Poetry by John Hovey

MALL CULTURE
By John Hovey

The mall was a major part of my childhood. Were I to exxagerate, I might even claim my suburban generation was raised by mall culture. My friends and I often spent weekends or after-school hours there, a respite from torrential rain or sweltering summer heat. It was an escape from lower-middle-class ennui. I wasn’t there as a consumer, however. I grew up far too poor for that. I was a visitor, a patron of the mall’s dubious arts of commercialism. As a small child, I had played on the towering escalators and splashed in the lavish fountains. I would marvel at the extravagant holiday displays, or the occasional exhibition of life-sized robotic dinosaurs. Of course the exciting prospect of toy stores bursting with the newest products was a powerful lure for a window shopper, especially when a blockbuster like the “Star Wars” or “Alien” films debuted. The familiar smell of freshly-molded plastic was enticing. On rare occasion, a sympathetic gift or hard-earned lawn-mowing money allowed me to become an actual customer, and the dire dilemma would begin. Do I buy starship model kits or a horror-movie record album? Does the intoxicating smell of the food court tempt me into wasting my rare treasure on fancy pizza or fresh gourmet brownies? For a time, I would catch lizards and tarantulas to sell to the pet stores, then I could shop as well as eat. My little group of pals could sometimes spend hours simply exploring the huge mall, playing with masks, gags and pranks at the magic shop, or wandering the trinket-laden aisles of the bizarre gift shops, mesmerized by the fluorescent posters glowing spectacularly in the darkened black-light lit rooms. The bookstores were our libraries, and the record store guest appearances our concerts. By my teens there was a year we practically camped out in the videogame arcades. Only in a tiny mall multiplex could I find refuge from the freezing winter (in my cheap hand-me-down clothes) with a cozy Sunday afternoon dollar-marathon of Godzilla movies, complete with a free lunch of popcorn, stale hot dog and watery soda. The mall endured as our social hub even as we entered adolescence. We shared homework, played “Dungeons and Dragons,” and sometimes held temporary first jobs hawking orange juice or ice cream cones. We roller-skated, we flirted and dated — I even met the late teenage love of my life in that damn mall. The demise of the malls mark the end of an era. An odd rite of passage, a certain kind of common American experience for suburban kids in mid-sized towns, would be gone forever, along with other staples like Saturday-morning network cartoons, playing in a park, drive-in movies, and horrendously-unhealthy sugary fatty treats.

I’LL STAY WITH YOU
By John Hovey

My second-grade class planned several activities for an upcoming holiday. When the big day finally arrived, I discovered the school had received a note expressly forbidding my participation because of my relatives’ oppressive religious cult — the celebration of any holiday was absolutely prohibited. My teacher was a nice lady who often gave me books and encouraged my obsession with sharks and dinosaurs. But on that day, she was at a loss at what to do. She told me she could lose her job if she didn’t comply, and asked if I could sit in the corner and read during the party. So that’s what I did, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the festivities — the exchange of cards, the fun music, the exciting games, the yummy candy and treats… Before long, a pretty little blonde girl wearing big round eyeglasses walked over to me. It was Julie, the smartest kid in class, and all of us kind of had a crush on her. She said, “I’m going to stay over here with you.” I told her she really shouldn’t miss the party. She replied, “I’d rather be with you,” and held my hand. After that, I realized kind, decent people are far more sacred and good than any religion could ever hope to be, and that maybe friends care more about you than your own relatives do. I never forgot Julie’s simple act of love.

John Hovey 878017 MCC/WSRU P.O. Box 777 Monroe, WA 98272-0777