A paper ticket.
Alex Cannigan held the ticket in his hand, a paper ticket that seemed like the least real thing he had ever seen in his life.
The demolition of Western Mall was such an event in Trawson City that Softball Bonanza paid Continental Construction to turn their bleachers around to face the sprawling complex.
Tickets were 20 bucks, a portion of the proceeds going to something Alex Cannigan forgot immediately as he remembered there was a chance Jamie Daidaman would be there.
Western Mall defined an entire generation.
Alex’s dad played Santa Claus in the waterfall atrium the first year of the mall, before a business trip to Toronto accidentally provided Alex with a new stepmom and one very angry real mom.
Kazmir Records, by the east door, next to the Gizzmo’s Toy Store where Alex got his Star Wars action figures, didn’t hire him and on a frustrated, half-stoned whim he applied at SwirlyCone.
Though Janet, the perpetually angry woman who managed the place kept staring at the ugly, hairy birthmark near Alex’s elbow, she hired him, in the process letting him know the five things that could get him fired immediately.
At first, he planned on taking advantage of one of the five…
Alex Cannigan handed his demolition ticket to a friendly woman, wishing he could keep it as a souvenir.
He hadn’t been to Softball Bonanza in years, had only been to Trawson City twice in the last ten.
Jamie Daidaman wasn’t at Willie Hirsch’s funeral.
Softball Bonanza had expanded their concession stand.
He got a beer and a hot dog and in some weird anxiety mini-panic didn’t put mustard on his hot dog because if Jamie Daidaman was here, he didn’t want mustard in his mustache when she saw him.
Jamie hired in to SwirlyCone after him. She was from Campbell, north of Trawson geographically and south of it economically, and within three months she was the assistant manager.
Responsible for making the schedule.
Somehow, Alex always worked when Jamie was on duty.
On a Tuesday in August,as they locked up SwirlyCone, seventeen year old Jamie asked seventeen year old Alex to go to The Cheshire Pub, the faux British pub near the Lord & Taylor. Her cousin was a bartender.
Tony Gilbert patted Alex on the back, almost spilling his beer. In response, Alex gulped half of it, politely asked Tony how his life was, scanned over Tony’s shoulder into the bleachers for Jamie.
Tony caught him.
“You looking for someone? Boon is here somewhere with his kids, and Tracy that worked at Limited. Alejandro from Primeau Menswear is here with his hot wife. She could be his daughter man, I’m…”
Alex rifled his memory to think if Tony had even known Jamie. It had been so long. Did he even want to tell Tony who he was looking for?
Only a few people at Willie’s had remembered Jamie. No one knew where she was. Marianne Cypulcyk only remembered Jamie through the filter of Jamie being “that Campbell hilljack you blew me off for.”
Alex had tried to remind her it wouldn’t have really mattered because…
Alex refocused on Tony.
“I dunno man, this is just weird. Weird that it’s happening, weird that we’re paying to watch it happen.”
“Tell me, brother. I thought I was gonna get my kid his first job at the Wes…”
Tony asked Alex to join him in the bleachers. An usher handed out safety glasses, just in case, though they were at least fifty yards from the demolition perimeter.
Tony looked a little teary eyed. Grown adults getting misty over a building. But it wasn’t the building, it was the memories.
Alex reminded himself to brace for Jamie to walk in with a handsome husband, free of weird birthmarks, followed by three adult kids.
He reminded himself that even if that wasn’t the case, it would be unlikely to rekindle something that existed once, drunk, after hours, up against a Taylor commercial soft serve ice cream dispenser.
He imagined that old machine still being in the building, though that was ridiculous.
One of the scoreboards showed 43, an operator manually clicking off the minutes until they would detonate four charges at the compass ends of the building as a ceremonial goodbye to Western Mall.
A large A-Frame photo display was wheeled in.
Deborah Ryan , who had been on the Trawson City City Council when they broke ground, was wheeled up and cut a ribbon, as some other dignitary invited everyone down to look at photos.
The gray haired man announced that if anyone who was employed at the mall would like to sign their name to the display they were welcome to do so..
Tony immediately stood.
“C’mon, Lex, you were the ice cream man, c’mon dog, let’s go sign this thing.”
Alex shook his head.
“I’m gonna see who I recognize down there.”
Tony shrugged and walked down.
Alex scanned the faces of people perusing the pictures and grabbing markers tethered to the wheeled display.
There were lots of little kids being dragged down, kids who weren’t walking by the time they padlocked the mall.
A woman with jet black hair was pushed through in a wheelchair. Alex stood. Not Jamie. He was sure of it.
Another woman who might have been a more buxom Jamie approached the display. Would Alex know Jamie if he saw her? How many changes had she been through?
As the woman walked back up into the bleachers, Alex hustled over.
“Excuse me, are you…?”
The woman eyed Alex up and down like there were ten other things she’d rather be doing. Then her face softened.
“You’re Alex, right? I’m Jen Pasmayer.”
“Oh,” Alex said, then tried to drag the disappointment out of his voice like he was pulling thirty gallons of water from a well, “Hi Jen.” It didn’t work. He sounded phony. Jen gave him a little wave and kept going up the bleachers.
Alex walked down and took a seat two rows lower.
You’re being stupid, Alex. She’s not going to be here. She’s not on social media, at least not using Daidaman. She has a life. She’s moved on from Trawson City.
Memories of break dancing wandered into Alex’s head, and drag racing the east access road of Western, and midnight movies…Oh holy screaming crazy lust, Jamie dressed as Frank-n Furter…
A guy waved at Alex and called him Allie. No idea who that guy is. Even if Jamie had transitioned that wouldn’t be him.
Tony found Alex and sat with him again.
“You remember Jamie Daidaman?”Alex blurted.
“Dude who rode to work at Brafman on that Ruttman Horny Toad? Always got yelled at for his uniform pants being dirty?”
Alex shook his head. “No, this was a girl. Worked with me at SwirlyCone.”
“Nahhh, man, sorry. Long time.”
At 5 minutes to demolition an emcee from a radio station that must have popped up after Alex’s time started counting down the minutes. There were some prize giveaways.
Alex watched who came up to collect their t-shirts.
Tony reminisced, Alex half listened.
The emcee counted down the last thirty seconds of the demo clock with the crowd.
Some people looked excited, some looked sad.
The detonation went off a few seconds late and felt anticlimactic.
There was applause and some boos. More than a few people cried. Alex wondered what kind of crazy fond memories of the place they had.
There was a second round of explosions and the center of the three story mall sagged. That felt more final and brought with it a better dust cloud.
People started filtering out.
Tony invited Alex to a sports bar, and Alex gave him a maybe knowing it was a no.
A half hour later most of the crowd was exiting. Some wandered by the photo display.
Alex noticed it was sponsored by the insurance company who had bought the site for their new headquarters.
He stood and made his way down to the photos. Some were alphabetized by the store in which they had been taken.
Alex wandered, looking at photos, many of which seemed to be after his tenure at the mall.
He noticed a good one of Tony, then a second, next to which Tony had scrawled a big TG in red.
Alex passed Sears, which had a ton of photos, then Standard Music, the store with the guy always playing that huge organ, then SwirlyCone.
Within one second, Alex’s eyes were drawn to a Polaroid. Jamie Daidaman, holding out a perfectly swirled chocolate cone. Smiling like she had gotten a perfect score on Ms. PacMan.
Behind her, out of focus, was Alex. The only person on earth that could have identified that fuzzy image was Alex himself.
He looked around at the other stragglers.
A woman behind him was signing the Sbarro photos.
What the heck? Why not?
Alex reached for a marker.
As his right hand descended, as he was trying to decide on black or blue, Alex froze.
Six inches under the photo, someone had written RIP Jamie Daidaman Gurris.
Alex stepped back.
“Who…” he said loudly, then went quiet. A few people looked at him. He didn’t recognize any of them.
He grabbed his phone and Googled Jamie Gurris. Found an obit. Jamie had been gone 11 years.
Alex tore the Polaroid from the display, pulling some of the beige background paper with it.
“Hey!” A woman said.
Alex looked at the woman and shrugged.
“They’re just gonna destroy it when they’re done with it.”
***
Forever temporary.
Just like all good things...
Great story!
Oh man, this is so real. Do I really want to know? Or should I just keep them alive in my past?
This is so good Jimmy. The mall as the timekeeper for generations.