Kids at the Mall

One afternoon when I was in high school, I went to Oakridge Mall. Back before the renovation, there were columns interspersed throughout the mall, and I was sitting on a bench drinking an Orange Julius.

I was just sitting there, and I saw this dad with two kids walking by. The kids were probably, like, five and four. Old enough to walk, but not hugely coordinated. As we know, the formula for this stage is mobile+clumsy=hilarity, which ensued.

What caught my eye was that while the dad was window shopping and trying to handle his bags, the younger one (we’ll call him, say, Abel) was kicking the heels of the older one (how about Cain?), laughing as he did it.

Finally, Cain had enough.

He turned around, grabbed Abel by the shoulders, and started shaking him violently as he yelled “STOP KICKING ME!” I was laughing already.

Now we go back to the coordination thing. Abel fell backwards, and Cain, still hanging on to his brother’s shoulders, was pulled down over Abel and whacked his head on one of the mall’s support columns. A shrieking wail ensued, while Abel sat, looking pleased with the sequence of events. As was I.

Exasperated, the dad (Adam, why not?) managed to pick up the wailing Cain despite his load of bags, and started to walk when he stumbled over something. That something turned out to be Abel’s hand as he sat there. The shrieking doubled, and I just about fell over laughing.

Then I saw the look on their dad's face. At first, I mistook that blank look on the dad’s face for some misplaced serenity.

Now I’m pretty sure that it was his soul leaving his body.

I imagine that father 12 years later-wearing a hospital gown, a few days stubble his face, drooling slightly and shuffling around in a sanitarium.

That same look on his face. It haunts me.