The Searching Man

Wearing a smile like a crooked crescent moon, he enters the mall. He turns his head to the left: students. He turns his head to the right: more students. They are always doing something: eating, socializing, entering and exiting, buying school supplies, or going to class. Aside from the one sleepyhead with her face planted cozily into her textbook, students flow around him like a rushing tide. He looks at the coiled staircases that lead upstairs which is, for the most part, open and unused. Placed throughout this upper level are leather couches, one of which I occupy. He takes a seat in the food court below and stares. He stares right at me.

Or at least I think he is. His glasses are stained with glare, so I cannot see his eyes. He sits comfortably in his chair: his legs crossed, right side leaning and right arm resting against the chair’s back. Short white hair covers part of his balding head. He wears a cream colored button up shirt with a breast pocket filled with napkins and long tan khaki pants made taut from sitting cross legged, exposing his long white socks and running sneakers. He sits there motionless for some time staring in my direction, and I watch, like looking into the sun. Far away in space, the sun slowly blazes away, you want to look at it, it’s right there, but the sun will sear your eyes. An uneasy pressure builds inside. Suddenly he turns his stifling gaze, quick and jerky like a machine. Another quick, sharp turn of the head and now I can see his eyes unveiled from the glare: he is searching the room. He looks in this new direction for some time until he quickly shifts his head to face a new bearing again. I think he may be searching for someone, maybe for a meeting. I contemplate these things until he makes another interesting move. This time he reaches down and lifts up a small black bag, previously concealed by his chair and body. Apprehensive, I lean closer. Placing the black bag on the table in front of him, he unzips it and removes its contents: a pair of glasses. My eyes grow large. “But he already is wearing glasses!” I think to myself and double check his face to make sure. Yes, he has two pairs of glasses, and removes the ones from his head and replaces them with the new ones from his small black bag. Shifting his attention back towards me, he resumes his relaxed posture and I rip my eyes off him. No longer leaning, I huddle, trapped by his oppressive gaze.

The leather cushion is hot and sticky from the sunlight coming in from the sunroof above and smells like an old summer house, an ancient musty smell. As I sink deep into the cushions trying to conceal myself, I notice a student across and to the left of me, studying in his comfy shaded couch and taking notes from one of his textbooks. He does not pay attention to me and may not even know of my presence, his attention is directed solely to his studies. Directly in front of me is a railing separating the walkway from a hazardous fall to the ground that offers a full view of the food court below. My vantage point does not seem to be advantageous anymore with the searching man below. I try to evade him, look somewhere else. The sleeping student has woken up now, and looks off straight ahead blinking, trying to wake herself up. Nearby is another student. He opens his laptop and turns his hat backwards, game face on and ready to study, to take on whatever test lies in the future. Farther down the columns of tables is a woman who frantically searches through unstapled pages. From time to time her glasses slip down to the tip of her nose, and she corrects this by pushing them back up. When she finds a page she wants she scans the page, her eyes moving side to side like a typewriter. A comet, his head a fiery white cloud, swiftly enters. From the door to the left, he circles the food court, wearing black leather biker pants and jacket. But his face portrays a different character. Long curly white hair and beard surround puffy pink cheeks and round nose. Small eyes look ahead but he wears a smile on his face. Helios: the Santa Claus biker.

I cannot help myself, some unknown power draws my eyes from this peppery character back to that one place. And there he sits! I breathe a sigh of relief, he stares at another insect his gaze must fry! With the oppressive power lessened, I slowly slide across my couch; a parched slug, trying to stealthily get up to take a drink from a nearby drinking fountain. Triumphant, I enjoy my prize. The water is cool and crisp. Turning around I cautiously peer over the railing, gone! Like a setting sun, the searching man left, lifting the burdensome power. And two of my friends, my saviors come into sight!