The mall is kind of a surreal place. Windows brimming with
seemingly beautiful things that will inevitably take up space better suited for
something else or maybe nothing at all. Clothes that never look the same on you
as they do in the window and things that once placed on your shelf will likely draw
little attention. Things that are pretty, but aren’t real. The truth is that some
of the most real things are the least pretty, and you won’t find them on
display behind plate glass.
I like to be by myself and, in case you hadn’t already
gathered, I’m not a huge fan of the mall - which is frequently brimming with
people. Ironically, I’m not a huge fan
of most people either. I really should just stay away. All that aside, I have
recently taken to seeking what is classified as “designer” duck tape. It turns
up on the oddest of places and I found myself there. The mall. Not the oddest
places. Actually, there is some truth to that, too… ANYWAY…
Whilst perusing, I detoured into an “imports” shop that
seemed like the kind of place where I could probably buy a bong if I knew who
to ask for. I picked through chunky knitted mittens, incense, and an odd
assortment of other items. I was eventually approached by a girl who worked
there wanting to know if I needed help. “No thanks. I’m just poking around.”
She turned to the girl who had come in behind me and said, “Speaking of poking
around, I’m getting my face tattooed”. To which the other girl responded (very
casually, by the way…) “With what?”
At this point I’m eaves dropping and feigning disinterest. THIS
is what she said:
“A white line down the middle of my face”.
I won’t lie. These girls are what I would classify as
“Alterna-teens”. Hair, boots, stockings… I could go on and on. I’m generally indifferent to how people dress
or style their hair. I have no aversion to piercings or tattoos. My hair, once
upon a time, tasted the rainbow…so-to-speak…
A white line.
A single white line.
What, I wonder, could the significance of that be?
A line in the sand? Parting lines? Could it be merely for
shock value? An ornamental item like an obscure coffee table book placed for
the purpose of creating conversation?
She had my attention. Not in the same way you notice a pregnant
woman, a nun, or someone playing music on the street. It was like seeing
something broken that you forgot you had. You don’t really know or remember
what happened to it, but you know that something did happen and now it’s
walking around living a metaphor that receives little understanding. That’s not to say that all displays of “self
expression” are indicative of something psychologically significant. I truly
believe that all people are damaged in some way whether they deal with it quietly
in their own mind or in a way that the world can see.
So, I left the store and then the mall; and I am still
thinking about the white line. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I am
tormented by this encounter so much as I am confused. As to whether or not this
is something worth remembering, I really don’t know. We don’t have to understand
what other people do, but there are times that it would make life easier.
