Final Sale, No Returns

Final Sale, No Returns. By, Lori Darmody

He is asking me to come out, in what sounds to be an Irish lilt, “Are you in there?”

I cannot see him from where I have been hiding in this office. It has been my home since the “Big Awful” disaster- four sleeps now. I have felt safe here, in Linda’s office, or at least I am assuming her name is Linda. She has a plastic nametag on her desk, “Linda, Training Coordinator.” The room has no windows so the lack of natural light has left me wondering what time of day it is, but there is one clock on the desk that seems to still be working. The clock says 8:12 am. It is next to the “boss lady” mug, half filled with coffee that is now curdled with floating bits in it and a dried crusty buildup. Looks like Linda left in a hurry.

Everyone left in a hurry. I was only here to return a dress when I decided I better use the ladies’ room before I left for the gym. I am always rushing lately. There never seems to be enough time. Why are the restrooms always on the third floor in a department store, tucked far away? It was only a few minutes later that I found myself wandering the store looking at the ravages of a disaster. My head is killing me. Did I fall? I can feel a bump on the very top of my head that is just beginning to swell.

The noises from outside tell me that I should not leave. I need to hide.

I knew last night was the wrong time to venture out into the mall, but I was out of food as I had eaten the last pack of chips from the desk. I heard something and rushed back into the room, not knowing if the sounds were real or not. The Big Awful did a number on this mall. The escalator is mostly gone now, lights and wires hanging, tiles broken. There is no power here, yet the movie cinema sign seems illuminated by the broken sky lights overhead. “Leave the World Behind” is on the marquis as a new release. I want to find humor in that.

I see him through a crack in the door – he looks younger than his voice. There is just a sliver of light from the atrium but I can see that he is a medium- sized guy with a reddish beard and fair skin. I want to pretend that I don’t hear him but his steps are sounding closer to the door that is hanging by its hinges. He has wire rimmed glasses, that are askew on his nose. A ball cap on his head that says, “Keep Cool, Call Carrier.”

“I won’t hurt ya,” he says softly.

There is no where to go. I peer around the door, “I have a weapon, don’t come close!” As I hold the only thing that I can find- a plastic office chair with metal legs, surely not enough to hurt anyone, but it feels good to have a barrier, at least. Now I see him, clearly. “I’m here to help ya.” He says as he offers both of his hands out in front as if to say, “I am unarmed”. I think he may look worse than me, dirty and disheveled. His leg is wrapped in a tourniquet. His appearance makes me less afraid. “What happened to you?”, I ask.

“What happened to me? What happened to everyone?”, he responds in an expressive tone, reflecting upward, in a light, matter of fact way. His accent disarms me a bit.

I allow the man into my space. He starts telling me his story: how he was working on the mall’s HVAC system when the Big Awful happened. He was knocked unconscious and woke up with a piece of heavy metal on his leg. Everyone was gone when he awoke. He has been scavenging around the mall, looking for food and water and sleeping in the DSW Shoes on the first floor. Last night, he decided to look around, deciding if he should try to leave and see what was left outside. He saw me as I pillaged the last of the popcorn from the cinema’s concession stand.

He tells me his name: Keenan. I put the chair down. The exhaustion has made me feel so incredibly emotional and disoriented. This is the first voice that I have heard in days. I start to cry, like really cry, my voice is trembling and suddenly I am freezing. Keenan takes his jacket off and offers it to my shoulders. I accept. My face is now red and wet and I feel so embarrassed to have this emotional release in front of a stranger. I pull my hoodie over my head, trying to hide the embarrassment, my bangs are now mated against my brow. We sit on what looks like a park bench in the hallway overlooking the atrium. I am gazing out through the rail and noticing how all of the stores are wide open with clothing strewn as if people stampeded out, knocking things everywhere.

Keenan is telling me that there may be others in the mall. The thought of this makes my stomach uneasy and Keenan is noticing my face starting to bead sweat. I am thinking, “What others? Like good others or bad others?” He offers to get me some water from his lair in the DSW but I tell him that I am okay. I notice that he his not wearing a wedding ring. The veins in his hands are visible as if he might be an older man, like maybe 50? It’s hard to see his face, it’s dark in here and he has a pretty thick beard. Although I am afraid to look directly at him, I do see one deep line that runs from the corner of his eye to the outer edge of his cheek. He is handsome. Rugged.

We decide to go down to the lower level, perhaps to leave the mall to see what is left outside. Why haven’t I ever noticed that malls have so few windows? We climb down the broken escalator, which feels more like one of those treehouse bridges, wobbly and unsure. Stillness, silence and uncertainty permeate these walls. This building has its own soundtrack- walls giving off soft popping sounds, floors creaking, water dripping. Occasionally something falls off of a wall. Noises linger, stretch and echo. We can hear something in the distance outside- low rumblings, wind screaming and the sounds of things breaking. We talk about whether the building may collapse, deciding that the movie theater might be the most stable area. I still don’t know why, but he has convinced me that is a good place to ponder our next move.

Keenan has called me “Lady” so many times now, I have to give him my name. Now he is saying my name over and over, “Piper, are you hungry?” “Piper, are you warm enough?” We find a space in the theater to sit comfortably and eat some candy from the concessions before we leave the mall. He tells me that he moved from Dublin last year to take a job with this big HVAC company. I tell him that I have lived in this town my whole 42 years of life and work at an insurance company in the claims department. We both laugh simultaneously when I say “claims department”. It seems so apropos- seeing the damages here.

We are here in this dark theater, chatting and laughing as if we were waiting for a movie to start. There is a rim of light that is coming through a nearby exit, giving off a warm glow to the seats in the front. This moment feels warm and safe. I don’t want to leave the mall or him. We are both so tired. Keenan is starting to tell me his story about Dublin- Malahide Castle, St. Patrick’s cathedral and Phoenix Park. I tell him how much I would love to see Ireland, having never been outside of the United States. It sounds so lovely and intriguing- just like Keenan. I am starting to doze off. It seems so unnatural to relax now without knowing what we have in front of us – the journey outside of the mall, the people we may find, the danger that is lurking. Keenan tells me it’s ok for me to rest. He will stay awake and be on the lookout for us. I feel the warmth of his fleece jacket on my neck and I let myself drift.

The alarm clock is going off. It is 8:15 am. Mitzy has jumped onto the bed again and has nested herself around my neck. I open my eyes in disbelief that I am in my room, but I can see the Macys’ dress slumped over the chair still in its plastic wrapper with the receipt attached. Morning came but I was not ready to meet it. The travel book for Dublin has fallen off of the bed and I notice that the cover shows a statue of a man sitting on a park bench on the Grand Canal. As I get up and head to the kitchen, I grab my boss lady mug and start the day.

A text message pops up: “Linda we need some extra half and half for the training, can you stop?”