TWENTY-SIX
Mall of America, Bloomington, Minnesota
Two grade-schoolers tagged along after their mom as she strolled through the mall. Having lived in the suburbs of the Twin Cities all of her life, she knew the mammoth, four-million-square-foot Mall of America pretty well.
She and her two daughters had just stepped off the escalator, and she was trying to locate the men’s clothing store to pick up something for her husband’s birthday. A fashion show was in progress farther down the mall; nearly a hundred shoppers had stopped to watch.
For a fleeting second the mom thought about wandering over herself. She craned her neck, and one of the outfits caught her eye. Oh my gosh, I think that’s a Lloyd Klein dress. I love that old Hollywood glamour look!
“Mom, what are you smiling at?” her eight-year-old asked.
“Nothing honey. Just a dress.”
Time was short. She only had forty minutes to pick something out for her husband and then renegotiate the labyrinth of the parking lot. She then had about thirty minutes to get the girls to soccer practice. They would have to change into their soccer duds in the girls’ room at the park. They hated that. They preferred to change at home, but life rarely seems fair to an eight-year-old.
As she walked toward the men’s store, something else caught her eye. Standing in the crowd in front of the runway stood a young woman in a scarf, hands on a baby carriage. But instead of a baby she just had packages piled in the carriage.
There was something unusual about the carriage and the woman pushing it, so the mom kept watching. The woman in the scarf was looking around. She took two cautious steps away from the carriage.
Several stores down, a white-shirted security cop in a bike helmet was riding a Segway in her direction. The woman in the scarf turned and began walking away, a little more quickly, leaving the carriage with her packages behind.
The mom had a sinking feeling of dread, fear. But it came and went quickly; she wasn’t looking for something to be wrong.
Then there was an ear-shattering explosion. Instantly her body was punched into the air by the percussion, and sonic waves knocked other bystanders to the tile floor.
“Girls! Girls! Oh my God, where are you?”
The mom found her daughters sprawled on the ground, stunned but unhurt. They started shrieking. She gathered them into her arms and rocked them.
Her eyes drifted back to the fashion show. The world was off-kilter. As the smoke cleared, she could see the bodies by the runway, blown apart and strewn haphazardly. Blood was everywhere. A moment later, the screaming started.