Lazarus
Dead, he was.
They swore it.
In the bible, Lazarus died but came back to life.
This is not the Lazarus of which I speak.
A mile or two outside of the county seat stands a mall.
This mall was once epicenter to an earthquake of capitalism. So strong were
the waves that they spawned a nearby bowling alley, a three-screen movie
house, and two banks. Happiness blossomed. Electric teal windows stood
thirty feet high, glimmering in the late seventies sunlight. Three giants,
strong
and potent, stood vigil at the gates of commerce: J.C. Penney, Montgomery
Ward, and Joseph Horne. These three giants wore many medals. Not
suspended from gold chains, as was the fashion, but on their rock-hard
chests. These medals served not only to intimidate predators, but also to
beckon to smaller stores seeking shelter. Increased foot traffic cross-
pollinated sales like a swap party and everyone "got it on." It was the best of
times.
It was the worst of times. The eighties. Reagan sat Oval and everything got
tense. The zeitgeist trickled down to our mall. Gradually, the corpuscles of
shoppers had to travel around small obstructions in gray pinstripe. These
blobs moved slowly from store to store, dissecting demographics, measuring
market share, and firing all the cute girls from the local college. Our three
giants stood united, defending the ground they broke together. Each of them
had seen too many gray pinstripes come and go to worry. The retail trinity
chose to let this disease work itself out of the system and they assured each
other that all would soon be well.
Horne took it first. His immune system failed. (What an eighties way to go!)
As the giant breathed his last, Lazarus reached out to fill the empty space. He
had a face of polished black marble and tasteful neon. He brought with him
heightened expectations for a glorious future. Unfortunately, as he reached
stride, Penney took ill. The disease was familiar and the result was the same.
The blood was in the water. Just over the next mountain, the predators
gathered. They were led by twin generals, Sears and Roebuck. Their food
court glittered with icy turquoise tiles. The Plexiglas gazebo arched,
stretching to the translucent skylight. It drew people inexorably from all
points. Once again, it was only a matter of time.
I visited Lazarus yesterday, as old friends are wont to do. He was almost
empty. He's 70-80% dead and he'll last another few days. I walked around,
trying to take back some of the memories I left behind. I paced the mall,
every walkway. Along the once-vital arteries, almost half of the cells have
perished, walled up and decorated with crepe paper. Taking one final trip out
of the weary glass doors, I turned around and screamed, "Fare thee well,
dear Lazarus! May you rise once again!"