Stomping of feet in front and behind. Two more people on top of tables. I am literally surrounded by a quartet towering over me, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. I slouch farther down in my seat, but I can feel them. I can feel all the eyes of everyone watching. My skin flushes.
“We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.”
A flash mob.
I’m stuck smack in the middle of a food court flash mob. My throat goes dry. I know I’m physically safe, but I feel as if I’m being circled by sharks. Like I’m in the center of a tornado swirling all around me. A sharknado.
I look for a way to escape, to slide unnoticed from the spotlight these singers are creating. I stand, but I’m not the only one. As if choreographed, a few others around me also rise.
In perfect harmony, voices blend. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come.”
The man behind me lays down a beat using only his vocals. A soprano beside me sings out in a ringing tone, “Let Earth receive her king.”
This is not the rendition sung for decades in church or by those caroling door-to-door. The lyrics are the same, but the beat is new, fresh, and much quicker than the old hymn. The singers begin to sway their bodies.
I take two steps to the left, but my escape closes as a man steps off his table and turns to the crowd gathering and growinglarger by the second. People along the periphery hold up cell phones to record the spontaneous spectacle, in which I’m stuck as an unwilling participant. I spin around, hoping to slip through the other side, but the a cappella flash mob pins me in. My head whips to the other side. Back again. I’m getting dizzy.
“Let every heart prepare him room.”
My heart feels like there is less and less room in it. Each beat comes quicker. Louder. It could be a back-up to the beatbox guy.
The group moves as one, and then individually they spin and repeat, “Let heaven and nature sing” until they all join their voices together again.
I’m like Dick Van Dyke inChitty Chitty Bang Bang, caught up in a song-and-dance number, the old bamboos blocking every means of exit. Except, unlike Dick Van Dyke, I don’t magically learn the lyrics or the steps of the dance and then steal the show in the end.
In fact, the only thing being stolen is my breath. Why is it so hard to fill my lungs right now? I can’t seem to take in enough oxygen. I need to slow my breathing, slow my pulse, but both have run away from me.
My fingers begin to tingle, then shake. Again, I whip my head around, but all I see is faces. A sea of faces. Laughing, pointing, cell phones recording. The room spins, a carousel of people pulsating the air around me. I can see lips moving, but the chatter is a hum beneath the concert I can’t escape from. The static in my ears swells.
Panic is clawing its way up my breastbone while control slips from my fingertips.
IknowI’m not in any real danger.
Iknownothing horrible is waiting in the wings to pounce on me.
IknowI’m overreacting.
But I can’t shut off my brain.
I can’t rein in my body.
I need it to stop.
God, please make it stop.
“Joy to the world!” The song ends on a staccato, and the silence is immediately followed by applause. The man to my left shifts forward, creating a gap. Somehow, I manage to grab my packages, jacket, and the cinnamon rolls before I dart through the opening.
I need to get out of here.The thought replays in my mind on repeat. Nothing else matters but getting someplace else. Anywhere else.
The automatic doors slide open to the outside.
“Mackenzie!”
I hear Keri call, but I don’t stop. The cold air burns my throat as I take in quick gulps through my mouth. My forehead is colder along my hairline, and I realize I’ve been sweating.
A warm hand touches my back. “Hey. Are you okay?”
Tears spring to my eyes for no real reason. Maybe all the adrenaline that flushed my system decides to hang ten through my tear ducts. I don’t know. I’ve never understood why I react the way I do in what I know are benign situations.
