The City of Dreams -- Part 20

[This is actually more like Part 19b, since it's more of the Mall date, but these are the crazy times we live in that writers like me can skip section 19b entirely and jump right to section 20.

[Another sign that disaster is right around the corner.

[But before that, here's more City of Dreams.]


"This is the Mall," said Brie.
"This is the Mall," I said.
"It looks a lot like a normal mall," she said.
"Just without the people," I replied. "And with a directory sign that's bobbing up and down to get our attention."
"That totally happens in the real world," said Brie. "And massage chairs giving each other massages. I saw that last weekend."
"Right." I looked over at a jewelry store. "I get the impression that Diamond Emporium doesn't want any customers."
"What was your first clue?" asked Brie. "The spiked grate with the shattered shopping carts under it? Or the blood-red lighting?"
"So no shopping for diamonds. Where should we go instead?"
"Food court?" she suggested.
"Sure. I could eat something." We stopped to consult the ecstatic mall directory that quivered like a puppy as we looked over its map. It was a mostly-straight walk to the collection of fast-food places that are the real heart of any mall, so we set out. Still hand in hand. I thought I might get used to that.
"Uh-oh," said Brie, dragging me to a stop.
"What?" I said, looking around. I didn't see anything that warranted an 'uh-oh.' I mean, there was a greeting card store with every musical card ever, all playing at the same time, but I didn't see that as an 'uh-oh.' More of an 'oh my.' Distressing, but not scary.
"Hand lotion kiosks," said Brie.
I followed her glance and saw them: a collection of counters-on-wheels, topped with row after row of buffing cream and softening cream and anti-aging cream.
"Is that a problem?" I asked.
"Haven't you ever been to a mall?" she said.
I stopped to think. "Not for a long time. Christmas last year I bought a video game and, somehow, a summer sausage. I'm not sure what happened, but the lady was there, and she was nice, and next thing I knew, I had a sausage."
"Exactly," said Brie. "Here's the plan. Eyes on the floor, look straight ahead, walk with purpose."
"We just made it past a parking lot filled with psychotic automobiles. This can't be THAT bad."
"They're going to try to give us free samples. They're going to rub it into our hands. They're going to keep us here until we wake up."
I looked at the kiosks. "How are they going to rub it into our hands? They don't have any--"
"Look at them, Perry!"
I looked at them. They seemed closer than before. They were moving together, gradually blocking off the hall. There was something ridiculously ominous about it all.
"Maybe we should take a different way," I said, fighting back a laugh.
"They'll probably try to give me something SCENTED," said Brie, cringing. "I like scented shampoo, but NOT hand lotion."
I put a serious look on my face. "We can make it, Brie, but if one of them gets me, don't stop. Go on without me. Honor my memory."
She glared at me. "I'm so going to hit you."
"Here we go!" I shouted, pulling her along behind me. I dragged us to the left, eyes on the ground but watching from the corner of my eye for--there it was! A break in their formation to the right. With a battle cry of 'we're just looking,' I lead the charge toward the gap. They realized their mistake too late and we slipped through, their wheels squeaking in protest as they tried to roll after us.
I pulled Brie's hand up into the air and raised my other hand, fist held high. "Victory is ours!"
Brie was laughing as we kept jogging down the hall. "This is you," she said.
"Of course it's me."
"No, this is the REAL you. This is the you I knew was there."
We slowed to a walk and I looked at her. "I guess I'm not much like this during the day, am I."
She looked in my eyes. "But you ARE. I know it. It's like it's in there, just under your skin, and if I just scratched you, it would all come pouring out."
"Don't scratch me during the day, though," I said.
"Idiot," she said. "Let's go get some food."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The food court is just up there," she said, and pointed.
"No, about the real me."
"Food first. Then I'll tell you, if you still want me to."
"Why wouldn't I want you to?"
She shrugged. "It just seems like you don't always want to talk about serious things."
"I talk about serious things."
"Really?"
I opened my mouth and closed it again. "Maybe it's just a guy thing," I said finally.
"Or a depressed guy thing," said Brie.
"Could be that, too."
"We're here," she said, dropping my hand and putting hers on her hips. "What to choose?"
I tried not to feel let down, avoided grabbing after her hand, and looked around the food court. Tables and chairs were calm, scattered around the open space in some kind of order that left enough room for walking. Moonlight shone down through a clear ceiling, and small trees in pots added accents of glowing color. I looked to the food-stalls that lined the walls, trying to find something familiar. There wasn't.
"Wow," I said. "PRETZELS & SALMON UNLIMITED sounds like something my dad would go for."
"I was just thinking that my parents would go for HOT DOGS THAT ACTUALLY TASTE GOOD,” said Brie. “That, or NEVER MEANT TO BLEND THAT. Do they serve accidental food?"
"Definitely scary. Why don't we try PIZZA AND ALL."
"I think that's PIZZA AND WALL," said Brie.
"No it's not. That's just a stylized logo thingie," I said. "I think."
"Look closer," she said.
I did. "Dang, it really DOES say 'wall.'"
"We may have to go with the pretzels and salmon," said Brie, laughing again. "You like fish?"
"Wait!" I said. "ICE CREAM SANDWICHES. There. Can't go wrong with an ice cream sandwich."
"Why not," said Brie.
We wandered over and got a closer look at their menu.
"'Vanilla, ketchup, and pickles,'" read Brie.
"'English toffee and pastrami on nine-grain bread,'" I read.
"I think I'm hungry for a hot dog," said Brie, turning back.
I followed, shaking my head.


"These actually do taste good," I said around a mouthful.
"Truth in advertising is a good thing," said Brie.
Once we'd managed to get the food trays to calm down enough for us to grab one--seemed like the mall had been desperate for customers for a while--getting our hot dogs had been relatively easy. All the food set out in trays, kept warm somehow, with buns apparently fresh from the oven. There was a hint of something in the meat--garlic?--that gave the hot dogs zest.
"These have zest," I said.
"They have what?" asked Brie, smiling.
"They taste good," I answered.
"You said 'zest.' I heard it."
"I said they're the best."
"No, you said 'zest.' That's, like, an old person word."
"Plenty of young people say 'zest.'"
"Like who?"
"I'm sure I heard it on one of those kids TV awards shows. The ones with celebrities younger than we are."
Brie looked at me askance. "You've never watched one of those shows in your life."
"Maybe."
Brie took a bite of her hot dog and chuckled. "You said 'zest.'"
"What's wrong with the word? It's a perfectly good word."
"Sure," she said. "If you're into baking or air fresheners."
"I'm not talking to you any more," I said.
She leaned into my shoulder and looked up through her eye lashes at me. Her mouth made a sad pout. "Please?"
How do girls know how to do that? Maybe that's what they talk about when they all move in a herd to go to the bathroom.
"Fine," I said. "I'll talk to you more, but only if you're NICE."
"I'm always nice," she said, sitting back up, leaving an empty space next to my shoulder. "When am I ever not nice?"
"When talking about 'zest.'"
She grinned at me. "You said it again."
I held my hot dog in front of her mouth.
"What's this for?" she asked.
"Take a bite."
"It has boy cooties on it."
"I'll give you a cootie shot later. Take a bite."
She took a bite.
"Chew."
She chewed.
"Does that, or does that not have zest?"
"It has zest," she said obediently, her eyes still smiling at me. I supposed it was as much of a victory as I was going to get, so I settled back into my chair and took another bite. Zesty.
I was happy with our seating arrangement. I'd helped Brie sit at a table, then taken a seat across from her, and she'd promptly stood up and sat down in the chair next to me. Was this what dating was like? Having a girl sit next to you all the time? Mom and Dad still sat next to each other, but it didn't seem to turn them inside out the way it did me.
"Where should we go after this?" asked Brie. "Assuming neither of us wakes up."
"I wonder what's playing in the movie theater," I said.
She shook her head. "If the movies are anything like the restaurants, it's not going to be anything we know."
"Maybe that's not such a bad thing. I'm not sure there are any movies in theaters I want to see right now."
We ate in quiet for a while--quiet except for the music playing through the Mall. I hadn't noticed it before, a blend of generic pop and saxophone-shmooze.
"You'd think we could dream up better mall music," I said.
"Some dreams are nightmares," said Brie.
"Changing the subject," I said, "what did you mean before about the real me?"
Brie looked at me. "That was abrupt."
"I couldn't think of a good transition."
She shrugged. "I guess that one worked. What do you want to know?"
I blinked. "I don't know. You're the one who said it."
"This is a little embarrassing," she said, looking down at her hot dog. "I've been watching you."
"I do sit in front of you in English."
She shook her head. "No, I mean I've been watching you since I moved here. I kind of got a crush on you." She glanced up at me and I gave her a cheesy smile. She rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she went on, "I saw how you acted around people. You didn't look happy most of the time, but sometimes...." She stopped.
"Sometimes what?"
"You know those cars that look black most of the time, but when you see them in the sunlight, they look green, or blue, or purple?"
I nodded. She raised her shoulders.
"You mean I was like that."
"Sometimes," she said.
"Can we go back to the part where you had a crush on me?"
"No," said Brie, taking another bite of her hot dog.
"Why didn't I notice you?" I wondered out loud.
"Duh," she said.
"Right. I didn't notice anyone." I looked down at my hot dog and dropped it onto my paper plate.
"You ever think about doing something about it all?" asked Brie.
"About how I feel? What would I do. It's not like I tried to do anything to get that way. Sometime along the line I just got broken. That's it. That's what it feels like."
"But don't they have medication for it? Counseling? You don't have to be crazy to see a psychiatrist."
I laughed, though it wasn't funny. "But I probably am crazy."
"No, you're not," said Brie, grabbing my hand and looking in my eyes. "You're just sad. It's okay to be sad."
"What do I have to be sad about? My life is fine. I'm fine. Good grades, nice family, it's not like I'm living in a project with gang violence happening on my doorstep. I'm lucky. Really lucky."
"So what?" asked Brie. "When you go to a doctor with a broken leg, he doesn't send you back out, saying that you've got another leg and two arms that are fine, so you should just deal with it."
"I think I get what you're saying," I said, "but I'm not sure."
Her eyes were strong, looking at mine. "It doesn't matter how many good things there are in your life, if you've got a problem then you've got a problem. And if you can FIX that problem, then won't all the other things be that much better?"
I was shaking my head. "But I shouldn't--"
"Shouldn't what?" she interrupted. "Be sick? Be sad? Be a boy? Be in the choir? You are a boy, you are in choir, you are sad, and you are sick. So you deal with it."
I looked down at the ruins of my hot dog again.
"I think you're right," I said.
"About what?"
"I don't like talking about serious things. Not when they're about me."
"We don't have to. I just wanted to help, if I could. You look so...trapped...during the day. I wish I could help you get free."
"I wish I knew what I was trying to get free from," I said. I looked around the food court. It was strange being in a mall completely empty of people. "Let's go do something fun."
"Like what?" said Brie, sliding her tray away from her.
"Try on coats, shop for silverware, something else. I don't know what."
"Okay," said Brie, leaning over to bump into my shoulder. "It's fine, Perry. We don't have to figure this out all at once."
"Right," I said. "Hey, did you really have a crush on me?"
Brie rolled her eyes and went to throw away her garbage.