Mallsoft in Practice

The soft sounds of the mall have lulled me to sleep. Sitting on a couch meant for elders and husbands, I decided to ignore the distraction of pulling out a cellphone. Instead, as I waited, I watched. A baby smiled back. Blank-faced adults slowly descending with the walkalator. A woman on the couch in front of me was so focused on her cellphone, a subtle smile on her lips. I felt like I was in a museum, watching one of those art pieces–the celebration of the mundane.

I decided I could try an experiment, from Hartham El-Wardany’s “How to Disappear”. “Consider the sounds that reach your ear,” he said, “without granting any one sound significance over the other.” I closed my eyes.

Murmurs. Cashier beeps. Stiletto clicks.

“As time passes,” he continued, “you will discover an increasing number of sonic details around you.”

The sounds became more pronounced. I began to drift deeper and deeper into a quiet trance. I noticed itches on my body–signals from my brain trying to keep me awake by reflex scratching. But instead of moving my interlocked fingers, I focused on the itches as they descended, moving from one place to another, trying to discern what was causing them. Underneath my clothes, imaginary insects moved. I did not ignore them–I found that by focusing on them, they faded away on their own.

“When you ultimately succeed in listening to a place in its entirety, you will find that the distance between yourself and the space’s sounds have diminished, and that you have become part of the place.”

I let myself drift deeper and deeper. A weight pulled my head down, and so I nodded off. The mall’s sounds faded into white noise and grainy images began to surface. They moved slowly, taking their time. The colors were faded, as if I were watching an old movie. I was pulled into some kind of drama–something important. At least, I think it was.

And then, as if rising from a swimming pool, I emerged from the dark theater of my mind, wet from the lips as drool dripped to my shirt.