When I was a little boy, my Mom would insist that we go to the Liberty Tree Mall on school nights. For us to go three times a week was not unheard of. As I got older, I'd go off on my own to look at Converse shoes and to read about Keith Haring and Sandra Berhnard in the bookstore. By late-high school, I'd just wait in the car and listen to showtunes and Natalie Merchant on cassette tape. Along with Mom's moods, her shoplifting became more erratic. I didn't want any part of either.
When I was younger, I loved these mall trips. It felt so mature to be out past 8pm on a school night. My dentist was there so every month I'd have braces tightened and get to check out the new releases at Sam Goody. My eye doctor was in the same mall, I remember when I finally got contact lenses I had a terrible case of indigestion. I ran the entire length of the mall at gallop speed, but still didn't make it. It was the only time I ever made a mess all over myself, but couldn't miss my doctor's appointment! I stood there trembling and humiliated like a puppy while the optometrist insisted that I would't be allowed to go home without the contact lenses if I couldn't put them on myself.
Under the guise of being a poor single mother, Mom would often charm the Sbarro pizza men at the food court into giving us the leftover pizza at the end of the night. I was fat and my VHS collection was ample. I still can't think of Orange Julius or Anne Rice books without thinking of the years spent in the mall with Mom.
