Hanging out at Long Ridge Mall with my sister Anna (R), circa 1973
Flashback to Greece, NY, 1973: The wind tunnel between St. John the Evangelist Parochial School and the creepy, abandoned church to the west is lifting up my hunter-green plaid uniform jumper. It is very unladylike, I am told by Sister Mary Voldemort. I wisely refrain from commenting that the hunter-green plaid uniform jumper isn’t very ladylike to begin with, and quietly tug down the hem. I need to conserve my energy to make the footslog all the way from this desolate parking lot to my home many miles away.
The journey is fraught with danger. I must first traverse Ridge Road West (all four lanes) and then dodge the Dodge Darts in the parking lot before making it to the main doors (and shoe department) of McCurdy’s. Mile after mile I walk, passing such fine retail establishments as Fanny Farmer, Piercing Pagoda and Hanover Shirts. I avoid the stoners hanging around the Contemplation Area and Electric Ball Circus and instead gravitate toward the Foam Block Obstacle Course, where June Cleaver and Carol Brady gossip while their moppets alternate between bouncing and chewing on Doberman-sized sponges. I finally make it to Sears (“Where America Shops”), weave my way through a labyrinth of La-Z-Boy recliners and Amana Radaranges to reach the southern tip of the mall … the last vestige of civilization before the horse latitudes of Long Pond Road.
There are maybe only six houses on this stretch between Red Rock and Straub roads. I march quickly and purposefully on the gravel shoulder to the right, diverting my mind by singing pop classics featured on the latest K-Tel Presents album (“But Wait … There’s More!”) I feel vulnerable — a young girl, alone, walking five miles on such a rural road! I’m a latch-key kid; my parents have the audacity to work full-time jobs, leaving me to endure this journey several days a week. It’s cruel. Years from now, I muse, this will be considered child endangerment.
Eventually, I reach my destination — our house on Straub Road. The door’s unlocked, of course. I greet the dog, toss my bookbag on the Naugahyde sofa, and I spend the next hour watching Dark Shadows, gorging on Twinkees and Pringles, and washing them down with an Orange Crush. The arduous journey of twenty miles has exhausted me. I won’t complain to my parents, however. The last time I did, they told some bogus story about having to walk even further when they were kids and … wait for it … carried baked potatoes in their coat pockets to keep their hands warm. (This, from the same people who took me to Charlotte Beach and said I could catch a seagull if I sprinkled salt on its tail. I ran with that salt shaker until I dropped from exhaustion.)
Present Day 2014: I used Mapmyrun to calculate the mileage from the former St. John the Evangelist elementary school to my childhood home. It’s 1.2 miles. Not 20, not 10, not even 2. How funny is it that now, on days when I don’t get two or three miles in, I feel deprived? Ahh, perspective.
Time changes things. Our perceptions adjust as our lives evolve. What once seemed impossible now seems manageable. And I guess, as time goes on, what now seems manageable will become impossible once again. I know it’s absurd, but if I could dial back the clock for just one day, I’d visit the mall, maybe play Space Invaders at Timeout and order a Fribble at Friendly’s. Or maybe I’d just hang out with my sister in the center pit, stare at the giant kaleidoscope ball and giggle as the hunter-green plaid uniform jumpers rush by.
Teresa Benoit Keyes lives and runs in West Bloomfield, NY. She’s going to run with baked potatoes in her pockets when the weather turns colder; she’ll let you know how that turns out. Find her on Facebook.