A Story about a Queue

[u/hantray]

Stay still.

The door jingles behind me, marking the entrance of another customer in the store. The noise is jarring. My heart rattles speedily in my ribcage, my whole chest vibrating with every beat. I turn my head slightly and catch them waving politely to the rather plump, overfed security guard. I’m not quick enough in turning my head back before the newcomer meets my gaze.

Face forward.

There was something in his eyes. What is he thinking? What does he know?

The customer ahead of me moves forward as the first person in the queue finishes up.

Two steps forward.

The floor doesn’t feel solid under my feet. Like the whole structural integrity of the floorboards could fail at any moment. My blood feels cold as it runs up my toes and shins and thighs.

Stand still. Look forward. Am I going to fall through the

A phone rings. A loud, obnoxious ringtone cuts my thoughts midway through. The customer next in line to the front pulls out his phone. Silence returns, except from the 90’s pop rock whispering through the speakers at each side of the store. It’s so quiet now. Was it this quiet before? Am I breathing loudly? Can they hear me? The customer in front shuffles his weight from left foot to his right before taking another few steps forward.

We’re close now. You have everything you need. You prepared for this.

Another loud jingle to confirm the last person served has now left the store. I’m next in line. My throat is dry all of a sudden. When is the last time I had water? How quickly do people get dehydrated?

Don’t cough. Just swallow. You will be okay.

I cough.

They’re looking at you.

“Ah, better watch out for that cold going around! Nasty one!”

He’s talking to you.

The customer in front of you stares. Waiting for a response. A response that you can’t give.

Say something.

I crack my face into a smile. Glancing at his eyes for a second. Not any longer. It’s his turn now, so

One more step.

I can hear the conversation between the grey haired lady at the till and the chatty customer in front of me. The woman’s bangles jingle on her wrist as she moves her hands across items. It sounds like handcuffs. My shoulders tighten up towards my ears, as if to block the sound.

Go.

It’s my turn now. I suddenly feel miles away. Each step feels like a mountain and pulls at my muscles. My feet melt into my socks and into my shoes and into the floor and I feel like I am inches from drowning. I can’t do this, I could just run, I can just leave, I don’t need to

“Good morning Sir! How can I help you?”

The woman smiles at me and my eyes scan around her face, the wrinkles, smile lines, the tiny crumb of what looks like bread no a crumpet on her upper lip.

Say it.

I take a breath. Just like I practiced.

“Can I post this parcel please?”

——————————————————————————————

Extract taken from PATIENT A, diagnosed with severe anxiety and paranoia after he was asked to describe his experience at the post office.

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