It was late autumn and school had just been released for Christmas. Students have a strange reaction to freedom. The simple fact that "School's out!" was enough to pack half of the town's kids into that mall. Besides the constant flow of freedom-drunken students, there were the usual Saturday shoppers, as well as the Christmas caravan. Now, when viewed separately, these three occurrences would not be worth mentioning. However, when their powers are combined...a mysterious and, many times, malevolent force is given free reign.....

Something was in the air that fateful day. Or maybe something was in the water the night before. In any case, a noticeable excitement pulsed through the halls and stores. On an average weekday, there are two employees working at any given time. Average weekends require three associates during peak times. Christmas Saturdays are different. Six of us witnessed the events of that day. There were four of us there when the magician came in. Why? What would possess a 70 year-old man to dress in a tuxedo and perform exhibitions of prestidigitation? In a mall?

For store employees? On a Christmas Saturday? To me, it is incomprehensible. What happens to us when we die? Is there life on other planets? Why did this man come into my store and create the illusion that he had a never-ending supply of small red-rubber balls being generated within his mouth? These are truly questions for our times. We congregated around the elder, customer and salesman alike, as not to miss a moment of the spectacle. It was a short-lived reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the sales-floor, and we soon heard these words from the lips of the old man:

"Did you like it?"

The audience slowly awoke from its trance and motioned that the elder's show was appreciated.

"Then let's hear it!"

Openly asking for applause? He had guts, that's for sure. As we applauded his efforts, he waved goodbye and went on his way. It seemed for a while that the insanity had ended, that the world would fall back into its natural rhythm. This was not the case.

Earlier that day, a tall boy in his late teens had come into the store to look at computer games. At that time, no one could have predicted how integral that young man would be in bringing about the day's events. Physically he appeared to be near the age of seventeen. Mentally, however, he seemed closer to the age of twelve. He wore a complete set of bright-green warm-ups and a pair of Tiger-brand Velcro sneakers. Of the many attempts that were made to greet him and help him feel at-ease in our store, not one succeeded. The green-clad teenager stayed in the bargain section of the store and quietly examined our wares. Throughout the day, this young man would make repeated visits to our establishment, eventually convincing his father to join him. As they made their final entrance into the bargain section, I understood the old adage, "The apple never falls far from the tree." As the two evergreen bargain-hunters sifted through the chaff, I continued to help other customers, as did my fellow salespeople. We were so busy that we hardly noticed the Lark in front of the cash wrap, or the woman riding on it for that matter. After a few moments, a slight ruckus became audible. It was this that drew my attention to "Momma."

The woman was 40-ish and was, so it seemed, utilizing the Lark out of convenience rather than necessity. Her eyes pierced through her son easily. She could see his thoughts, his desires, his very soul...and he knew it.

"But, Momma, it's uh, it's a good price, Momma," the gentle green giant pleaded. His face had the pall of death. He had a terminal disease, and this game was the only cure.

"NO."

Momma meant business. The boy's heart was shattered. As his eyes began to tear-up, he committed the ultimate mistake. In an anguished plea, the child-man uttered...

"but-"

The engine revved. Momma was livid. She slammed the Lark into reverse and began to turn herself around. The heartbroken teen, both furious as well as disappointed turned his back and began one more trek to the bargain section in order to return that which would never be his.

Suddenly, tires squealed. Momma had turned herself around and had launched herself full-speed towards the exit. The green giant's peripheral senses must have detected danger, for he turned around immediately, his face stricken with horror. His mother, she who had carried him in her womb, she who had given him life, she who had given $9.95+tax for his sneakers, his own "Momma" was so intensely angry that she did not notice the stone flower-box that lay directly in her path.

With a shriek, the misty-eyed behemoth tore-ass...I know no other way to describe his actions other than to say that he "tore-ass"...He tore-ass towards his mother and he dove... She noticed the box about one yard before impact and, with a quick navigational adjustment, diverted herself 90 degrees to the left. However, she had attained so much velocity that her Lark rose up onto two wheels. She had been able to avoid the box, but now an even worse fate awaited her. --Then, a groan! The lunging boy! He was able to guide himself with all of the agility and speed of a flying squirrel and get a hand on his mother's wheeled death trap. The two left wheels came crashing back down onto the pavement, as did the boy. Momma lost no speed and continued down the mall corridor. The green-suited uber-munchkin rose to his feet, wiped away a tear and began to run after his mother.

Then, silence.

There was complete and absolute silence as the boy's father slowly strolled out of the front door and out of our lives. Within a few moments, the noise was back to normal. Customers were once again asking questions and Order, so it seemed, was once again in control. It was as if we had all participated in the same dream. Could this really have happened in our store? Yes. It had happened, yet we all kept an eye on the front of the store for the next few hours. Deep in our hearts, we expected Momma to return, pull-off a mask, Mission Impossible-style and say, "Well, Let's hear it!"