The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

A light rain falls over the concrete sprawl that is Wildwood Mall, making the parking lot shine. There are no budding trees or early blooms outside the mall to herald the start of a new season, but to make up for that, the windows are brightly dressed for spring: pastel outfits and paper flowers; fluffy bunnies and baskets of coloured eggs; floral rubber boots and bright umbrellas under cellophane showers. You can almost hear Gene Autry singing “Here Comes Peter Cottontail”.

To complete the picture, Sicilee, Kristin, Loretta and Ash, dressed as gaily as a May garden, climb out of the Shepls’ people carrier and scurry through the drizzle to the south-east entrance. The doors open silently as they approach, and bright lights and potted trees welcome them inside to where it is always a dry and pleasant day with background music and plenty of benches.

Ash waves her hand at the concourse that stretches invitingly ahead of them. “It’s really hard to imagine life before they invented malls, isn’t it?” The walk from the car, though brief, has apparently put Ash in a reflective mood. “I mean, it must’ve been just gross back then – you’d have to go all over the place just to put a decent outfit together.”

Loretta thinks she may have stepped in a puddle and is examining her feet. “And you’d be out in the snow and rain the whole time, trudging from one store to another,” she says. “My God, if you didn’t get pneumonia or destroy your hair, your shoes would be totally ruined.”

“And what did you do in the summer?” asks Kristin. “Just think of it – lugging all those bags around in the heat…” She wrinkles her nose and shivers with distaste. “I mean, who’d want to shop outside when it’s ninety degrees and just breathing makes you sweat? You wouldn’t be able to go more than a block without having to change.”

Were he here, Clemens Reis would point out that people only used to shop when they actually needed something. That they replaced things when they were worn out, not when they got tired of the colour or fashion changed or they had nothing else to do but go to the stores. Clemens, of course, is not here – but Sicilee is, and Sicilee has now walked that last block to school with him and the others long enough to know that that is what he would say – and even to think of saying it herself. She catches herself just in time.

Today she is making up for not showing up for lunch last week, for the other Saturdays she’s bailed on, for the Diamonds meeting she missed and for trying to make them aware so that they’d care. She doesn’t want them to think that she’s changed. Though that, of course, is not the only reason.

Lately, Sicilee’s begun to wonder if nerds really have taken over her body. She no longer sneaks a burger or piece of chicken or BLT whenever she has the chance. She’s pretending that her shoes are made of vegetarian leather when they actually are. She went into a thrift shop without being dragged in by a team of wild horses. She bought stuff. She’d thought that buying second-hand clothes would make her feel like some charity case, but it made her feel kind of smart. And then, when she could still have gone to the mall for the rest of the afternoon if she’d really wanted to, she hung out with Waneeda and Clemens instead. They’re not cool – merciful Mother, no one would ever call either of them cool – but they’re OK. Their conversations can be pretty interesting. They laugh a lot. She had a good time. What’s happening to her? Which, of course, is the other reason Sicilee is here today: to prove to herself that she hasn’t changed.

So rather than make a remark that will only cause her friends to look at her as though she’s dyed her hair green and stuck a safety pin through her nose, Sicilee says, “And plus, there’d be nowhere to sit down and no place to get a halfway decent latte. I mean, just think about that.”

Arms linked and laughing, they set off down the concourse, as they have done so many times before.

The first couple of hours are fairly happy ones.

Chatting and joking, the girls go from store to store, from department to department, searching through the racks and piles of clothes like professional poultry sorters looking for defective chicks. Sicilee doesn’t say that she doesn’t really need to buy anything new, because not very long ago she went on something of a spending spree in the church thrift store (and she certainly doesn’t mention that everything she bought used to belong to her and that her parents have yet to stop laughing). She doesn’t mention the concept of need over greed, or repeat the Green mantra – Reduce, Reuse, Recycle – either. Nor does she dare to suggest that liking a shirt doesn’t mean that you need to have it in five different colours. She pushes such thoughts to the furthest corner of her mind, and as the morning passes, they fade as if they were part of a dream. She is back in the fold, and she is having fun.

They get on Loretta’s case for having to try on everything twice. They tease Ash for always buying something pink. They joke about how long it takes Kristin to make up her mind.

“Maybe you should buy two or three new pairs of boots,” Loretta says to Sicilee. “You know, now that you do so much walking!”

They all crack up.

The coloured plastic bags hang from their hands like party balloons. Sicilee, who now knows exactly how toxic the production of plastic is and exactly how long it takes a plastic bag to biodegrade, swings them as she walks and says nothing.

Shoulder to shoulder, Sicilee, Ash, Loretta and Kristin all gather around the mall directory, choosing where they’ll go for lunch. Burgers? Pizza? Thai? Mexican?

“Maybe Sicilee wants to go to that vegetarian place and eat bean sprouts,” says Loretta. They all giggle, leaning against each other, bags bouncing.

They go to the gourmet burger bar for lunch. Although she has no desire for meat, Sicilee keeps smiling and orders the day’s special, rare, served with salad and fries, like everybody else. Only she can’t eat the burger. She has no trouble with the salad or the fries or even the bun, but every time she bites into the patty, she thinks of some poor cow, terrified out of its mind, being prodded with electric shocks. What if even just some of the things she’s been told about industrialized farming are true? What if only one is? Which one would Sicilee want it to be? The gross over-crowding? The mutilations? The disease? It isn’t a choice she wants to make. Loretta tells a story about the time her sister’s head swelled up from her hair dye that is so funny that tears are streaming from their eyes, and Sicilee is doubled up over her plate, gasping for air. While everyone is shrieking and laughing, Sicilee slips the burger from its bun and into her napkin, and slips that into the pocket of her jacket.

It is after lunch – in the cosmetics section of the biggest department store in the mall – that things take a sharp turn for the worse.

Loretta and Ash fool around with the perfumes, while Kristin and Sicilee wander through the counters of make-up. Kristin wants a new lipstick. And maybe a new blusher. And maybe something that will really bring out the colour of her eyes. Sicilee, however, is showing none of the girlish enthusiasm she usually exhibits in the cosmetics department. Instead she looks almost nervous, as if what she’s entered isn’t a temple of beauty but a haunted house.

Kristin picks up a lipstick called Blood Wedding and puts some on the back of her hand. “What do you think of this?” she asks.

Sicilee picks up a lipstick too and reads the box. Blood seems to be the operative word. What could make that vivid shade of red? she wonders.

“Well…” says Sicilee.

Kristin tilts her head, considering. “Too dark?” She holds her hand to the side of her face and turns to the mirror. “Maybe you’re right. It’s practically spring. Maybe I should go for something lighter. You know, a more natural shade.”

Just because it says that something is natural on the label doesn’t mean that it is.

“Well…” says Sicilee.

“Not pink, though.” Kristin lowers her voice so Ash won’t hear her. “Pink is too babyish. I want something more sophisticated.” This time, the tube she picks up is Key West Sunset. “What about this one?”

Just because something is named after something good doesn’t mean that it is.

“Well…”

“I don’t know…” Kristin is studying her face in the mirror. “Do you think my mouth’s too thin?” she asks. She pouts. She smiles. She sucks in her cheeks. “Maybe I should get a lip plumper. That girl Lisette in my gym class? She said they really work.”