It didn’t get any better inside the mall. I looked down mostly, but when I dared look at a person, I could see their ancestors and descendants. I could see events in their past and their future. I could see their infinity, I guess.
Example.
Transmission from the guy arguing at the cashier desk at Sears: His great-great-great-grandfather was a slave on a plantation in Alabama and was abused endlessly by the men he worked for. He killed two of them with his bare hands before he was beaten to death in punishment. That man’s son was also a slave. His great-grandfather knew freedom, but not from anger and abuse. His grandfather moved north but still wasn’t free. His father rioted in Newark in 1967. He lit houses on fire. No transmission from the future. The man has no children.
Shit.
I knew I had to walk through Sears to get to the Dressbarn, so I looked down and walked fast. Once I escaped Sears, I walked over the bridge that spans a fountain. The fountain was made famous by a YouTube video of some woman who was so busy texting that she fell right in. If you saw that video, then you know the fountain outside Sears.
The bridge has these wooden benches next to it. I sat on one of them and went into my purse for a penny. If ever there was a day for a wish, I was in it.
I tossed it in and closed my eyes. I wish that I’m not going crazy like Darla.
The Dressbarn was on the left side of the mall next to the Orange Julius and a blacked-out storefront that used to be the Build-A-Bear Workshop. As I crossed over toward Dressbarn, I saw a little kid walking from potted plant to potted plant in the center of the mall. She had to touch every pot with her hand in some sort of OCD-like kid ritual.
Transmission from little girl at the mall: Her son will become a doctor who goes to countries where disasters happen. He will go to China. He will go to Italy. He will go to Syria. He will go to Congo and Zimbabwe. He will be nominated for a peace prize, but will not win it.
I watched the girl weave in and out of the potted plants until I couldn’t see her anymore. I could feel the kids working at Orange Julius staring at me. I looked back at the floor and then walked into Dressbarn.
I found a cool seersucker cotton dress in my size. It almost looked like one of those 1940s housedresses, but it was shorter and had some shape to it. I took it off the rack in a size larger, too, and headed to the dressing room. Only when I got inside and sat on the small stool did I realize that there were two mirrors there.
Maybe if I looked at myself I’d see things I’d never want to see. Or maybe my great-granddaughter would be some awesome woman who would cure cancer or AIDS or something.
Or maybe I’d find out about Darla’s parents and their parents and theirs and theirs until I got all the way back to some small damp village in Eastern Europe where her ancestors met.
Or maybe I’d find out what really happened to Darla. In her head. Maybe I would stop having to make up reasons for what she did. If there were reasons.
When I got the courage, I looked in the mirror and I saw nothing. I got no transmissions. I got no glimpse of my future or my past. I just saw me—twenty-four hours from graduating high school, not free, not courageous.