The Divider

One small mistake. 

Sometimes that’s all it takes to really mess things up.

And for me, that “one small mistake” was pretty damn small. 

I had been listening to music in the car just a few minutes before, and my mind was still caught on one particular song that I had heard along my journey. Unfortunately, my distraction that stemmed from the catchy song I had chosen to listen to was my downfall. 

When I walked right by him, I didn’t see the unusually dressed man who could have warned me of my error

On any other day I would have noticed that, but I suppose my mind must have been elsewhere for other reasons. 

Flashback to my first mistake- missing the spiked man. There I was. Walking through the white room. When suddenly I realized that something was missing. Something whose absence proved to me that I simply didn’t belong here. A surge of panic made its way through my body. In that moment, my clarity had returned. 

Suddenly I heard the voices. When I took a guess at what would happen to me if the speakers of those voices found me, I realized I had to hide.

I looked around the dirty white room for anywhere that I could go. I quickly realized that my options were slim; the only way out was the way in. And there was no way that I could cross paths with those voices without facing the fate that I was trying to avoid. 

As I heard the voices getting dangerously close, I made up my mind and quickly jumped into one of the cabinet-like compartments in the room. This dirty white door was only an inch thick and was held together by a flimsy lock, but it was my only option. 

Besides, the lock would do me no good. Putting a barrier between myself and the others would be useless overall, in fact; if they even realized my presence in their space, it would be over. 

I heard the voices enter the room, and I tried to slow my breathing as much as possible. My back was up against the door, and I was worried that my attempts to be silent would be futile. But all i could do at that point was listen and hope. 

When the voices laughed I not only became frightened by the shrill nature of their cackle, but my worst fears were confirmed. It seemed as if the next two minutes of my life could go one of two ways, and the result would depend on how keen those voices really were.

It’s not that they were out to get me. They didn’t even know that I existed. The problem came with the fact that if I was found they would immediately figure out enough to know that I was not one of them. I stood there in silence and listened to them talk. 

The voices continued speaking for another minute or two, and I stood patiently against the door, knowing that I could not move without giving away my position. I then realized, however, that strangely enough, my position up close to the door could be the thing that gave me away. 

I picked up my foot and carefully placed it on the floor in front of me. I had to move further away from the door and further into my little space. The divider was thin, but I could increase my chances of remaining unnoticed if I kept my distance. 

I placed my foot back on the ground.

*SQUEAK*

Damn those new tennis shoes. I had bought them just a few days before, and the fresh rubber let out a squeal as it rubbed across the hard floor. 

My heart stopped and another tsunami of panic wiped its way through my system. 

“Oh!” said one of voices, confirming my belief that they hadn’t known I was there.

What followed was a moment of silence that felt both very long and very short as I considered bursting out of the door and hopefully to safety. I decided not to, hoping that I would remain safe within the small  compartment and knowing that if I tried to flee that my cover would instantly be compromised and they would see me as some kind of spy.

After this simultaneously stretched and compressed moment in time, the other voice began to speak. 

“Hold on, look under the divider! Those aren’t girl shoes!”

The other voice spoke back. “Yeah! Look at how he’s standing, towards the toilet and not sitting with his feet pointing away!”

It was then that I realized that I had to run. I turned the lock and began to swiftly walk out with my head facing down. Unfortunately, even with my head down they knew that I was not supposed to be there and let out a loud scream.

The moment of my downfall, when my worst fears were realized, came as my eyes (which were pointed towards the floor) saw a foot first go back and then up towards me. 

As the foot made contact with my body I groaned and crumpled to the floor, holding my crotch. I had effectively been immobilized. Once I was curled up upon the filthy white floor that foot was joined by three others in striking me over and over again. 

“Pervert!” “Sicko!” 

I could have tried to tell them that I had come in by mistake, but I could sense that at that point it would do me no good. First of all, there was little to no chance that they would believe me; I had been hiding in there for a good couple of minutes. Second, I was already injured pretty badly, so I’m not sure I would have been able to get a word out with the wind knocked out of me. And finally (and most importantly), nothing in the world will devastate your fighting spirit like a high-heeled kick in the balls. 

After a few moments I quickly put my hands on the ground and rose to all fours, attempting to scamper off before they could do any more damage. I looked behind myself as I fled and saw the blank wall where the urinals should have been, flashing back in my mind to the moment when I realized I was not in the right place. I turned back around and ran out, screams coming from behind me. 

As I quickly exited the restroom that I had by then deciphered was most likely one for women, I glanced to my side and saw the strangely dressed man once again. Perhaps the man, who was a solid color white and resided on a sign at the entrance to the room, was dressed strangely because he was a woman (not that I have anything against men who wear dresses). My misery was only increased by my realization that I could have so easily avoided this confrontation. 

I made it out to my car, hand still on crotch and body hunched over. I was safe but definitely not unscathed. Fortunately, the women did not call the police on me and I was not arrested that day, but just because my record wasn’t permanently changed does not mean that that day didn’t have an effect on me. 

Because on that day, one of my favorite songs became one of my least favorite. 

It’s not that the song sounded any different after I left the room than before. 

Here’s the difference. 

Every time I hear that catchy, god-forsaken song, I feel pain in my balls.

 And despair in my heart.