The Mall Was a Bust

Rita checked to make sure that her eight-year-old, Mikayla, was buckled in before announcing tonight’s new mantra for the benefit of all: “At least we’ll get ahead of the traffic tonight, huh?” 

The car was parked at least half a football field away from the doors of Carson Pirie, usually the most active entrance to the mall. Right now, though, no one came or went. The white lights over the parking lot were on, but the sun lingered enough to keep the sky orange. When Rita shut the car door, the sound seemed to echo for miles. 

Her son, Malek, simmered in the passenger seat while Rita crawled in behind the wheel. His knees stuck up until they were practically inside the glove compartment, and if he wasn’t clutching a paper cup of hot chocolate, Rita was sure that he would have his arms crossed high on his chest. This was only a slightly poutier version of the standard teenage pout that he’d taken on since he was about fourteen. 

“Hey,” Rita said, pinching his elbow through his wrinkled jacket, “maybe you’ll get some time tonight for your friends now, especially since we’re getting ahead-” 

“Ahead of the traffic?” Malek snipped. “Why don’t I get to drive, then?” 

“Baby, you know that...” Rita trailed off. She’d already run through all of the excuses today for why Malek was only allowed to drive his father’s old beater, as opposed to Rita’s shiny – but still preowned – Toyota. The old car was safer, she would explain, or it had more leg room for Malek’s height, or it was simply too much work to get the seat and the mirror and the headrest back into place when Rita took the driver’s seat again. In truth, she was just too nervous. As long as she could redirect him to the old car, she wouldn’t have to worry about this one’s shiny silver frame getting crumpled by teenage recklessness.  

Rita sighed and gave up on explaining: “Let’s just get home.” She preferred to look at the empty suburban roads over the grouchy faces of her children, because even Mikayla was frowning into the rear-view mirror. The radio softly crooned with Christmas hits, but Rita didn’t really feel the cheer. 

If all of the holiday shoppers were at the mall, Sheppard wondered, then why did it seem like they were all here, too? On the opportunities to glimpse the dining room, Sheppard caught hoards of puffy coats and shopping bags making lines that all but curved along the walls and into the plastic restaurant’s revolving doors. He hadn’t gotten a moment of rest since getting here before the late winter sunrise, but he refused to let himself feel tired because he knew that only a few miles away, his mother was trapped in her retail job, a fate that Sheppard figured was far, far worse. 

Still, his body didn’t care much about what was happening at some store; it cared about how long Sheppard had been standing today, and it cared about the fact that his bosses had conveniently forgotten about his break again. “It’s already so late,” the general manager had told him, “and so busy. At this point, it would be much more helpful if you kept at it.” Then he’d given Sheppard a wide-eyed, pursed-lip look that anyone who had worked here long enough would know was a sign that he was trying to cash a favor. Today’s favor: everyone had gotten Christmas presents at the start of their shifts. Sheppard had lost out on his precious fifteen minutes of sitting down today in exchange for the glitter-encrusted ornament that sat in his pocket. 

Said ornament pressed against his leg as he tugged up his pants to try to stomp down the nearly overflowing garbage can next to his station. The mass of butcher paper, plastic wrap, and discarded tomato butts barely budged. Everyone bustled blindly through the kitchen; Sheppard alone noticed that the garbage was full. He couldn’t go out alone, though, because the back door locked automatically, and the drink carriers that they normally used to prop it open were in short supply.  

Sheppard tried to call out for a helping hand as he pulled up the garbage bag, nearly toppling himself in the process. No one could hear him, anyway – not over the tinny rock music that his station manager blasted during rushes like this, cranked loud to overpower the restaurant’s overhead speakers’ holiday fare.  

So, Sheppard lugged the garbage bag to the back door and waited until he caught sight of the only other back-of-house guy who wasn’t wildly taller than him: a fellow student named Sean. When trying to catch his attention didn’t work, Sheppard reached out and snagged the guy by the cuff of his sleeve, only to nearly lose him. It was only after Sheppard got hold of his hand that he stopped. 

“Come on, man, now I gotta change my gloves,” Sean whined. 

Sheppard brushed him off. “Watch the door for me first.” 

Slinging his apron over a discarded bread rack, Sheppard took to the alleyway. Instantly, cold air penetrated his cotton sleeves and loose joggers. Compared to the heat of the busy kitchen, it was a welcome change, even if it made his ears and nose sting. 

“Hey,” called Sean, his voice carried by the wind alongside the kitchen’s cacophony. “You wanna take my shift tomorrow? I got a thing with my girlfriend.” 

Sheppard stopped to catch his breath and warm up his fingers when he reached the dumpster. “I got a thing, too.” 

“Seriously?” 

“It’s a school thing.” 

Sean clicked his tongue. “Oh, you’re a band kid, right? Fuckin’ sucks.”  

“It’s not so bad. Except, I don’t know if I even wanna go now. I busted my ass for the solo and some guy stole it without even trying. His mom’s on the music boosters or something.” Sheppard tossed out the bag, then paused when he realized there were loose boxes left on the pavement. Someone was going to get yelled at about that, and he didn’t want to be the one. 

An irate voice came from the kitchen, and Sean clicked his tongue again. “Man, I gotta go back in.” 

“Just give me a second!” Sheppard called, ducking behind the dumpster to break down one of the bigger boxes. 

“Just walk around, man,” Sean groaned. 

“One second!” 

Sheppard tossed out the flattened boxes and paused. Before he even saw the back door, he knew that it was closed; the air had become just a little bit too silent. In place of sizzling flat tops and phone-speaker rock music, all that remained was wind and the distant freeway. Smoothness replaced jaggedness. It was calming, if freezing. 

He closed his eyes and focused on the quiet. There were still at least two hours left in his shift. And now, he would have to march all the way around the outside of the strip mall to get to the restaurant’s front door. There was no way that knocking on the back door would get him anywhere, not with the noise going on inside.  

For all the comfort the calmness gave Sheppard, it also made his thoughts rush around unhindered. As he marched along the icy pavement, skirting around the backs of towering storage containers, he thought about everything left just in this week. The rest of his shift, the Christmas concert, scrimping to shop for gifts, listening to another student – a student he thought was his friend – play his solo. It was all a lot. 

That ornament from his manager rattled around in his pocket. He pulled it out and studied it when he reached a streetlight at the edge of the strip mall. A cheery little snowman grinned back at him and glittered like he was made of actual snow. The glitter shed onto Sheppard’s hands. He didn’t even have a tree at home; his mom said they didn’t have the time or money to decorate this year. All he had to show for his hard work was a useless trinket. 

Sheppard looked out at the gold, white, and red of the nighttime freeway. His mom wasn’t supposed to come and pick him up until his shift was done, but the thought of sticking around for that long made Sheppard want to chuck the ornament in his hand so hard that it shattered. 

Rita dreaded getting home to face her husband with grumpy kids and not one thing festive between any of them – not even a good picture of Mikayla with Santa Claus. Every second more of quiet Christmas music in the car filled her more and more with despair. She blamed herself; what kind of mom messed up something as simple as a visit to the mall for Christmas? 

So, she tried to bargain when they were almost halfway home. She pointed to signs and roadside attractions, hoping to get her kids to even crane their necks to look. “I know the mall was lousy, but how about the zoo? We already have our tree, but I bet the tree farm is beautiful tonight! Mikayla, why don’t we drop by Claire’s and get you some new earrings?” 

Nothing could make them budge. She tried to get them to talk at all: “Malek, are you nervous for your performance tomorrow?” 

“No, ma, it’s not that hard,” was all he said. 

The only thing that made either of them perk up was when she nodded to the sign for a hot dog and burger chain and said, “Why don’t we pick up some dinner?” 

Mikayla brightened right up, even offering to call Dad on Rita’s cell phone to ask what he wanted. Rita felt a weight leave her shoulders as she turned off of the freeway. 

Malek grumbled something like, “This place sucks, anyway,” but he failed to hide the way he straightened up when Rita made her turn. 

“I thought some of your friends from band class worked here,” Rita said. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s good.” 

Rita slowed when she neared the parking lot entrance. She spotted a shape moving slowly along the curb up ahead, a young man whose white shirt flapped in the wind. She switched off the turn signal and drove straight. 

“Mom, you’re lost,” Malek said. 

“That’s one of your friends, isn’t it?” Rita asked, squinting to try to make out the profile that her headlights illuminated. “He’s not walking home in this weather, is he?” 

Malek scoffed. “I don’t know.” 

Rita pulled over and rolled down Malek’s window. As she craned to beckon the boy, Malek pressed himself against his seat as if he might be able to disappear into it. 

“Are you cold, baby?” Rita called out. “Come in here, I’ll take you home.” 

The boy slowed but didn’t stop, clearly cautious about being picked up by strangers. Rita thumped her hand on the dashboard when she recognized the boy’s face from all her times picking Malek up from his practices. 

“You’re Sheppard, right?” Rita said. “My son is friends...” she cut herself off and took Malek’s shoulder to shake him out of his stillness. “Malek, say hi to your friend!” 

The two boys met eyes, and both of them stiffened. Sheppard stopped walking. All Sheppard could see in Malek was the boy who stole his solo, and all that Malek could see was Sheppard’s resentment. They hadn’t spoken since the audition day.  

For a too-long moment, things were silent, save for the quiet radio ads packing the spaces between Bing Crosby and Mariah Carrey. Rita filled with dread again.  

“Malek,” she reiterated. “What are you doing? We don’t ignore our friends in this household. Speak up.” 

“Hey,” Malek muttered. 

“Hey,” Sheppard muttered back. 

Rita gritted her teeth. She jolted when Mikayla prodded her with the edge of her cell phone.  

“Dad wants to talk,” Mikayla said. 

Rita sighed and tried to explain the short night to her husband: “The mall was a bust,” she said. 

Mikayla cut in: “It was boring!” 

“Yeah,” Rita continued, “Mickie didn’t believe the Santa. No, we’ll get pictures of her later; it’s fine. We’re picking up some food from Doggie’s. Do you want-” 

“Don’t,” Sheppard interjected. All eyes went to him, and he added awkwardly, “The lines are too long. You’ll wait forever.” 

Rita deflated and told her husband, “Just order a pizza, actually. We’ll be home soon.” She hung up and pointed to Sheppard, “You, come on and get in. Do you want pizza?” 

Sheppard looked, bug-eyed, at Malek. He stepped back from the car. “I don’t think I should.” 

“Malek, invite your friend into the car. We are not leaving him on the side of the road.” 

Malek chewed his lip and tipped his head the slightest bit towards the door behind him. Sheppard stood still for a moment, but a blustering wind made him duck inside to grant his ears some relief. The car smelled like worn vinyl inside. 

The boys made eye contact in the rear-view mirror while Rita returned to the freeway. Sheppard lurched side to side when the car went over bumps, his head lolling and his shoulders shaking. The cold and the long workday were catching up to him. He resisted the urge to look so pathetic in front of his enemy, but it wasn’t working all that well. 

When the car stopped at a light, Malek reached behind his seat with his paper cup of hot chocolate, which was still steaming. It was about half empty.  

Sheppard eyed it suspiciously. The last thing that he wanted was pity from the guy who stole his solo.  

“It tastes like shit anyway,” Malek muttered, flashing his teeth in what might have been an apologetic smile, though Sheppard was still suspicious. 

When the car sped back up, though, Sheppard reached for the cup to warm his trembling fingers. He sipped it soon after, and the warmth in his belly made him consider forgiving Malek.  

Rita piped up as she turned from the freeway onto a quiet, house-lined street. “So, who’s going to tell Dad that no one got anything at the mall?” 

“It’s not my fault the deals sucked,” Malek moaned. 

“Not my fault Santa sucked,” Mikayla parroted. 

Rita clicked her tongue. “Look what you’re doing to your sister. You could have at least gotten a stocking stuffer – an ornament or something.” 

“Who gives someone an ornament for Christmas?” 

Sheppard stuck the hot chocolate into the door’s cupholder and fished in his pocket for a second. He nudged Malek’s arm and passed him the glittery snowman. Malek held it up so that it caught the colors from the decorated houses that passed by. 

“How’s this?” Malek asked. 

“Oh, baby, we can’t take that from you,” Rita said. “You should put that on your own tree.” 

“Don’t have one this year,” Sheppard said. 

Rita’s eyebrows shot up in the rear-view mirror. “Do you want us to get you one?” 

“No, no, um.” Sheppard looked outside at the huge houses and shook his head. “I don’t really wanna look at it anymore. It’s a gift from... someone I don’t care for.” He met Malek’s eyes in the mirror and said, “Besides, it sucks.” 

“It doesn’t suck.” Rita shook her head and took the snowman from Malek, setting it on the dashboard. “But thank you, Sheppard.” 

Rita insisted that Sheppard stay for dinner, and she insisted further that she take him home afterwards. When she climbed back into the car later, she realized that she’d left the snowman on the dashboard. Instead of running it back in, she decided to hang it from the rear-view mirror, and while Sheppard rode him with warmth in his belly and calm in his head, he watched the snowman swing back and forth, catching the Christmas lights all the way home.  

Sheppard’s mother was mad at him for walking out on his job, but she forgot all about how mad she was when she came to the Christmas concert the next day and saw her boy stand up alongside Malek when the band quieted for the solo. The boys passed the melody back and forth, something they’d practiced that night while waiting for the pizza to arrive. 

After the concert, Sheppard’s mother needed to hustle out to her job, and she was endlessly grateful when Rita offered to give Sheppard a ride home. When everyone piled in, though, Rita changed her mind and passed the keys off to Malek. The snowman on the mirror swung a little bit more wildly that night than it had when Rita drove, but it sparkled just the same.