I watch
heavy raindrops gulp the air from beneath a large overhang at the Grand
Shopping Mall. After failing to purchase a book with a gift certificate my
sister gave me for my birthday, I wait for the storm to pass so I can venture
to my car.
The crowd around me beats like a bulbous heart, pressing in
tightly around me to avoid the rain. I
begin to tremble anxiously midst their grunts and groans. Being out in the sea of humanity is
disconcerting, as it always is, because I am invisible to each and every one of
them.
“When will it stop raining, Mommy?”
a child whines from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.
“You think I’m the weather person?”
she snaps irritably. “I’m no different
than the rest of these people. If we
knew, we wouldn’t be standing here trying to decide whether or not to get wet
or waste more time.”
The crowd grumbles in agreement.
I can’t argue.
Perspiring and nauseous, I squeeze
my way back through the crowd, evoking more unpleasant murmurs and finally
break through, back into the mall.
Brilliant lights bounce off mirrored ceilings before scaling lean chrome
structures. Carnival music blares painfully.
Wandering past store after store under the empty glare of window
mannequins who wear thong panties but no facial expressions midst never ending
lines of people, mouths open, eyes glazed, following one another aimlessly like
alewives along the Lake Michigan shoreline. Blue tooth devices glisten like
heavy earrings. Ipod wires hang like
strings and the world is enveloped in communication with everyone but me.
I stand outside the bookstore with
the gift certificate in my limp hand. It
was my only birthday gift. My sister is
the only one who cares enough to send me a gift. I waited for her call. That was a week ago. But the gift certificate is a gesture. She remembered. I have been in the bookstore three times in
hopes of using it, but I have yet to find anything that is better than the
certificate itself.
I wander away and after dodging in
and out of the horde, I duck into an empty store. The noise from the mall disappears
and silence reigns inside. Each side of a long center aisle is lined with racks
of children’s clothes. Made of cotton
and wool, they are so original in design I pause and take notice. How does a swatch of colorful cotton evoke
such emotion? Each selection screams
with color, brazen reds, boasting blues and sad, but lovely purples. I reach out and fondle a miniature yellow
skirt and smile at the texture of the corduroy.
A static buzz screeches through an
overhead intercom, followed by a melodious, thick voice. “Welcome to the Children’s Palace.”
No one is on the floor. The carpet has bright orange squares on a
yellow background and the walls are the same.
“Are you alone?” she asks.
“Very.”
A large, red open corral sits at the
end of the aisle. Inside is an
entertainment center with a big screen television under a staircase that climbs
to an upper compartment. A steel slide
swoops down from the top of the far side.
As soon as I flop into a monstrous beanbag chair, a clown appears on the
screen.
“Still alone?” she asks, her large,
red lips thick as apples. Red diamonds
surround her sad eyes.
Glancing about and finding no one
else, I nod. I don’t tell her I’ve been
alone for as long as I can recall.
“Are you sure?”
Obviously I must be blind, or not
trustworthy, but nod again
A smile creases her whiteface –
wrinkles spreading from her eyes like ripples in water.
The screen blinks off and she is
squatting at the top of the stairs. Her
orange and yellow polka dotted silk outfit shimmers in the bright lights. Sliding headfirst, giggling all the way, she
tumbles and lands sitting up in front of me, grabs my hand and joins me in the
beanbag chair, her outfit slippery to the touch.
She looks deeply into my eyes – hers
are turquoise.
“I know you are literally alone in
this store, or were until I joined you, but are you alone outside of the
store?” Her perfume smells of orange
slices.
Her hand squeezes mine as I
nod. “I like corduroy too.”
“And yellow?”
“Not as much as orange, but yes, I like
yellow.”
My heart is beating noticeably and I
am having difficulty keeping the smile from jumping off my face.
“Come with me,” she cries, jumping to her floppy booted feet,
yanking me up.
We skip into the mall with large
high kicks that strain my hamstrings.
Hundreds of people stop their meandering and watch curiously. They
whisper and clap, jumping up and down.
Lines form behind us - onto the escalator to the second floor we all
go. Children scream with delight and tug
at her, begging for her autograph. She
signs in large loopy letters, “The Clown.”
Gleefully dancing in and out of the
large frenzied crowd, past long lines of purple and white neon store signs, I’m
giddy with a feeling of belonging for the first time in my life. Skidding to a halt at a tall fountain, sheets
of water climbing slowly up a wide stainless steel column before cascading into
a shallow pool, she holds out her open hand.
“Give me a quarter.” She takes my
coin and hurls it into the water atop piles of other pennies and nickels. “Now throw in your own quarter and make a
wish.”
There is no time to make a wish, but
I don’t say so. So exhilarated and overwhelmed by the crowd’s attention, my
mind flowing as it never has before, I ask, “What did you wish for?”
She winks and cries above the buzz
of the crowd, “It won’t come true if I tell you. Come on!”
Where is she leading me? Literally and figuratively – is she playing
with me, am I just a pawn to gain attention for her store? But her enthusiasm and genuine interest have
me dropping shields for the first time – ever.
My newfound vulnerability is exciting and frightening at the same time.
She pulls me onto the escalator to
the third floor. The throng of people
has grown into a massive snake slithering the length of both escalators,
extending like a tail from a mass of beaming faces gazing up at us from the
first floor.
“They must be somebody!” a man in
the crowd cries as more join the horde.
“I saw them on TV this morning!” a
lady announces.
“No, they are movie stars doing a
stunt for their newest movie,” a couple screams in unison.
We suddenly duck into The Cosmetic Shop and are greeted by an
obese woman with a shock of black, wiry hair.
Her eyes sparkle with purple glittered eye shadow and her cheeks glow
under red rouge. Shiny black lips
surround her wide yellow teeth.
“Give him the works,” The Clown
cries with glee, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands before turning to
face the crowd, which sends them into a frenzy – some so beside themselves they
begin crying.
“How?”
“He must tell you.” She turns to me, taking both hands and stares
deeply into my eyes. “If we will be, if
we are, this will tell.”
The obese woman yanks me to the back
room and hurls me into a chair before slamming the door. The crowd roars outside as I sit in front of
a wide mirror flanked by scores of head mannequins each wearing different types
and colors of wigs.
Without hesitation, because I know,
I feel it stronger then I have felt anything in my life, I whisper instructions
to her. “We’ll surprise her!”
As she works skillfully, my heart
pounds loud and hard like a hammer. The
makeup goes onto the canvas of my face. I can’t wait to show my new
friend. My cheeks stretch wider and
wider with each masterful stroke of her hand as the finished mask draws
nearer.
The transformation is complete. I will never be lonely again. The Clown is
addressing the crowd. Quivering with excitement, I burst through the door and
scream, “Surprise!”
The Clown turns, hopeful and happy
until she takes one look, and slumps forward, suddenly drained of all energy.
Frowning and shaking her head slowly, she sighs, “I thought you would
understand,” before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
Stunned, I fall to my knees, tears
etching scars in the red diamonds and my whiteface, realizing I have lost my
chance, as the crowd in the mall breaks into wild applause.
