I want my l—k and f—l

I ran into Minako at the mall the other day.

I don’t go to the mall very often. My mall visits tend to be very short, rarely topping fifteen minutes in length. I’ll walk rapidly from one end of the mall to the other, dodging people as if they’re cones in an indoor slalom track, until I reach the closest store selling the item I had planned on purchasing. Rarely do I ever stop midway to glance at the displays; most stores are unappealing to me as I do not dabble much in lingerie, cutlery, or expensive sneakers.

That morning, I left the record store with my new pair of earbuds, heading back towards the same exit I always use. As the smell of coffee grew stronger and the Sears department store became closer, there she was, looking at the map of the mall.

She stood out among the rest of the people at the mall. Maybe it was because she was the only person I saw who wasn’t a middle-aged lady working the registers that morning. Maybe it was because there are relatively few people in town who aren’t Caucasian. Or maybe it was just that I felt I knew her face from somewhere.

Too shy to say anything, I just kept on walking.