I shrug. “I’m sorry, Momma. I don’t know where anybody is except for us.” I feel like I’m about to cry, but I manage to stop myself. “Everything happened so fast. I didn’t know what to do. I tried.”
Momma stares at me for a while before finally nodding her head. She wipes the tears from her eyes. “That’s okay, baby. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is.”
I don’t respond; I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say right now. It seems like whatever words I use are going to be the wrong words. While I wait for Momma to tell me what to do, I stand up, go and get my coloring book, sit back down, and start turning the pages.
“Jasmine,” Momma says, startling me again.
“Yeah?”
“I need your eyes on me, hon. Please.”
I do what Momma wants—I stop reading and look at her.
“I’m sorry,” Momma says. “None of this is even close to your fault. I shouldn’t have gotten upset.”
“It’s okay, Momma,” I say. “It’s not your fault either—it’s nobody’s.”
While Momma thinks about what to do next, I go to the New Baby Gift section of the toy shop and gather all the pink, blue, and yellow blankets in my arms. I carry them back to Momma and cover her up with three yellow ones—it feels like I’m tucking her into bed.
“Jasmine. I need to talk to you,” Momma says when I’m finished.
I know what that means. Momma is about to tell me something else I don’t want to hear.
“Sit with me,” she says.
I do what Momma tells me to—I sit cross-legged on the floor next to where she’s propped up.
“I need your help, sweetheart,” Momma says. “Grownup-level help. I need you to be the biggest girl you’ve ever been for me. Can you do that?”
I nod my head. “Okay,” I say.
Inside, I’m not sure if I can make myself that big, but I don’t want to admit it out loud—not when Momma is being so calm.
“I need to call somebody and get help,” Momma says. “Someone who can get me to a hospital. I need you to find a phone for me, Jasmine. Mine or somebody else’s. Anybody’s.”
I turn and look out the glass doors of the toy shop. I don’t see a single person in the mall.
“By myself?” I ask.
“Look at me, Jasmine,” Momma says. “I’m hurt really bad, baby. I don’t know why no one has come to get us out of here already, but no one has.”
“You’ll be all right, Momma. It’s okay.”
Momma stares at me for a long time without talking. I see tears filling up her eyes again. When she blinks, the water falls out and makes a thin stream down each cheek.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Momma says. “I’m trying my hardest to be okay, but I need you to get me a phone—any phone—so I can call for help.”
I look through the glass doors again. I really, really don’t want to leave the toy shop by myself.
“Do you remember where my purse is?” Momma asks. “Don’t answer right away—think about it first.”
I don’t answer, just like Momma told me not to. I think about Momma’s purse as hard as I can, making a picture of it in my mind. Her purse is black with a silver zipper and a big buckle—the inside is always packed full of stuff. I try my hardest, but the picture doesn’t tell me where the purse is.
“I don’t know where it went, Momma. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Momma says. “I’m having a hard time remembering too, hon. Everything happened so fast.”
“Yeah. It did.”
“Yeah,” Momma says. “But here’s what I think. I think my purse could still be down at the food court, with my phone inside—do you think it could be?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“I know that, Jasmine—I know you don’t know,” Momma says. “I’m asking what you think, not what you know.” Momma’s voice is starting to sound angry again.
“It might be there,” I answer hopefully.
“All right, good. So that’s one place the purse might be,” Momma says. “But if it isn’t there, what else can you do to help Momma?”
I think hard about what I should do if the purse isn’t at the food court, but I can tell Momma is impatient with me, so I’m scared I won’t be able to figure anything out fast enough.
“Um. If I don’t find it, I could come back here and tell you?”
Momma shakes her head. “And how will that help me, Jasmine?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I’m sorry, Momma.”
“Forget it. Goddammit,” Momma says, looking toward the ceiling. “All right. This is what I need you to do, Jasmine. If you can’t find my purse at the food court, go find someone else in the mall—anybody you see—and ask them if you can borrow their phone. Tell them that your mom is hurt and needs help. It’s an emergency.”
I understand what Momma is saying, but I’m still confused.
“I should go up to anybody?” I ask.
“Yes, Jasmine. If you can’t find my purse. Yes.”
“Like, a stranger?”
“All right. Yes, you’re right to ask that,” Momma says. “You’re absolutely right. Normally, you wouldn’t walk up to a stranger, but this is different. Can’t you tell, Jas—can’t you see that this situation isn’t normal? This is an exception, sweetheart.”
I nod. I can definitely tell that this situation isn’t normal at all.
“Okay. Good,” Momma says. She lies back on the stuffed animal and rests her head. Her eyes slowly close.
I look at Momma’s face. She looks like she’s really sick with the bird flu or something terrifying like that. It’s scaring me—seeing Momma not okay like this.
Her eyes suddenly open.
“What the hell, Jasmine,” she says. “Go. Why are you still standing here?”
I don’t answer the question because I don’t know the answer—I’m not sure why I’m still where I am.
“I was just thinking of an idea,” I say.
That’s a lie, actually—I am thinking about how scared I am right now—but the lie comes out before I can stop it. And I think that’s okay, because I really do have an idea in my head.
“If I can’t find your purse, I could go and find the lady who helped us.”
“What lady?”
“One of the ladies who carried you here,” I answer. “She also brought us helpful things, like the water bottles and medicine for you.”
“Medicine?” Momma asks. She looks around at the tile nearby. “Where is it?”
“You already took it,” I answer.
Momma stares at me like I don’t belong here, like I’m an alien. “The woman force-fed me something? What was it?”
“I don’t know. Some pills?”
“You know what? Never mind. It’s okay,” Momma says. “At least that explains why I feel so shit-faced at the moment.”
Shit-faced?
I really want to ask Momma what shit-faced means, but I decide it’s a bad idea to ask too many questions.
“Do you think you could find the woman again?” Momma asks.
“I can try,” I answer hopefully.
Momma nods. “Good. That’s a good idea you had, Jas,” she says. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“And if you can find her, try and get me more medicine, okay? Whatever I took before is good. Please—can you do that?”
“I can try.”
“Okay,” Momma says. “Try your hardest for me, okay?”
“I will,” I answer.
Momma makes a big sigh and closes her eyes again. Her forehead is showing lines, like she’s really worried about something.
“Sweetheart?” Momma says.
Her eyes are still closed. It seems like she’s talking in her sleep—that would be weird.
“I need you to hurry for me, love. I know you don’t want to do this, and I know it’s unfair of me to ask, but I need you to go as fast as you can. I need you to run.”<
br />
• • •
I do what Momma needs me to do.
I leave the toy shop, turn right and go out into the mall by myself. I don’t run—so I guess I don’t do exactly what Momma needs me to—but I walk my very fastest, looking for a stairway or escalator that leads to the first floor. I can remember climbing a set of stairs last night, but I can’t remember exactly where they are.
I pause for a few seconds to peek over the railing at the first-floor walkway below me. I look both ways, but I don’t see anyone anywhere.
This definitely isn’t like any other time I’ve been to the mall before. The inside of the building looks the same as always—it has the same two stories, the same long lines of shops selling all kinds of different products, the same openness in the middle so you can see the shoppers on the level below you—but there isn’t a single other person this time, so everything seems really different than I remember.
And even though the mall is bright because of the skylights on the ceiling, it’s still making me afraid for some reason.
The mall is big and quiet and bright and empty and scary.
I can’t do this.
I stop, turn around, and run back the way I came.
• • •
I burst through the front door of the toy shop and run down the center aisle until I find Momma.
Her eyes are open, and she’s staring at me with a frown. She’s holding my coloring book flat against her stomach.
I know the look on Momma’s face really well. She’s disappointed in me.
I stop running and stand at a distance, breathing hard. Inside, I feel like burrowing into the area between Momma’s shoulder and chest, but I stop myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say between breaths.
Momma makes a big sigh.
“It’s okay, baby. Come sit down,” Momma says, patting a spot on the tile beside her nest.
I go over to where Momma is lying and sit cross-legged near her head. She looks really sweaty—if the girl with the gizmo could see Momma right now, she would definitely check her temperature.
Without a word, Momma hands me the coloring book.
I stare at it.
“I should color now?” I ask.
Momma smiles—just barely. Her smile is like the sun just before it goes down.
“What’s your book about?” Momma asks quietly. “Tell me about it.”
I think about Momma’s question. It seems pretty easy, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer.
Maybe it’s a test that I need to pass.
“It’s not really my book, actually,” I say. “It’s the store’s.”
Momma’s smile gets a little bit brighter.
“I know, hon. But what is it about?”
“It’s about superheroes,” I say.
“Right. It’s about superheroes. And what do the superheroes do in the book?”
I think about how to answer Momma’s new question.
“Um. Kill the bad guys?”
“Well. All right,” Momma says. “Maybe they do kill bad guys sometimes. But why do they do that, baby?”
I think about it for a while. Why do superheroes kill the bad guys?
“Because the bad guys try to kill them first?”
Momma closes her eyes and shakes her head.
Oops. I think I got that question wrong.
“Okay, let’s get off the bad guys for a minute,” Momma says. “Superheroes want to help people, right? Isn’t that the reason why they do what they do? To help out?”
I don’t have an answer for that question either. I’m not sure exactly why superheroes do what they do. They’re not even real.
“I guess so,” I say.
“And do you think superheroes are ever scared when they’re trying to help people?” Momma asks.
Right away, I smile really big. I definitely know the answer to this one.
“No way,” I answer. “They have powers—that’s why. It’s like magic, so they don’t need to be scared of anything.”
Momma frowns.
I can tell that I gave the wrong answer, but I’m not sure why it was wrong—I told the truth.
“Don’t you think they might be scared some of the time?” Momma asks. “They’re not invincible, right? Even though they have powers, they could still be scared about getting hurt.”
I stare at Momma—I’m totally confused. Why are we talking about a coloring book?
“Okay, Momma,” I say.
“Okay?” Momma asks. “Does that mean you agree with me?”
I shrug. “I guess so. I don’t know.”
“Stop saying ‘I don’t know,’” Momma says. Her voice sounds impatient. “You don’t have to know. You just have to think.”
“I’m sorry, Momma. I’m trying.”
“Well, try harder.” Momma looks at me like I just spilled something on purpose. “Could a superhero be scared sometimes—yes or no?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Okay. But do they let that stop them?” Momma asks.
“Let what stop them?”
“Goddammit, Jas. Are you for real right now?” Momma asks. “The fear. The fear, Jasmine. Do superheroes let their fear stop them?”
I have no idea what to say to Momma anymore. Inside, I don’t really think superheroes would get scared in the first place—because they’re not real, first of all, and also because they have magic powers, so why be scared?—but I know I shouldn’t think this way. There’s a right answer that Momma wants. I know that, but I’m not sure how to say it right.
“If a superhero gets scared,” I say, “he probably just tells himself not to be scared. And then he’s not scared anymore.”
Momma nods. “Or maybe she’s not scared anymore. Girls can be superheroes too,” she says.
They can?
Now I’m really confused.
In my entire life, I’ve never seen a girl superhero before, except Wonder Woman, but she doesn’t even count—she’s too old.
I think Momma might be kidding with me, but her face looks really serious, so I’m not sure.
“Girls can really be superheroes?” I ask.
“Of course they can. And that’s what I need you to do for me right now, hon. I need you to be Momma’s superhero.”
“Like, for pretend? Why?”
“No,” Momma says. “For real. I need you to go out and do what Momma asked you to do. If you get scared, remind yourself—you’re a superhero—and tell yourself not to be afraid anymore.”
“But I can’t even do anything,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean me. I don’t have any powers I can use, so how can I be super?”
“But you do have powers,” Momma says. “You have the power to keep going even if you’re afraid. That’s a superpower, Jasmine. To keep on going.”
“It is?”
Momma nods. “It is. And you have it.”
I start to feel a little bit better—I think I’m getting close to saying whatever Momma needs me to say. She doesn’t look mad anymore. She just looks tired.
“All right,” I say.
“Good,” Momma says. She closes her eyes.
• • •
I leave the toy shop and turn left this time.
I pass by a bunch of different stores.
One sells shoes for playing sports like basketball.
One sells camping stuff.
One sells suits and ties and socks.
One sells frozen yogurt and fruit smoothies.
One sells underwear for womans to wear.
One sells jewelry like rings and fancy watches.
One sells books and stuff for listening to music.
One is a Chili’s restaurant.
Out of the eight stores, three have broken glass in front. It looks like someone smashed the windows on purpose—in one of the stores, I see a chair resting on its side next to a tipped-over mannequin, like someone threw the chair right through
the glass.
I’m pretty sure that only someone bad would break a window on purpose.
Which means that there could be a bad person somewhere in the mall with me.
You’re not afraid, Jasmine.
You’re not afraid, Jasmine.
I walk faster.
I try to focus on finding a way down to the first floor, but I keep thinking about the bad person somewhere in the mall. Every time I pass by anything big enough to hide behind—a row of benches, a sign showing a woman wearing her swimsuit, a long-leafed fern in a giant pot on the floor—I imagine the bad person waiting there, ready to jump out, grab me and take me away to a bad place.
When I finally see an escalator, I can’t believe my eyes.
Finding it was total luck.
The escalator is frozen in place, so instead of riding I walk slowly down the stairs, gliding my hand along the black rubber handrail.
When I get near the bottom, I can see the food court straight ahead. There are probably ten stores I have to pass by, and then I’ll be there. I pause on the last stair, looking in every direction to see if anybody is around—anybody, good or bad—but I don’t see a single person.
It’s really scaring me, for some reason—seeing nobody.
But I don’t want to see somebody either. That might be even worse.
I wait at the bottom of the escalator until the waiting makes me want to give up and go back to the toy shop.
But I don’t.
I run my fastest in the direction of the food court.
As I pass by the gated stores, I think I might hear voices coming from a few of them, but I don’t look. I focus on my goal: getting Momma what she asked for.
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