The Funny Mechanism for Anxiety

Before Mr. Haul could speak John’s mother, Ellie, walked in. At the mall John analyzed his father’s expressions when he showed the blue jeans he picked, and the slim, black button up that fitted. At least, close to John’s imagined portrait of himself he could get. When John stepped out however, a face of hesitance came over Mr. Haul. When Ellie stepped in, holding over her left arm was two button-ups and two black pants. Glancing at Mr. Haul before walking over to John with composed steps. “Here,” she said conspicuously, “I found these light ones.” It’s clear her presence interrupted the still ought of both John and Mr. Haul, that she smiled quickly and went to stand by Johnson’s father. Looking at both his parents lightly, he paid no mind to reveal attitude - at 16, fully knowing his dad awaited it; being 56 years old. “Thanks,” John said to his mother, giving a wry smile. He turned and walked back into the last room available, shutting the door. Locking it, and triple checking to ease himself.

It’s first the pants; his legs, being his least hesitant reflection to stare at. Unsure if his mother hasn't even noticed a developmental stage of basic adolescent insecurity. He then tried the two button-ups and found them less easier to slip through. However, his inability to scrutinize his round face, looking down at his belly, and around the waist he became agitated. Around his neck, the collar was thick, not light; and when buttoned, around his chest it suddenly tightened. Bringing an obvious, round figure when staring in the mirror and expressing he did in fact scrutinize his reflections. He flung the shirt off, threw it on the pile in the corner, and shuffled impatiently, so he could concede ‘it’s alright, but…’ or ‘it’s nice, but,’ knowing one set needs to be bought to satisfy his mother. Though, choices so far picked brought over a depressed set of thoughts, making ordeals like these impossible not to feel mismatched among others. His mother then knocked the third time causing John to jump. “Does it fit alright, sweetie?” she said from the other side of the door.

He shoved the plastic hangers through the sleeves, getting a touch of the smooth cotton, more so pushing down he only needed a different size. Too bad the material itself wasn’t enough to save it, he thought. A larger size would have to forfeit, at least general comfort he could tolerate, and unlocked the door. His mother’s face lightened but it was obviously a feigned relief: Her hair was straightened this morning; with rubbed, red lipstick and a white sweater with blue jeans fitted nicely around her hips. She asked again, “Does it fit?” And a forced giggle came over his face, though John swigged his head no. As if he predicted and now joked how not often it is for him to find good, comfortable clothes. He slipped the pile of fails that was in the corner to his mom through the crack of the door.

Then, “You know, dad’s right,” he said carefully, “a larger size will have to do.” He kept quiet.

“Okay then,” his mom said - defeated, she kept her posture steady. She had asked him to attempt a snuggled fit before they left to the mall, insisting he would feel confident if he tried. Now knowing her suggestion didn’t at all have an impact, she strolled away carrying his large attempts to his dad, then leaning over to tell him. Adjusting her belt tightly around her belly.

Johnson shut the door and went to stare at his reflection, awaiting more choices to arrive knocking. He pulled out his phone, checked his profile - no messages, no likes, and no sudden announcements from anybody he knew from school. But knocking came again. Johnson stood up and opened the door and his dad, wearing a neat sweater, black jeans with a belt, asked, “None of them fit?”

“Yeah,” John said, quickly adding to show he agreed. “I think I need a larger size.”

His dad chuckled, catching as if his lame statement fell flat, and looked at his mom who stood at the end of the fitting room hall, leading out to the sales floor. She had already put away the clothes however. All her input was a smile, raising her eyebrows, obviously forcing herself to agree, too. His father then turned back to John, who still looked anxiously like his own childhood the more he stared at his son. “Fine then,” he said. “Mom and I are going to go ask for help. Just stay here.” Johnson nodded, said okay to cut it short. Once his dad and mom walked around the corner, he shut the door and went to sit on the small stool near the mirror. Although, feeling the last hold for a moment of assurance suddenly gave weight he needed to compose himself before they came back. And he put back on his old hoodie and black, baggy pants. This afternoon is going to be awhile, he thought, before looking back at his phone.

A few reels scrolled on his phone he watched a dozen about his peers, and a few posted from his school themselves, announcing dates for the dances and picture day. Half liking them, anyway continuing to the next post after another. Paying no attention because most were uninteresting; some he could’ve sworn he saw thirteen swipes back. Although when the phone was clicked off he noticed how the quietness suddenly snuck in. No one was in the other cubicles. He just realized how alone he felt, especially questioning if the store still had customers on the other side of the shop.

The air conditioning still buzzed; the dim lights throughout the store hummed more sharply though; and standing up shook his nerves. Too loud, like he would wake something up. To check his senses he opened the door, peeked his head out. “Mom?” he called first. Then, “Dad?” Even outside the fitting room, the hall leading out to the floor still brought a timid tone, one, as if, confirming everyone, including the employees, had left. He anticipated if his father, tall and timid as the place, would walk around the corner suddenly and spot him as though he was attempting an escape. ‘You stay there, and don’t you dare step out again, young man!’ Thus John stepped out holding his phone, unsure if to call one of them to see where they were.

He walked around the corner his parents did, then exited the fitting room. Surprisingly he saw many customers still, picking at the clothes on the racks, and the employees pushing more products around on the floor. But the odd thing, no one was making a noise. No, John thought, everyone was silent, like the volume got turned down.

Walking up to an employee to ask a question, what came out was silence. In fact, the young employee, college age, didn’t bother looking up, instead continued folding the clothes and placing them lazily on the table for customers. John then tried a customer, a straight figure lady, who resembled his mother from the back, catching her shoulder. But he found her stance difficult to turn around - “Mom? Hey, Mom!” - Is she upset with me? he thought, and walked around to see her face. No, she wasn’t his mom, nor looked upset. Much like the last one, the lady didn’t look up, look back, nothing. She then walked away from John and continued rummaging through the racks of teen boy’s clothes, with years of new motherhood smeared under her eyelids.

Am I having an episode? So he ventured into the shoes section, from children to adults. He glanced around irritably and saw and went to a little boy, holding hands with his own mother. She was busy picking up boxes upon boxes of little boy sketchers. “Hello?” John said frighteningly, and the little boy looked at him, stared, then giggled. It was an unnerving expression he gave as though nothing in his world can be affected, that he went back looking at his mom. “Do you see me?” John asked, but the little boy only smiled and chuckled again as his mother looked down at him and asked, “What are you laughing about, you crazy boy?”

John then began walking away. And heard the little boy respond with, “I saw a silly looking boy. He seemed lost,” and laughed like he was being tickled.

Meanwhile, John couldn’t believe it. He went up to the second floor where they sold perfume, makeup, and jewelry, and found the manager his mother always fought with, however she too was ignoring him. Just to attempt it, he screamed as loud as he could. No one heard him still. “How could any of you be so dense!” John shouted, and sprinted to the women’s section. A group of young housewives stood together like penguins, and he shouted to them. “Look! Look!” he said, trying to flick their noses, and step on their high-heels. “Don’t you see when a child is in crisis, or what!” Passing dozens of women, mothers, and a few fathers waiting for their wives to finish shopping, not a single one turned, looked, or even told him ‘quit it! Keep it down, young man.’ One last attempt John yelled, “Do any of you care? Have you all just given up!”

This is just stupid, he thought, loosely rethinking the word. Now he felt he understood what tragic meant and took the advantage to sink within it. This is just stupid, he thought angrily, while still trying to make contact with anybody in the store. “Mister?” He went up to a man on his flip phone - wearing a standard sweater with dark jeans, and a large belt buckle. “Mister? Can you hear me? I’m lost and can’t find my parents. No one is listening to me.” However, he didn't answer. Turning away from John he heard his wife call him, he groaned and walked away, disappearing around a corner towards the furniture and kitchen tools.

I guess I am gone, he thought - this is what it is now. He was confused to either go back to the fitting room or continue living life as though no change had happened. Though he couldn’t find it in himself to seek a path where to go next in any of the two choices, and fell deeply into himself wishing he’d smacked the little boy that laughed at him.

In any place in his mind, the memories of them, like the backyard of his parents house connected to other backyards, or the courts and grass at his school campus, John had found solace anywhere but those aspects of social activity. Those places guaranteed viewership among peers in his own age; Never being part of it, however. He has learned to drive his will-to-live just by being alone. The thought came so clearly, looking at how many times he hid in the computer labs rather than going outside during school, or hated being around when his mother was upset or his father’s passive aggression towards others. His will must’ve been so strong, he must’ve had the power to completely obsolete himself from reality. Life at this age now, garnered complete liminal space, to then be asked to make up the rest as development went along - he might have found a way to hide completely. Is that what I just did, he thought deeply - did I completely eradicate myself, physically?

With him walking back to the fitting room, he could only wait now. There was no assurance it would stay this way, nor any evidence supporting it wouldn’t either. He sat steadily on the stool and looked motionless in the mirror. Was it the mirror, he then thought, but quickly dismissed the idea of magic mirrors trapping people in strange spaces. Looking up at the ceiling, not sure what he had hoped to see, he took a deep breath. In no place like the fitting room, it was only him that had to make everything up from here on if this continued. And, with one tear, and the rest of his eyes getting ready to let out a cry of pure heartbreak with nothing happening, a knock came. John sniffled quickly. Listening.

Then, “John, we have to get going. Mom is not feeling well.” He heard his father, and opening the door his dad frowned, seeing John peek his head out. “What are you crying about?” he said with a sharp scorn.

“Nothing,” John said. He wanted to add something, and explained, “I just hope I didn’t make mom feel bad. I hope her feelings weren’t too hurt.”

“Well, mom would’ve been okay if you just picked at least one outfit,” he said, “but it would’ve ended the same. You know how mom is.” And again, John only nodded.

In the last few minutes his mother waited outside the fitting room, rubbing her eyes and palms. When John and his dad exited, she said, “Can we please hurry. I just want to be home now and in bed.” It was clear his dad only nodded to suppress as much damage as possible. Even then, the effects of his mother’s tears, her closed-off tension, had clearly changed the rest of the afternoon. Anyway, they spent too long at the mall.

After they exited the store, then the mall, and entered into the parking lot - the sun still shining and trees still fluttering - John quickly walked up to his mom and said, “I’m sorry, mom. I thought your suggestions were good.” She flinged her hand in the air, rubbing her nose as Mr. Haul went around his truck to unlock the passenger doors. Half listening to Ellie knowing she would want him to hear.

“It’s fine, sweetie,” she said. “Your dad just gets me so mad, sometimes. Well, you know how your dad is.” John just nodded and got in the backseat, afraid to make any mistake to trigger a large fight to occur, knowing one would anyway. Not here though, not now, he thought - at least not until we get home. Once his father buckled his seatbelt, he glanced around to check any vehicles behind him and said, “Did you hear that kid yelling in the store? God! That boy was loud. Some people just shouldn’t be parents.” Ellie ignored him and stared out the window. John thought he should do the same; although a feeling of adventure started to develop. I wonder if I could do it again, anytime I want, he thought dreamily - and prevented himself from smiling widely.