"Small-Time Jersey Hero"

I see my girl again sitting there, knees folded, a new book, of course, up close almost covering her face cause she probably needs glasses.

I call her my girl but she’s not—not really. Okay, not at all. Been checking her out for like half a year, about when I started here. I can watch her for hours, even from my post, where she can barely see me.

I think sometimes: knucklehead, stop being such a stunad—just go up to her and say hi. And say what? Hi, I’m Donnie Migliozzi, I work as a mall cop, I mean security guard here, would you like to go out some time? Would you like to go out with a goomba like me?

You’re too hard on yourself. You’re not a goomba.

As if I could even get those words out. Like she wouldn’t just run away like she just saw some freak. Anyway she’s probably too young, jailbait. I don’t need that, do I? That’s the problem with them oriental girls, they’re cute as hell but all look twelve. This one looks maybe 15, but who knows, could be seventeen, thirteen.

She just pulled some gum onto her finger and swirled it back into that sweet mouth. What’s that thing Shakespeare wrote? Wish I was that glove on that hand?

What I’d give to be that gum.

These shoes are killing me. Hate posting the Macy’s entrance, stinking perfume counters, but gotta stick it out.

Johnny says Pergo’s got connects on the force and every now and then he recommends someone from here over to Red Bank P.D. I’ll do whatever it takes. They can’t stop me. I’ll file some ADA shit on them. My first test came back non-passing but I know it’s cause of this, this mouth. My situation. That can’t be legal. It’s not like I’m deaf or nothing. Dream killing mother fuckers. Stugots.

Those girls are fucking with my girl again. Why they always on her shit?

I step closer, try to get a listen in but I’m too far. Something about those benches? Like they own them? The big one does all the talking, one hairy chick, mustache and all. Nasty. I’m looking casual when my girl puts on her backpack, looks up and tosses her jumbo Orange Julius in the hairy girl’s face. Sploosh! It’s like slow-mo orange lava smacking her right in the eyes!

Oh shit, it’s on! My girl takes off. The big girl, slapping away the two friends who are trying to help her wipe off, flies after China Doll. I sprint to catch up with them. She’s outnumbered. This is my chance.

The mall blurs by. All around me all these stores become obstacles, miles of merchandise between me and my baby—GAP, Express, Victoria Secret, Bun ‘n Burger, Friendly’s…

She is a small black dot with a backpack. I can hardly see her. Fuckin’-A, she runs fast!

The big girl is slower but gaining, I see them – racing past the food court, the frozen yogurt counter, the kiosk where you can get your photos on mugs and teeshirts, Spencer’s, the rhinestone jewelry stand.

The three of us getting closer to one another now—dodging the two groups that make up most of the mall at this time—students and retirees—one group on its way in, the other on its way out. We three weaving and bobbing—under fluorescent lights, skylights, elevators, escalators…a massive Easter egg, the Easter bunny (that’s Johnny in a suit). Can’t let that hairy bitch get to her first. She won’t stand a chance.

I lose them. Where’d they go? I look up and see them scrambling up the escalator. Man, I’m winded. Gotta keep going.

They both look back and realize I’m chasing them. I go to shout, “Hey, stop!” but nothing comes out, just hard breath. You’d think they’d stop but it just makes them run harder. Where is she going? She’s getting tired, I can tell, almost just knocked over that guy with the walker and portable air tank. That would’ve been bad.

I grab the big girl by her tank top, and then remember I’m not allowed to touch anyone unless they’re like already pounding the shit out of someone else. To protect the mall against lawsuits.

“Get off me, fuck head!”

She stomps on my foot real hard. My fingers slip and I almost trip and fall.

This is the end. We’ve covered the entire mall. The beginning is Macy’s and the end is JC Penny’s. They’re heading into JC Penny’s. Guy on the piano is playing Yesterday. Now he’s trying to stop the girls but they both give him a shove and take off again.

I find the two of them in the junior’s department in a rack of pink sweats on sale for $9.99. Wrestling—the big one pinning down my girl, punching her in the head. A swarm of skinny sales girls are screaming, “Stop it! Stop it!” No one’s in control. I am ready to step in, get my arrest, get my girl, get my P.D.

A lady dives down out of nowhere—she breaks them up. She’s older, oriental, probably my girl’s mom, takes one pull back and clocks the big girl right in the nose. Blood squirts everywhere, onto the pink sweats like dalmatian spots. The air smells like Orange Julius and sweat. The big girl screams. My girl looks in shock. I guess I am too.

“Well, officer, aren’t you going to arrest her? She was assaulting my daughter! I was just defending her.”

The ma’s talking to me. It’s my time.

I hand Big Girl a handkerchief from my pocket. She wipes up. She’s crying now. I open my mouth.

“Y-y-you are un-un-der a-a-a-rrest…”

Everyone is silent.

“Y-y-you ha-have the ri-ri-right…”

Eyes widen. I’m used to this. I’m out of breath so it’s ever harder.

“…to re-re-remain s-s-s-silent.”

I get it all out, hold her hairy wrists as if my hands are cuffs and lead her away.

On my way out, I catch my girl’s eyes and think I see a mix of stuff: gratitude, pity, sadness, confusion, and maybe, just maybe – love.