Two women embrace in the middle of the mall. I watch on and the rest of the mall fades far, far into the background. Chris Martin’s voice is the only thing I hear, and the women appear to hear it too as I am sure they are waltzing. It reminds me of the strangers’ kiss in Time Square at the end of World War II, as the two of them own this moment.
They don’t know that they have a voyeur in their midst and I know I have no right to share in their intimacy. I sigh when they part and follow them with my eyes as they walk up the mall and away from me, lightly touching each other’s hand. This is the end of their public greeting, drowned out to all but them and I by the hum and movement along the mall.
My time with these women is invaded when a crescendo of voices and music is again ringing in my ears. Alive, the mall becomes a blur of children and mothers, friends taking photos, workers dousing themselves in sunlight in their treasured break from routine. The two lovers, I assume, have wandered beyond my sight and their place has been vacated for others. I’m left sitting here.
These women didn’t attract so much as a furrowed brow in the mall today and it was delightful.
