“Whether you take part or not, if you could journal about this, it would be a really cool addition to the story,” Mark said. Like I wasn’t already pulling my weight. I’m starting to feel like the Dr. Watson of our group. The game’s afoot!
“Let’s go!” Peter yelled and ran off, his voice echoing through the mall. “Last one to strike out at our imperialist oppressors is a Trotskyite stooge!”
Some people stay in college way too long.
* * *
TylerW1998
Baseball bat in hand, I sit on a bench beside a dry, empty fountain, and decide I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to break anything, and I’m not mad at anyone.
Lisa, on the other hand, is having the best day of her life.
Crash! and a mall directory goes to the floor in a spray of glass as she runs past me into a Sephora, busting up cosmetics counters and displays, then racing back the other way to take out her next target, laughing and whooping like the Road Runner in those old Warner Bros. cartoons. Meep-Meep-WHAM!
“Come ON!” she says, dragging me off the bench and up the escalator to the next floor. “Batter up! Bottom of the ninth! Battah battah battah, go go go go GO!”
Swear to god, she’s a UFO in human form.
So now I’m feeling even more like a stick in the mud with a baseball bat (which I guess makes it two sticks in the mud) as I walk around looking for something to hit even though I don’t much feel like hitting anything. I feel stupid. Worse than stupid. I feel like one of those zombies from George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead, wandering a shopping mall looking for something from my earlier life that I can’t quite remember, just walking back and forth until the rotting flesh slides down my legs and puddles around my ankles like old socks.
Then I see it, beside the entrance to a clothing store.
A full-length mirror.
A blue full-length mirror, with me right in the middle, blue on blue.
I don’t attack it. I don’t break it. I don’t raise the baseball bat and smash my reflection into a million pieces because I’m not that much of a cliché, okay?
Instead of me hitting the mirror, everything I see in the mirror hits me.
The shopping mall is blue in the reflection.
The stores are blue, the baseball bat is blue, Lisa beating the shit out of Ronald McDonald is blue. Both of them are blue. All of it is blue.
And I realize that I’ve been looking at the world through this blue filter ever since I got diagnosed. When I meet someone for the first time, I explain why I look this way before even saying my name. My illness actually walks into the room before me. It’s bad enough that I let it take center stage, defining and literally coloring every relationship and conversation. What’s worse is that I’ve been using it as an excuse to hold back, so I don’t have to engage with other people, so I can stay stuck inside my own self-limiting self-pity… the illness won’t let me do this, the illness won’t let me do that, the illness might not let me get all the way to San Francisco… hiding so far inside the blue that my whole world looks like this mirror, and yeah, okay, on reflection (ha!) maybe that is an obvious metaphor, maybe I am a cliché, and maybe all of that has been obvious to everybody else, but I never had that thought before because there are some things you never really understand until it’s five seconds to midnight.
I’ve been doing it all backwards, like I’m the disease that’s living in this body instead of a body that has to live with a disease. I’ve been quiet when I should have roared, even if that meant coughing up blood; I’ve sat silently while others walked or danced instead of running flat-out even if it meant falling over dead because at least I would have done something instead of letting the disease define me.
That stops now. Maybe I won’t make it to San Francisco, maybe I will fall over dead tomorrow or the next day, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is making sure that however many minutes I have left count for something. So I’m not going to hold back anymore, and I’m not going to be blue. Not anymore.
And I know just how to start.
I walk away from the mirror and leave the baseball bat leaning up against the glass. I don’t need it. I don’t need to hit anything or be angry at anybody.
I need to dance.
Let’s go.
* * *
SunnyShanelle
The mannequins in the clothing store window still have their clothes on: skinny dresses on skinny plastic bodies, just like the skinny silicone bodies that used to come in here and buy them because only a body that somebody built in a factory or liposuctioned down to the bone could fit. These aren’t clothes for real women. Real women have curves, and like my mama said, I got more curves than a mountain road.
Shit, I am the mountain.
And this store is the enemy. Has always been the enemy.
I laid the hockey stick upside my shoulder and smiled at the nearest plastic face. “Hi, sweetie,” I said. “You look like you need something. Trying to figure out what. It’s right at the tip of my tongue, you know? What could it be, what could it be? Wait, I know!
“Girl, you need a ham sandwich,” I said, and swung hard at the window, BAM!
Goddamn window didn’t break. What do they make these things out of, anyway?
I was about to try again when I saw Vaughn staring in the window of a travel service. Not moving, not hitting anything, just staring. I called over to ask if he was okay. When he didn’t answer, I figured he didn’t hear me, so I walked toward him. “You okay?” I asked again.
“Yeah, I’m all right,” he said.
I’m good at knowing when somebody’s lying, but you never tell that person You’re lying because that just makes them lie more. People are funny that way. And though we haven’t had much chance to talk since I got on the bus, I can tell that Vaughn’s the kind of person who keeps his wounds to himself, same as me, because we don’t want to bleed all over other people. So I just stood there beside him for a minute, both of us looking at pictures of places to go around the world. VISIT THE GREEK ISLANDS. EXPLORE THE ROMANCE OF ITALY. THE MYSTERIES OF THE SPHINX AWAIT.
“You ever been to any of them?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Yeah, me neither. Always wanted to, though.”
He nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
Then I saw the crowbar in his hand. “Can I borrow that for a second?”
“Sure,” he said.
I swapped him for the lame-ass hockey stick. The crowbar weighed a ton and felt solid in my hands. Just what I needed to do some serious damage. But just to be sure, I hauled back and smashed the shit out of the travel agency window before heading back to the clothing store.
“I said you need a ham sandwich, girl!” And I hit that window so hard that not only did the glass come down like sheets of ice, the swing caught the mannequin and sent her ass over teakettle, wig going one way, necklace going the other, dress hiked up over her silvery head.
Vaughn came up next to me, shaking his head and smiling, and that was good because he hadn’t been smiling a minute before. “Well, that dummy will never threaten us again,” he said.
“Yeah, I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.”
“So does this make us looters?” he asked.
“You planning to take any of this with you?”
“No.”
“Then we’re not looters or vandals. We’re redecorators.”
He smiled bigger, like there was some private joke behind his eyes. “Interior designers?”
“Interior and exterior,” I said, smashing away more of the glass. Then I handed him the crowbar and pointed to another mannequin. “Your serve.”
“We’re supposed to hit what we’re mad at. I’m not mad at her.”
“She’s giving me the skunk-eye.”
“She is?”
WHAM. Knocked her head clean off, one shot.
“You’re a gentleman,” I said.
He bowed just a bit. “Thank yo
u, madam.”
We laughed. It felt good, then Vaughn’s eyes went all soft, like he was trying to figure out how to say something. But before he could get there we heard a loud screech from the speakers and we froze, like: What’s that? Are the cops here?
We were about to start running when the screech went away and the mall got quiet for a second. Then a voice came through the PA system. “This is your DJ speaking!”
It was Tyler!
“It’s too fucking quiet in here. Let’s fix that.”
Then we heard music. Twenty One Pilots. “Goner.” I wondered how he knew it was one of my favorites, but I guess it’s the favorite for anybody on the way out.
I turned back to Vaughn. “Want to dance?”
“I can’t.”
“Your leg broke?”
“No, I just… I don’t know how to dance the way you dance.”
“Black girls dance same as any other girl, with our feet on the floor and our hearts in our heads.”
“I wasn’t talking about that,” he said, and he looked kind of hurt. “I mean I dance like an old fart dances, not like the way everybody your age dances.”
“Then dance like that,” I said. “You do you, I’ll do me, and we’ll meet in the middle.”
“We’ll look silly.”
“Yeah, I know. It’ll be great.”
Took me about two minutes of dancing around him before the smile finally came back a little, and he danced with me.
Nobody says no to a sunny disposition… and lives! LOL
* * *
Username: PeterWilliamRouth
This is Peter Routh, trying (for the third time) to create this account because every time I try to save it, the program keeps glitching. The last time it switched the font to Comic Sans, and if that sticks I’m killing myself right here, right now.
Okay, file saved, everything looks okay. Will mention the problem to Tyler since he’s apparently the resident tech guy and DJ.
I’ve chosen as my targets of opportunity every ATM and cash register in the mall! If anybody reading this after I’m gone doesn’t understand the choice or the metaphor, it won’t do any good for me to try and explain. Everybody else, you get it. Meanwhile: two down already!
For number three I smashed the shit out of a Macy’s, then started across the mall to a Forever 21 because under the circumstances that name really pissed me off. Then I saw Theo sitting on a bench, writing in a journal.
“What’s up?” I said.
“This is my favorite brand of journal: heavy paper so the ink doesn’t come through, college ruled so I get the most words per page, faux leather binding because I love the feel of it. I order them online because they’re hard to find, but I didn’t have a chance to stock up before I left to get on the bus. This is the last one I have and I’m almost at the end. Then I looked in the office supply store on the second floor, and they had a ton of them.”
“So why’d you grab just one?”
“It’s one hundred and twenty-eight pages. Usually takes me about a month to fill up one of these. Mark says we should be in San Francisco in a week, maybe ten days, so one should be more than enough.”
“Okay,” I said, “but meanwhile I thought we were supposed to be destroying things.”
“I am.”
“So what are you destroying?”
Big grin. “The world.”
“Fair enough,” I said, and continued toward Forever 21. Less talk, more action!
To the barricades!
* * *
Karen_Ortiz
I thought this whole thing was a stupid idea downstairs and now that I’m upstairs, I think it’s even stupider. I don’t have a Weeble, I have a Spider, and it’s inside me, not outside, so the only way to hit the thing I’m mad at is to bash myself in the head and that seems counterproductive. The only good part was passing Zeke and his cat in the food court. He was sitting on the counter of a Subway kiosk, opening up a small can of food.
“There wasn’t much left inside, but I found some tuna fish,” he said, as happy as I’ve seen him. “It’s Soldier’s favorite! He hasn’t been eating much lately, but this should get him going.”
He popped off the top, pinched out a small bit of tuna, and gently put it to his cat’s lips. “C’mon, pal,” he said, “here you go.” His voice was so soft and gentle it almost made me cry.
I kept walking to give him some privacy, and wound up in front of a store selling exercise equipment. The door was already open, so I went inside. Any time I’ve ever tried to exercise, the pain was so great that I couldn’t go more than a few minutes before I had to stop, so the store was as alien to me as the surface of Mars.
I walked down a long row of exercise bikes with gaps where the more expensive machines had been pulled out, leaving the cheap ones behind. By now I was looking for a place to rest for a bit, so I straddled the last bike in the row. It had a video screen and fans that could cool you down and simulate the feel of air blowing past.
I turned on the bike and toggled the fans. They had that smell you get from electronics that haven’t been used before, but the breeze felt good. Out of curiosity, I slipped my feet into the pedals, and when I moved them the screen came to life, showing a bike path between two rows of cherry blossom trees. I thought it was an odd choice until I realized that the bike was made in Japan and this was the default screen. I let the image stay. It was pretty.
I turned the pedals some more, and the image moved forward, just a little. I turned them again, moving slowly, careful not to tempt the fire beneath my skin as I glided toward an infinite horizon of cherry blossoms. The pain wasn’t too bad, so I risked pedaling faster, pretending that if I pedaled long enough and fast enough I could outrun the Spider and go right through the screen to that peaceful place, and I wouldn’t have to die or be in agony, just riding a bike, that one simple thing that everybody else could do. Then the familiar pain started to arc up my legs, searing through my spine, then flashing out into the rest of me. The Spider’s trying to slow me down, to stop me from reaching the cherry blossoms because it knows I’ll be safe there.
I felt tears on my face. I can make it, I thought, pushing down the despair. Just a little farther and I’ll leave the Spider behind.
But no matter how fast I pedaled, the horizon never got any closer, the cherry blossoms always just a little too far to reach. Then the Spider sank its teeth deep into my legs and I could feel myself passing out from the pain. Breathing hard, I grabbed the handlebars and held on tight, stars flashing behind my eyes.
“Wherever you were going, it looks like you almost got there.”
I turned to see Dylan behind me, and his face fell when he saw the tears. “Are you all right?”
“Yes… no… it doesn’t matter. It is what it is.” I hadn’t outrun the Spider at all. Not even close. It was still right there.
I started to get off the bike, but there wasn’t any strength left in my legs. I started to tip over, but Dylan grabbed me before I could hit the ground. “Go easy,” he said.
He held on as I climbed off the bike, making sure my legs were screwed back on properly. “Sorry,” I said, “this must look pretty stupid.”
“No, not at all.” Then I noticed he was still holding on to me. He must have noticed it about the same time because he started to back off.
“You don’t have to let go,” I said. “Besides, I’m still a little wobbly.”
“You and Bambi, right?”
Before I could answer, Tyler’s voice echoed across the mall, followed by Twenty One Pilots’ “Goner,” and it took everything that had been so awful a minute earlier and made it beautiful. We stood there for a moment listening to the music with his arms around me, the same as he’d done in the parking lot outside the strip club, except now his skin was touching mine.
Don’t be an idiot, I thought. Don’t ruin the moment. Don’t make it awkward by saying something that’ll make him try to find polite ways to say what you both know he’ll s
ay.
But I said it anyway. “Listen, Dylan, I know you’re not one of the group, this is just a job, and you have to be respectful, and I know from what you told me about your sister that you’d never do anything inappropriate or wrong, but… I just want you to know it’s okay to kiss me… I mean, if you want.”
I didn’t look up at him after saying it. Didn’t want to see the rejection in his eyes.
Then he reached down and, very gently, raised my chin up so I could see his face. And he kissed me.
It hurt like a sonofabitch.
But I treasured every second of it.
Then we heard a crash as big as the end of the world, followed by Lisa’s trademark whoop and Mark’s voice booming out.
“We struck the mother lode!” he yelled. “Avengers, assemble!”
* * *
LIsa
Ohmygod I haven’t had this much fun since forever! If I’d known breaking stuff could be this entertaining I would’ve turned to vandalism a long time ago! As soon as Peter put the baseball bat in my hands I was like, Yes! Let’s go fuck some shit up!
I totally lost whatever was left of my mind, and it was great!
I smashed my way into a Cinnabon, the glass door bowing and cracking and splintering like ice, and I kept swinging, boxes of frosting and sugar and powdered cinnamon crashing into the walls and it smelled great and I smelled great and I was laughing and falling and getting up covered in sugar and I didn’t care, swinging for the bleachers, piles of lemonade cups and straws and stirrers exploding like fireworks and no I don’t have a grudge against Cinnabon they were just the first store I saw and I regret nothing and I ran out with the baseball bat over my head, yelling as loud as I could as I smashed into clothing stores and an Apple Store and I totally fucking obliterated Sephora and at those prices don’t tell me they didn’t have it coming and I hauled back and hit the window of a jewelry store as hard as I could and I guess they use reinforced glass because the bat bounced back hard and clocked me on the side of the head and I just laughed because it was completely fucking hysterical and I kept going, smashing everything that was smashable and it was amazing and I was amazing and then I heard Mark call my name.
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