Jin and the Toothpaste by Cally Taylor |
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Jin Chan removes a mangled tube of toothpaste
from the conveyor belt. It is the 17th mangled tube of his shift. It is
mangled tube number 147,420 in Jin's fifteen year toothpaste quality control
career, but Jin has long stopped counting. He drops it into the bin beside
him, keeps his eyes on the belt, on the uniform, acceptable tubes that
flow, steadily, past.
"Help!"
Jin frowns. He knows that toothpaste tubes, no matter
how mangled, do not shout help when they fall into the bin. They
flop or floop or fmphh. Jin glances down the line, at his colleagues,
but all eyes are on the belt, all eyes are typically glazed and fixed.
There are no windows to stare out of in the Hai-sin Toothpaste factory.
Jin glances at the clock. The factory supervisor's
half-hourly walk by is 12 minutes away. Jin reaches into the bin and grabs
at the topmost tube. He weighs it in his hands. It is no heavier, no lighter
than any of the other tubes. Its lid is tightly sealed but the tail is
curled and twisted. It is a malformed tube of toothpaste. It is normal
in its abnormality.
"The UV lights have melted my mind,"
thinks Jin and drops the tube back into the bin.
"Help!"
Jin looks down the line. No-one is shouting,
no lips are moving, no-one seems to be in any kind of distress. Jin reaches
back into the bin and grabs the tube. He grabs it roughly, denting the
middle with his thumb.
"Ow!" it says.
Jin rubs his palm over his forehead. He wonders
whether or not he is ill. He wonders whether or not he should ask the
supervisor, in eight minutes time, if he can go home and have a lie down,
but a lie down costs money and there's a new mouth to feed after ten years
of trying and three rounds of IVF. Jin can't afford to have a lie down.
He squeezes the tube again.
"Ow!" it says.
Jin unscrews the lid. White toothpastey goop
bursts out of the end and covers his hands. The goop snakes through his
fingers and twists itself around his wrist.
"Take me home," it says.
Jin looks to his right, to his left. No-one,
it appears, has even noticed that a tube of toothpaste is talking to him.
"Take me home," it says again. "Please.
I need to play. I need to laugh. I need to sit in the garden and feel
the sunshine on my face."
Jin raises his hands to his face.
"You're toothpaste," he says. "Toothpaste
doesn't play or sit in the sun. Toothpaste cleans teeth."
"But I want to," says the toothpaste.
"Why can't I?"
"Why can't you, indeed," says Jin.
Seven minutes later, with his hands behind
his back, Jin approaches the supervisor and asks if he can go home.
"Why?" asks the supervisor.
"I'm tired," says Jin. "I think
I may be coming down with something."
"There isn't time to be ill," says
the supervisor. "We have orders to meet. We have deadlines."
Jin hangs his head, turns, begins to make his way back to his place on
the QA lines but the toothpaste creature bites him on the thumb. Jin turns
back to face his supervisor.
"But I want to go home," he says.
"What are you hiding?" asks the supervisor.
"Where?"
"Behind your back. Show me your hands
Jin."
"No," says Jin. "No, I can't."
"Jin..."
Jin holds out his hands, holds out his toothpaste
painted fingers.
"Idiot," says the supervisor.
"Please let me go home," says Jin.
"I'd like to see my little boy. He's in bed by the time I get home
and I'm at work before he gets up in the morning. Please. I only ever
see him when he's sleeping, when it's dark."
"Work," says the supervisor, grabbing
the edge of Jin's apron and wiping the white worm from his hands. "Go
back to work and let's not speak of this again."
"Help," whispers Jin as
he stares at his naked hands. "Somebody help me. Please."
___________________________________________
Cally Taylor lives beside the sea and works in London, UK. She has been writing short stories forever but only got serious about writing in 2005. Since then she has been published online (SmokeLong, Smokebox, BBC GetWriting) and in print (Aesthetica, Woman's Own, 1,620 minutes, Current Accounts, GoldDust) and won or been placed in a handful of competitions. When she's not writing she's taking photos at gigs, listening to music, watching films and thinking up new stories.