Even as children, you
understand, we set our paper boats on a stream. We watch them go. M.O. Walsh,
My Sunshine Away
I was gliding through the mall. I try to get out for a daily
walk and when the weather is wet, cold, blustery, or otherwise miserable, I
head for the mall and take advantage of the dry, warm, and sterile environment
of its covered courts and stroll along to the boring strains of whatever
generic music they’re piping throughout the concourse.
The retail space is quite empty these days. As I perambulate
along the outer edges of the hallways, I can’t help but notice the same two
guards trudging along as they make their rounds. We occasionally make eye
contact, but that seldom lasts for more than a fraction of a second. In that
fleeting moment they recognize I’m just a walker, nod a quick “hello” if
they’ve the energy or are of a mind to, and as swiftly as that, we continue our
appointments with health or security.
The mall has various places for people to rest. There are
comfortable leather massage chairs people like to sit in, but I’ve yet to see
anyone insert any money. They just sit and enjoy a chair that’s more
comfortable than the standard mall couch or metal food-court seat as they await
a friend or spouse to finish whatever they happen to be doing.
This particular day I found one fellow laid back and snoring
away on a pay-chair by the sports team store. By the time I circled back for
the second time, one of the yellow-vested security men was standing beside the
sleepy slacker and informing him that while he could sit there he really shouldn’t
sleep there.
I couldn’t help but wonder which I preferred – the
purposeful snoring of a living being, or the digital tones piped over the
metallic speakers spread throughout the mall, ensuring no one would ever have
to endure the silence of their own thoughts, or the padded sounds of their
sneakered footsteps. It was no contest. I preferred the earnest honesty of the
snore.
There are also other walkers who, like me, are intent on
getting in their “steps” or whatever measurement they are using. As with the
guards, we walk, acknowledge one another with the briefest glance (furtively
striving to look away – the better alternative for we shy types), and each continuing
their way, lost in his own thoughts, adrift in her own bubble.
Each day I pass by the same venders. There are no crowds.
There are no shoppers. There’s just us walkers, us mall-crawlers.
The venders situated along the center of the causeways sit
in silence, face-down, scrolling through digital morsels proffered from their
cell phones.
Could you imagine that anywhere else? In foreign lands,
those venders would be crying out, calling for people to come check out their
wares, fruits, vegetables, or baked goods. Not here. People sit in stony
silence. If they’re on commission, they’re as good as dead. If they’re on
salary, it’s got to be the hardest, loneliest buck on the planet to earn.
My one delight in walking at the mall was stopping and
enjoying a good cup of coffee, tea, or hot chocolate at the beverage shop
located mid-mall outside Macy’s. Sadly, it closed just after the first of the
year.
A part of me died with its closing. I didn’t mourn for my
loss, exactly, but just for what its closing represented – the slow but
relentless death and decay of the traditional American mall. Yes, one can often
buy things cheaper online, but I have yet to see the internet deliver a cup of
decent coffee moments after ordering it. I have yet to see an electronic
barista pass the time of day with pleasant conversation while working on my
espresso or cappuccino.
I pondered this loss and glanced at a couple shuffling along
hand in hand. They must have been pushing 90 or so. She leaned on him and the
two of them hobbled along. Unlike the other crawlers, this couple was in no
hurry. Unlike the others, the couple simply beamed, pleased as punch to be
alive, walking, and together.
They looked at me and smiled. It was a gift – freely given.
Thank you, God; they set free my own smile in this, our valley.
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