People Watching Part 15 - Like Clockwork

In People Watching Pt 14, we left our heroine distraught. She’d waited so long to hear her favourite band play live at the Moth Club but she was just turned sixteen and had been turned away at the door. But the anger and sense of injustice she felt had been tempered by her determination that before too long, she would go out clubbing on a Saturday night, that soon she’d be mixing with the other bright young things that she was sure existed somewhere in Boomtown. The obvious answer was to wait for her eighteenth birthday, but as she trudged home through the rain that night, she counted the hours, counted the months and minutes - adulthood seemed a lifetime away.

It was nearly midday when she began to stir and as she’d hoped, already things seemed a little better. But something felt different – her heart was beating a little faster than she’d remembered, a tick-tock that kept pace with the thoughts racing through her head and seemed to be regulating time and space around her. As she lay there questioning whether she was awake or asleep, she started to experiment with these new sensations. If she relaxed, things seemed normal, her thoughts were her own and she could think in a straight line. But if she concentrated, she felt even more plugged into her surroundings, more connected, more aware.

At first the concentration required was immense and it left her feeling exhausted but she had time, lots of time and slowly, the unbending arrow of time that she’d slavishly followed all her life seemed to become less rigid, yielding, something that could be shaped to her will. There were times – brief times – when she could feel the hours crash around her, seemingly directed only by her thoughts and her desires. The whole idea frightened her at first. Could she really control time? Could she learn how to be in more than one place at one time – neither here or there – to do what she wanted, when she wanted? To shape her life in a way that suited her rather than suited the people around her?

For as long as she could remember, her room in her family’s flat had been the centre of her universe. A large part of her teenage years had been spent listening to music and gazing from her window, watching the seasons gliding by, awestruck by the world laid out before her. But now as she looked out across the rooftops of Boomtown it all looked so small, inhabited by poor wretches, destined only to be born in tears and to die in pain with nothing in between except the struggle to find a reason for their existence. Time was just a concept by which they measured their pain but for her time had become a plaything that scared her and excited her in equal measure. But despite her increasing self-confidence, as she drew the blinds each night, the adulthood she craved seemed as far away as ever.

But there was something she’d missed, something very subtle but nevertheless very important. As she had become more hooked to the mainstream and tuned into the world, she had started to mature. She was more thoughtful and more selective when she was popping tags at the charity shops and worked harder on her look…adding detail to the way she dressed and little touches to her make up that made her look older. Combined with her new inner strength, this heady mix gave her the assurance she needed that never again would she be refused entry, that every Saturday night she could dance for hours caught in the bright lights of the Moth Club. And so it was to be. She summoned all she had learnt so that rather than looking nervous, she smiled at the bouncer as he held the door open for her and she glided down the short flight of steps that lay inside as if she owned the place.

The music seemed to reach out and embrace her – the walls moved in time with the deep bassline that she couldn’t really hear but rose through the soles of her feet and resonated through her chest. This was awesome. She marvelled at how the dance floor was so brightly lit and yet so dark and secretive at the same time. Coloured strobes lit the scene just long enough to catch the smiles of the other clubbers but faded before she could take in any more detail. She’d been afraid someone would recognise her and rat her out to the bouncer – that the fact she wasn’t yet eighteen would once again shatter her dreams, but she realised that despite the bright lights she was safe in the enveloping pulsating darkness of the dance floor. And she began to relax. The bar was better lit and she felt she might be pushing her luck if she tried to buy a drink. Besides, she’d come here to dance, not to waste these precious hours queuing. As the night wore on, she lost herself in the music, in the rhythm, in the rapture. Finally, she had everything she’d dreamed for – only then for it to be over.

As the DJ announced the last record, a tall good-looking bloke with dark tousled hair approached her for a dance. She firmly but politely declined (something she later regretted - he was sick!) and made her way to the door. She wasn’t ready to share her personal space with anyone just yet: the questions…her name, her age….no, best leave that for another time. As she walked out of the club, the cool night drizzle drowned her in disappointment – the realisation that the night had come to an end. It had been everything she’d dreamed of but immediately, she wanted more. She set off for home, determined to practice hard so that through her mastery of time, she’d make next Saturday’s club-night last forever.