BY: Sarcastic Sam
“Doc… ever wonder how a place like me ends up here?” the Palisades Center asked, settling into the therapist’s couch as Christmas lights reflected off polished tile.
“Let’s start simple,” the therapist said. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” the mall replied. “I think I look okay for my age. Not what I was in my prime, sure—but I’ve seen worse. Maybe I could use a little work. New tiles. Escalators that don’t sound tired. Elevators that don’t hesitate like they’re asking permission.”
“Maintenance, not denial,” the therapist said.
“Exactly. Self-care,” the mall nodded.
A garland shimmered along the railing. “I do like how I look at Christmas,” the mall admitted. “Decorations help. They make people forget the cracks. I know they won’t come as much once the lights come down—but for now, it feels good.”
From Dave & Buster’s came cheers and the clang of games.
“We come here all the time,” a young woman said. “It’s still fun.”
“See?” the mall said softly.
“You sound weighed down,” the therapist noted. “What’s heavy right now?”
“Debt,” the mall answered plainly. “Big numbers. Loans. Receivers. Wilmington Trust. Lawyers walking around like they own the place—because technically, right now, they kind of do.”
The mall sighed. “I was developed by Pyramid. People forget that. Big vision. Big footprint. Now I’ve got caretakers watching over me while everyone debates what I’m worth.”
“That uncertainty affects identity,” the therapist said.
“Tell me about it,” the mall replied. “And then you open the newspapers.”
The mall leaned forward. “Doc, you can’t believe everything you read. Especially tabloids. Even the Journal News sometimes—no offense—they love confusion. Headlines make me sound worse than I am. Drama sells. But how about a positive story for once?”
A family passed by, admiring the decorations.
“It’s really nice here this time of year,” the mother said.
“See that?” the mall said. “That’s not a headline. That’s real.”
“Are there voices that get it right?” the therapist asked.
The mall smiled. “Yeah. I’ve been noticing this newer site—Rockland Post. Community stories. Fair tone. Feels like they actually walk my floors instead of flying over me in a helicopter.”
The mall paused. “I just can’t figure out how to pronounce the writers’ names.”
The therapist raised an eyebrow.
“They look like they should be stitched on the backs of hockey jerseys,” the mall chuckled. “Strong names. Slap-shot names.”
From Barnes & Noble came quiet laughter and the sound of turning pages.
“I come here when I need calm,” a customer whispered.
“Barnes & Noble stayed,” the mall said proudly. “They read to me at night when I can’t sleep. Macy’s is still here. AMC too. Dave & Buster’s keeps me young.”
“And the Ferris wheel?” the therapist asked gently.
The mall winced. “Doc… that thing bothers me. Everyone thinks it’s charming. It’s heavy. It creaks. It reminds me I’m carrying more than I should.”
Teenagers walked past Victoria’s Secret.
“We just hang out here,” one said. “It’s tradition.”
“They still come,” the mall said quietly. “People worry where their parents are—but kids always find their way back to me.”
“You’ve lost friends,” the therapist said.
“Yeah,” the mall replied. “JCPenney. Lord & Taylor. That hurt. But I’m still standing.”
“And Amazon?”
The mall rolled its eyes. “Jeff Bezos doesn’t need lights or fake Santas. Just boxes. But he can’t do this. He can’t do memories.”
A security guard passed by as carols played overhead.
“Holidays bring joy,” he said, “and a little trouble.”
“Fake Santas, shoplifting, lost kids,” the mall sighed. “But also smiles. Photos. First dates. Last-minute gifts.”
The therapist closed the notebook. “You’re realistic. You enjoy the glow even knowing it fades.”
“Exactly,” the mall said, looking up at the lights. “I like being dressed up. Even if it’s temporary.”
The mall paused.
“Doc… before you go.”
A small holiday kiosk appeared.
“I got you something,” the mall said. “A gift card. No expiration. And—”
The therapist glanced up at the Ferris wheel.
“—okay, not the Ferris wheel,” the mall laughed. “But coffee and a bookstore visit. That one’s on me.”
The therapist smiled.
The lights shimmered brighter.
“It’s the season,” the mall said.