Brazilian Bathroom Line

I'm holding onto my secret day and night in my thoughts. It's a constant presence in my mind when life feels desolate and all hope seems to have left. The lack of sunlight saps me of energy every day. My thoughts are heavy. Whenever a spur of joyful inspiration tries to rise up in me, it withers quickly. My co-workers, roommates, and strangers in the street, they all walk without energy and have blank faces. They say that social emotions are contagious. Whenever someone has a smile, everyone raises their eyes to look and see if it is possible that someone is happy. Then the person feels awkward and embarrassed in silence.

The blob went up in the sky 43 years ago to bar the sun. The world came together and decided that America had to pay for its sins of the industrial revolution by cooling the planet and living in darkness. So they generated a geostationary cloud that blocked all sunlight to keep the planet surface cool. Despair spread quickly from the lack of sunlight. Without moving clouds, there were no longer atmospheric pressure differentials. Winds stopped blowing. Bad air started sitting in the same place for a long time.

The exception was the horizon. The blob only extended over the continent. A sliver of horizon was clear. Twice a day for five minutes during sunset and sunrise, the sunrays pierced at a low angle across the land when the colors were the most vibrant: yellows, oranges, and reds. What a miracle! I never knew if I wanted to gaze into brilliant colors or close my eyes to feel the crackling sensation of warmth on my cold face. For five minutes, everyone stopped and faced the sun. The walkers in the street stopped. The drivers stepped out of their cars. The workers ran out of their buildings. We all became worshippers of the sun. For five minutes, twice a day, we remembered what it was to be human.

As the sun had gone below the horizon, the last hint of light painted everything gray. I saw a young man in front of me on the sidewalk. Before the blob, he would have stared at my breasts and whispered a "hey, baby" to me. Those days were long gone. He looked sad, like he had been laid off that very day, but that's how people look like every day now. He looked at me. I wore a big gray trenchcoat. The mood of society had deemed it inappropriate to show revealing clothes or skin. So he didn't get a rise out of me. He lacked the swagger to try. We still locked our eyes as we passed - as if to lifelessly whisper I wish we both had the spark.

I walked slowly. I wanted to make sure that my roommates were home before me. I slowly walked down the residential street. Sometimes, I still find it strange that the red Ferrari in front of our house is mine. Like Cuba had its beautiful vintage cars, America now has all the luxury cars. The rest of the world has moved on to electric drones and shipped all the gas-powered cars to us. They are illegal elsewhere, but here the glut of cars made them cheap. The sinews and curves of the Ferrari - I call him Feral - are smooth and sensual in a retro way. Feral was cheap because it guzzled so much gas. I couldn't afford a Honda. And I've never been able to afford to fill up Feral. It was an impulse buy, and now I couldn't get rid of him.

Good, I could tell that the kitchen light was on. The roomies were home. I slipped my key into the mailbox. I didn't know when but I knew that any day now another letter must arrive. I pulled the mailbox gate up, and there it was! A white letter with a Brazilian stamp. Even if it didn't have a Brazilian stamp on it, the type of paper had a purity to it and reflected the light in a way that the envelope almost sparkled. Nothing American made was this cheery. The paper wasn't the dry stuff, but it had a moist, juiciness and suppleness to it like that high-end designer paper from Brazil. I flipped to the back. "With love, Marisol!"

My heart beat faster. My sister had used the last chance to travel before other countries locked their borders to American immigrants. In those last days, she threw herself out at the world, hoping to find a man to marry her so that she could get a citizenship elsewhere. I thought she was a crazy fool. She wasn't. She had made it out in time. I quickly slipped the envelope into the inner pocket of my coat. It was best that my roommates didn't see. They had immense jealousy and hate towards Brazilians, especially since Brazil had become the number one superpower in the world. Right after the century, they had quietly gotten their government sorted out, and then the economy took off.

We now watched Brazilian movies. Brazilian fashion was the hottest. If you could afford a Brazilian cooking robot, you were rich. Brazilian slang was suddenly cool to mix into English, but not for everyone. While some of us adored and tried to imitate Brazilians as much as we could, the majority despised their superiority and called them arrogant. So, we had to half-hide anything Brazilian. Everyone knew that their movies were better. Seeing how they lived and discovering new social trends was ravishingly exciting, but being caught watching it would mean getting ridiculed.

So I quietly slipped past the lit-up kitchen with my shoes in my hand. When I made it to my attic room, I placed my handbag on the door handle in such a way that it would drop to the ground if someone opened the door. It was a little safety before I pulled the letter out and sat on the edge of my bed. I marveled at the fabric. My fingers caressed and bent the fabric. The paper didn't feel like anything made from wood pulp. It bent and moved fluidly and with a heaviness like latex or actually water but in a solid form. I smelled it. It's hard to describe. It kind of smells like nothing - so clean - but also has a hint of new car smell to it mixed with the smell of citrus.

I opened it. A holographic photo fell out. I could turn and twist the photo to see them from all sides. It was Marisol and her husband Ramon in the ocean, jumping into a wave while he held her in his arms. She wore basically nothing - only a C-clamp over her pussy and butt hole. Her breasts were free. She had taught me in her letters to recognize the incisions where they had filled her boobs and the suspension mesh that they had added to shape them perfectly - not simply in a static way but all the way they moved and bounced. She had gone into great detail about the surgeries, what made a good one, and the little signs to recognize them. Brazilian society had become even more obsessed with beauty and sexiness since the Great Separation.

Ramon was naked except for a sock-like that covered his penis and balls. Marisol had explained to me how he worked out hard to get the perfect ratio of muscles. His serratus anterior was perfect and so defined, the little fingers that spread from his back to the front of his chest. It wasn't good enough to merely have big arms - like a pumped-up biceps, but it was important to show the definition of the brachialis underneath the bicep muscles. She explained in her letters how Brazilian physiologist researchers constantly refined the perfect AI-driven workout regiment. I soaked up all these descriptions from life in Brazil.

The letter was short.

"Ann, there is no more point in writing much. I will have you soon in my arms. I can't wait to show you everything. I know we have promised to arrange for a visa for you for years. Our government bribes have finally come through. Leave that dreaded place at once. Love, Marisol."

Underneath it was the QR code for a Brazilian visa. I couldn't breathe. My heart sped up, beating faster. I felt reality blurring. I had dreamt about this moment every time I went to sleep. Every time, I went to sleep, I imagined myself stepping off the plane. I imagined feeling the midday sun all over my body. I imagined myself flirting with handsome boys. I imagined myself trying to blend in with the Brazilians. I imagined myself at parties - can you imagine a party! - mingling among the girls and listening to all the amazing things they were talking about.

I wasn't ready. I quickly got onto my knees. I pulled out the dumbbells that I had hidden there. Dumbbells were contraband here. Working out and looking good was frowned upon as traitorous. I quickly pumped some bicep curls. I did some lounges, pushing the dumbbells overhead after the step-up. I sat on my butt to quickly do Russian twists. And suddenly the joy stopped. I realized what an outdated neanderthal I am. These were exercises that I had found in a contraband book. They were of course, outdated. Nobody in Brazil would do these anymore.

Still, that's all I had. I continued. For years, I had been training to take my clothes off at the beach. For years, I had kept it a secret, hiding my body under coats and sweaters. If my roommates found out, they would kick me out. The women have become more and more overweight due to the blob depression, but I was fighting. I was a rebel. My sister had given me hope. She had never forgotten about me. She had always written to me and encouraged me.

There was the sound of the microwave. Dinner was ready. I had to hide my sweat. I had to wipe it off. I had to hide my joy and excitement. If anyone found out about my Brazilian via, I might get robbed of it by one of the many wanting to go or killed by one of the many bitter about Brazil. Calm, I told myself. Think about work. Think about your boss. Think about the dread you feel every time you pick up the phone at work. Okay. I pulled myself together for dinner with the roomies.

I walked downstairs. They weren't bad people. We were all software engineers. The Brazilians were entertainers, coaches, and designers. Everything that required life, joy, and creativity. We were keeping the computers running - decade-old systems of code bandaged on top of other code. Susi grew cave salamanders. Rachel grew exotic mushrooms. Carrey was our cook - any kind of cookie you wanted but nothing else. I felt sad leaving them behind. They didn't like me very much because I had always kept a bit separate. I had never surrendered to their weekend-long wine binges. I felt nostalgic looking at their familiar faces and clothes - Susi's big blue sweater-and-sweat-pant combo.

The next morning, I pretended to go to work as normal. It was best that way. I didn't need any luggage anyway. Anything I owned was trash compared to what was available in Brazil. The only thing I pridefully needed was a bikini top and bottom - cheery, yellow-pink. I put them into my purse. On the sideway, I looked one more time back onto the suburban house with the fossilized tree. When the blob went up, the tree had been injected with a chemical to turn the tree into a kind of rock. That was it.

When I was a block away from the house, I called a cab. I entered the address of the airport. The driver looked me over from the rearview mirror but didn't say anything. I felt giddy. I looked out at the familiar world, watching it pass with the knowledge that every glimpse would be the last glimpse of it. All this would be gone forever. I felt a bit scared. Could I trust that this was real? Could it be that I was running into a grand misunderstanding?

At the curb of the terminal, I got out of the cab. A security guard checked my visa QR code before I could enter the terminal. Looking around was almost disorienting. Only the richest of the rich were able to get visas. I had never been among the upper-upper crust of Americans. In between, I saw travelers from all over the world. It was easy to spot the Brazilians. They showed the most skin. But there were also stylish French people. The French style was to have exquisitely layered clothing with precisely coordinated color palettes that revealed the curves of the body in a ravishing way. The Japanese had completely reverted to their kimono-style clothing but modernized it to make them look like they were going to a rave party.

The displays were broken because everyone used communication devices to navigate anyway. Not a single counter was manned because everything was done over communication devices. I pulled out my phone. I felt embarrassed already. Everyone would know that I was American for still using a phone, but that's all I had. The blue dot led me down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway was a wide round room with floor-to-ceiling windows. I took a minute to watch because I had never seen it in person. I looked for the raised concrete platforms outside. Where the runway had been, a series of concrete platforms were now. I didn't know which one to look at, but I kept scanning them one by one. Suddenly, all the windows shook with a heavy sound - a sonic boom. A plane shot out of one of those concrete platforms straight into the sky. I only saw it for a second, and it was gone. Oh my god, I'll be in one of those soon.

In the center of the room was a spiral staircase. It was wide so that four people could walk down it side by side. I started descending down. Down and more down, I walked with a handful of people. The woman in front of me was wearing a thong bikini and five-inch high platforms. Her almost bare butt wiggled side to side with every step. I could tell from her body that she was American. She was a little saggy. She was probably the daughter of a rich CEO. The man in front of me wore a pin-strip suit. I was sure that such a boring dressed men was American, but when he turned around, I saw his face. His nose had at least three nose surgeries, at least as far as I could tell with my knowledge from the letters from Marisol. His cheekbones were resurfaced. His jaw had implants for a stronger jawline. After all, he was clearly Brazilian but respectfully dressed in the local fashion style.

We were probably ten stories underground when we arrived at the gate. A stewardess stopped each person, scanned the QR code, and sent them to disappear through the automatic door of the gate. The stewardess wore a tiny blue hat fashioned in the style of the old defunct TWA airline. Equally tiny were the pasties on her nipples and the thong bikini bottom that she was wearing. She wore very high heels with baby blue skinny straps as well. Her skin was bronze. Her fat percentage was so low that every little muscle and bone showed a contour under her skin. She had a thigh gap. Her belly was so skinny that her hip bones created a gap between her belly and the front of the bikini bottom. Her breasts were enormously large yet seemed to defy gravity. I found myself staring. All the sexy feelings that I felt coursing through my body seeing her. They weren't all positive. I also felt a rage of jealousy and drops of self-esteem. I hadn't felt such a whirlwind inside of me before. Marisol had talked to me at length about the culture shock that I'd be experiencing. All my emotions would be heightened.

The CEO daughter stepped up to the stewardess in front of me. The stewardess offered, "Would you like some Ocean?" The CEO daughter replied, "Yes, please." The stewardess took a silver syringe from a try, poked the CEO daughter into the neck, and then discarded the syringe in a trash can. Marisol had told me about the sedative Ocean. It makes one calm like the ocean. It's called that way because one feels a pulsating tingle like waves washing onto the shore. The tingle actually comes from the blood pressure. Every time the hard constricts and pushes the blood into the brain, the extra pressure causes the release of a neurotransmitter that feels like a tingle. Under the influence, one is completely compliant. The CEO daughter was frozen. Her normal fidgeting and swaying had stopped. Like a robot in deep sleep mode, she stood still. The stewardess said, "Walk forward!" Obediently and with a deadness like someone mind-controlled, she walked forward and through the automatic door. I could only see black beyond.

I didn't want Ocean. The stewardess insisted and raised the syringe. I told her that I was allergic to mushrooms. The stewardess stopped. And exactly as Marisol had predicted, she put the needle down. I walked onto the plane like a Brazilian. The little bit of self-determination made me feel proud and happy.

The plane was rows of seats with two aisles. We had to walk forward until we got to the first empty seat. A stewardess awaited us there. The CEO daughter received instructions from the stewardess: "Lift your arm. Lift your leg. Step onto your left." The stewardess ordered the CEO daughter around like a robot. And the CEO daughter replied precise and emotionless. Her eyes were looking straight ahead. She got packed into a blue jumpsuit that covered her head to toe. Only a small circle around her nose and eyes were still visible. Then the CEO daughter was ordered to sit down. The stewardess plugged a hose from the jumpsuit into the chair. The jumpsuit started inflating until she looked like one of those astronauts from the 60s.

I went through the same procedure. The jumpsuit quickly became snug with the air rushing into it. With velcro, my arms were affixed to the armrest. I couldn't move anymore. The stewardess said, "This is the pre-pressure. Once the plane is ready for takeoff, we'll fully pressurize it." I tried to nod, but I couldn't move anymore. My nose got itchy. I couldn't itch anymore. It was strange, a bit claustrophobic. Marisol had told me to start breathing quadratically. Four sniffs as inhales and four sniffs as exhales to keep the nerves steady. I started sweating a bit. I panicked a bit about not being able to breathe, but I wanted the experience without Ocean.

Next to me was a young man in his thirties. He clearly was American as well. He was wearing baggy clothing and had poor posture. He was probably a contractor. I could smell that he had a shot of whisky instead of Ocean. He fumbled on his own with the jumpsuit. Pride was one of these silly things. He had obviously never worn one of those jumpsuits before and didn't know how to unfold it and thread his arms through the right folds. "I'm going to have to give you Ocean," the stewardess threatened. He relinquished his attempts and let her tuck him in.

I looked around the cabin, but there wasn't much to see. The back of the seat row in front of me was plastic. The carry-on storage overhead was bulky plastic. The stewardesses worked very efficiently. I kept staring glances at their butt cheeks to admire the roundness. It's been mesmerizing to see so much skin after only seeing people in winter clothes for years. After about ten minutes, the cabin doors were locked.

"Hello, this is your pilot Pedro speaking. We are flying today to Recife. By the end of this announcement, your jumpsuits will fully pressurize. When we accelerate, you will hear a beep each time we are passing another G. When we pass 9 G, you will hear a triple beep. At this point, it is completely normal for your vision to go out. Don't be afraid if you suddenly see black. Some people may pass out, but this is completely harmless. Once the plane reaches 18G, we are going to take off. For those of you going home, welcome back. For those of you leaving, thank god that you made it out of that dump!"

I immediately felt the vibration in my jumpsuit of the air pump inflating the jumpsuit further. I felt that my arms and legs were squeezed. It became hard to inhale. Panic overcame my body being so constricted and about to go onto a tremendous adventure. The plane was attached underground to a giant slingshot inside a vacuum chamber. The plane would start spinning faster and faster. Like one can spin milk inside of a bucket by slinging the arm around the shoulder joint and press the milk deeper into the bucket, the same way, we were starting to get pressed into the seat.

I felt myself getting heavier. I heard the first beep. At first, the downward pressure felt comforting, like a bear hug. Then I felt myself straining. With another beep, my breathing got laborious. I started breaking out in a sweat. My ears felt strange. I didn't know if I could last longer. I panicked about being unable to control that this would get less and less bearable. My breathing became hard and raspy. I was struggling to keep my head up even though my jumpsuit seemed to keep it in place. All the muscles in my body were tightening and straining to fight against the ever-increasing gravity. The triple beep came on. It made me realize that my vision had already been dimming too much blood was forced out of my head down to my feet. My feet felt like they were swelling up. The jumpsuit tried to inflate more to squeeze more blood out of my feet and back up into my body. I couldn't breathe anymore. I saw only slightly hazy the folded-up tray table in front of me. The panic gave away to surrender that any moment, I was going to be gone.