Nothing quite so instills me with fear than The Cape Cod Mall.
The sense memory, reminder of childhood fear combined with the ever-present Out-Transwoman reactions.
Stirred into a cocktail of deep fried and fish battered fear.
So what in the name of whatever Gods happen to hold sway in this part of the universe am I doing here?
Every time I come back to the Cape, I repeat the same pattern.
Drive down Main Street.
Visit an old home.
Drive by only. Never get out.
And walk through The Cape Cod Mall.
I hope that I will spot someone I know/knew.
Although I almost never do.
All the people I knew are grown and gone or quite simply know better than to spend any more time at The Mall than is absolutely necessary.
But still I go.
Soak in the sickly-sweet and artificial, terror infused ambience.
Remind myself to slow my pace.
As if I am not bothered in the least.
When I can take no more, I leave.
And typically I will head to Sam Diego’s.
An order of nostalgia with a nice stiff drink.
And maybe I’ll see someone I know/knew.
Sometimes I do.
Usually I don’t.
But I do get to hear that accent.
That particular working-class accent.
So homey and dangerous at the same time.