line up

A short man in a crisp white shirt led me down a narrow corridor. I followed him and stroked my feathers.

He held open a heavy door and gestured for me to make my way in. He let it slam shut. I jumped, and he laughed then apologised, sort of.

I stood in front of a window as he pressed a button. A buzzer zapped and another door opened on the other side. A queue of women walked in front of black lines.

Which one? He pointed with a cup of coffee, the bitter smell lingered on his breath.

I looked at the women. 5'4, all of them. Brown hair. Brown eyes. All had a fringe to hide under.

I shook my head.

He started rustling in his seat. Which one.

I understood the assignment. I just did not know the answer.

I exhaled and looked again. One kept her head down, awful posture. Another wore so much eyeliner you could barely find her eyes. The third opened her mouth, and a moth flew out.

Not those three. They left.

Two remaining. They could be twins, I told the man.

He told the second one to speak. She tried, and the first word cracked under the weight of the ask. Her cheeks went red, and she buried her head in her jumper. I smiled, imagining the warmth of her breath on her own nose. She glanced in the mirror on her way out.

The last woman looked most familiar. Mucky dungarees, covered in paint. I checked my own hands. Paint under my nails.

Lifting my head, she was looking directly at me. Even though the man said she could not see me.

She can, I thought, taking a step closer to the glass. She started to disappear. Just before she turned to air, she winked.

There is no one there, I said to the man, who was lost in his phone.

He looked up. Stood up. Shit. Bellowed something into his radio.

Is it her? He demanded, brown liquid splashing out of his mug.

I stared through the window and caught my reflection. She winked and pressed her finger to her lips.

I smiled and nodded back at her.

Not anymore. I said, and walked out the door. Letting it slam behind me.