough to let a few loose strands brush her shoulders. She had been in line for almost twenty minutes now. When John had initially spotted her she was right at the back; now she was nearer to the ladies’ room door, but he wasn’t sure whether or not she would make it through. She was already dancing her knee badly; she already had her bottom lip firmly bitten, and her hands were already wringing together. He let his mind’s voice laugh loudly, but kept his face steady as rock. From way over here, nobody had any idea he was watching her. They couldn’t even see him. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own friends and their own drinks to spot him, and after all, he looked exactly like one of them. He, and he alone, knew what was going to happen to the girl. There was only one person in front of her now. She closed her eyes and bent at the knees, saying something urgent to the ceiling, although John couldn’t hear her voice, of course. He imagined it would be a soft, friendly voice. He tilted his head to get a better view of the girl. She was quite remarkable. She looked about nineteen or twenty, neither underweight nor over, and so her figure was smooth, flowing, and absolute. She probably knew how good she looked. Her face was beautiful as well. A face suited to smiling, with a little button of a nose and a mouth that would feel like silk under the run of his fingertips. Not that he would ever touch her. John decided to call her Silk, in his mind, so that he knew her better. Now, her smile was gone, and instead she had a look that suggested internal panic. She kept looking around, to see if anyone was watching, and someone always was. Behind her, the queue was getting longer. She was close to the front, but behind her another five girls had joined the queue. Not one of them seemed like they were in trouble, but perhaps that was by comparison to Silk. Someone came out of the ladies’ room and walked away to join her friends. Silk watched her go. Whoever the woman was, she was empty. Silk longed to be empty. Her eyes closed as the girl in front of her walked easily in, not displaying half the need Silk felt: a casual visitor. Silk was desperate, and a casual visitor was in before her. John got ready. Silk’s knees pressed and rubbed together. Her hand, screwed up into a fist, waved by her side in a silent threat as she curtsied down three times, without any kind of steady rhythm. Her eyes were closed and her face was pointing upwards. John could see that she was starting to reach that point beyond hope, where any further delay would be unthinkable, where she could not possibly wait any longer. Another two girls joined the queue behind Silk. There were now eight women in the line, and Silk was the first. But she didn’t seem able to wait for the girl in front to finish. Her legs were pressed together hard and her thighs were squeezing to try and touch, to try and fill in all the space. There wasn’t much longer. John raised his right hand slightly, preparing. The bathroom door opened and the girl stepped out, shaking the last drops of water from her hands. Silk breathed a heavy sigh and started forward in a hobble, desperately trying to hold on as she went. Her breathing was erratic. John grinned, and snapped his fingers. Silk collided with another girl’s back. They both yelped with surprise, and apologized to one another. Silk curtsied again to stem the sudden rush that the surprise brought on, and then opened her eyes. She was at the back of the line. She was girl number eight. She could hardly take it in. She looked around her and in front, and yes, there were seven other girls in front of her, one just disappearing through the door now. Her teeth clenched together and her eyes widened. What was going on? How could she be here? Had she wished so hard to be at the front of the queue that she had for a moment believed that she was? In the background, John laughed quietly to himself. He never got tired of doing this. Silk looked around her in a last desperate attempt to find an escape route, but she was cornered in. The crowds around her were impermeable. She forced one hand in between her thighs and clamped it firmly in, bending at the waist. There was no way she was going to be able to hold on now. People were beginning to notice her. A couple of men stood nearby, gesturing toward her to alert their friends. The two women in front of her saw her distress, and allowed her to stand in front of them in the line, but still the waiting went on. She seemed sometimes to have a moment when she was all right. She would stand up again, with her legs firmly together still, only to have to jam her hand back in place seconds later. After ten minutes had gone by, Silk was frantically looking around her again. She was third in the line. The two girls who had just gone in were together, and were taking a long time, probably putting on makeup or talking to one another. They shouldn’t be allowed to do that. The people were all around her, jostling. John could not see her for the moment. He caught a glimpse of her green skirt through a gap in the crowd and judged how near she was to the bathroom. For a brief moment, he even saw her suddenly double–up and stamp her right foot. He smiled, and snapped his fingers. Once again, she was suddenly at the back of the line. It had gone down now to only four people, then her. She cried out in alarm and turned her back on the room, facing the wall along which the line ran. Both hands disappeared in front of her. Her legs twisted and squirmed together. By the time she was able to let go of herself and turn back, her cheek was wet with a tear of frustration. John decided to let her be. Perhaps he had toyed with her long enough. She was biting and releasing her bottom lip and showing her teeth, sucking in the air. She would not last for much longer. Five minutes passed, ten, and finally Silk was at the front of the line. The woman who had been in before her stepped out, and it was finally her turn. She visibly drew in breath, and squeezed hard with the one hand, which was still locked in place. She seemed unwilling to move, but then finally she made a dash for the door, that one hand still in place, running with tiny steps, using the other hand to push the door open as she went. She disappeared inside the bathroom door, which swung closed. John waited, one second, then two, three… And that was enough. He snapped his fingers, and turned his back. Across the other end of the dance floor, Silk fell from a sitting position in mid–air onto the ground, with her underwear around her ankles. She sprang back up. A spray hit the ground between her feet. Red–faced and open–mouthed, she glanced around her. Nobody was watching. Nobody except John. She kicked the underwear from her feet and ran, one hand over her mouth, the other jammed between her legs, to the open doors of the nightclub. She barged through the people who stood in the way and pushed others aside. With a snap of his fingers, John placed her against another wall at the side of the dance floor. The beat of the music pounded through the feet and up the legs of everyone in the room. Still she ran. Again John moved her further from the door. She jammed both hands between her legs and doubled–up. She grabbed at her hair and stamped with both feet, screwing shut her eyes and looking up to the ceiling. As she did a jet streaked down her leg, then another down the other leg. Droplets hit the floor. She opened her mouth then snapped her teeth together again. Her hands went to the back of her neck, as the jets became a spray, hitting her ankles, the floor, and the front of her tiny skirt, which darkened in patches. It fell freely, into the puddle that was already seeping out around her. People had noticed her now. She began to sink to a crouch, covering her face with her hands. The spray settled into a steady flow, which continued to wet the floor. A hand clapped suddenly down on John’s shoulder. “Again, John? How many times do we have to warn you?” “Well what else am I supposed to do?” He turned, and grinned into the reprimanding eyes of Jake, who he knew very well. “You have responsibility. I know you landed a rough job, desperation isn’t the most enviable power to hold, I know. But you could at least keep it in people’s homes, where they can deal with it.” “But I have to have some fun! Look at you; you’re the God of Bass Beats. That’s fun; you get to party all night. But me, well this is all I can do! I have to make my entertainment some way.” “That might have been true two hundred years ago, but things have changed now. You could really spoil these people’s enjoyment!” “Save your speeches for someone like Eric. What’s he again, God of…” “Flatulence,” Jake confirmed. “You’re right, whoever started the idea of having a God for absolutely everything has a lot to answer for. Listen, just, that’s enough for tonight, okay?” John grinned, and began to walk away, toward the door. “Okay, Jake.” “I mean it!” “See you tomorrow night!” As he stepped outside and set off up the cold street, he laughed to himself, just imagining Jake’s face as he shouted obscenities at the door. Same as every night.
Piccolo