Once upon a time in Lafayette, LA, there existed a magical kingdom known as the Acadiana Mall grand in structure and presence, the whole town and beyond journeyed on their pilgrimages to this majestic realm full of popcorn and candy and swords, and dreams came true here all with a wish and a penny upon a waterfall water fountain. Cobbled pathways where the click clack click clack of familial carriages stroll about with their young ones peering through from their seats at the vast world before them—chambers of colors and sounds and royalty. We were all queens and princesses and princes and kings back then—the food court, our palace of dining where Arby’s and Orange Julius and Corn Dog 7 all served in unison to our needs.
My childhood memories of the Acadiana Mall in the 1980s and early 1990s are sincerely nostalgic, and it all felt like a fairy tale, and I would recall this place to be at its peak since I’ve been around, during that span. The stores back then were eclectic, and though this was roughly 35 plus years ago, I still vividly remember a weapons shop full of shiny swords and daggers and knives—nunchucks, too, and of course there was KB Toys, and the shop where we can design our own spray painted shirts or the seemingly endless popcorn store where all the walls were lined with canisters of popcorn, and my parents would get the spicy popcorn in these elongated plastic bags, much like the ones used for newspapers way back when, and I remember sitting in my living room with a bowl of it, licking the red powder from my fingers and tears coming down at the same time because of its heat.
KB Toys: when I was five or six, the first 8-bit Nintendo came out, and my brother and I, along with my mom trekked it out to the Acadiana Mall—it was far from where we lived which also added to its mystical presence—and we were all squished among the crowd until the poor employee said that the last Nintendo was sold, but my mother heard someone else mentioned, “maybe Target,” and so we all rushed to the car to head to the bullseye and got our very first game console—this was the first time, if not my only time, seeing my mother run. KB Toys—Bazooka bubble gum and Micro Machines, plastic guns and bows and darted arrows. I remember the shop to be red, red carpet perhaps, or red branding, and as a child, walking into store was nothing less than a circus or carnival.
There was a movie theater in the mall, too—where I watched my first movie on the big screen: Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and then my second movie was Batman, the one with Michael Keaton. This eventually transitioned to watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and then later on, during my teenage years, Independence Day. The department stores at the time—Montgomery Ward which turned into Maison Blanche, Sears, D.H. Holmes which eventually became Dillards, and JCPenney, and so many birthday parties shared at the arcade known as Aladdin’s Castle.
Every store had its purpose of delight, and of course there was the first time when we visited Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, and the weekly puppet shows—it was the gem of Lafayette back then, and as I look back it, I relate to the Acadiana Mall in three or four phases, the first one being my childhood memories—after that, I would label my next phase of memories of the mall as my high school years or fledgling driving years.
Eddie Bauer and Structure—these are the only stores that come to mind when it comes to the Acadiana Mall and my high school years. My friends would go to these stores, as they were at their peak in trends, and I would join them as they would shop around. I didn’t buy any clothing myself though—I wasn’t used to spending so much cash for shirts and pants—cargo pants were the thing back then, during the late 90s, but rather, I would buy knock offs or lookalikes from Marshalls, and I specifically remember wearing a pullover one day at school, one that was designed the same way that the Structure brand would popularize, and one of my friends knew immediately that it wasn’t from the store in the mall. I didn’t feel embarrassed, but more so grateful—grateful that I wasn’t so tied into fashion and brands and expensive clothes and that I didn’t follow the trends or crowds or anything like that. During my high school years, especially, I was so much in tune with my identity—my individualism and independence in how I present myself, whether it was in clothes or personality. A fond memory with all this was when I was wearing a button up shirt, and it was black with tiny imprints of shields—or maybe just some kind of crest, and my friend who I was crushing on complimented the way I dressed. That particular shirt was bought from T.J. Maxx.
Other than that, for my high school days and trips to the mall, my very close friend, a friend now for roughly 35 years—since grade school, and I would visit the music store. It was once called Musicland and then later called Sam Goody—this was at the time when cassette tapes were being sold, in those elongated protective plastic cartridges and while CDs were on the rise, too. Posters, too—all the way to the back of the store, we flip through the posters like a very large book attached to the wall, looking for the perfect depiction of any of our favorite bands, while every now and then taking notice of those bikini pictures, as well. I mention the music store specifically because during my college years, my time at the Acadiana Mall increased immensely as I worked at another music store there called The Sound Shop—this particular shop was secondary to Sam Goody, but still, business was solid and consistent.
I worked there with my college roommate, who I previously worked with at the movie theater just across the street. I vividly remember wearing red sweatpants and a white undershirt when I walked in to ask for an application, and my friend was laughing at me, telling me that what would make the manager want to hire me by looking so unprofessional, or at least not dressed to win an employer over. It was a learning experience for me—I was so naive and oblivious and in my own little bubble, but thankfully, with the recommendation of my friend, I was able to get the job. Working there taught me so much about customers, not in a good way, and it was interesting to see that the CDs that were stolen the most were in the Christian music section. The positives of working there, other than being there with my friend and the rest of employees there, who were really nice, was that I developed my passion for Sbarro Pizza and the Great American Steakhouse—the former, I loved the stuffed pizza, and the later had the best gyros in town, and I still remain confident that it was the best gyros ever to be made. I was obsessed. That, plus how each store handed out candy during Halloween, as trick and treaters went from one shop to the next.
Oh, there was also the time when the Sound Shop caught on fire when it was just my college roommate and I on shift. This was after September 2001—I say that for a reason. First, we saw the ashes, and then some smoke, and we turned around, and the lit display board for some kind of album release was on fire a bit. My friend ran across to Durel’s Pet Shop to grab an extinguisher, and I went to the back office to find one. This was the first time I’ve ever used an extinguisher and soon my friend joined me, and we were spraying and spraying and spraying.
We were ghostbusters bustin’ spirits. It was all gone except for the remnants of the extinguisher itself and ashes. No more fire, though. I started to cough, and my eyes became agitated, so I took off my overshirt and wrapped it around my face, not really thinking. My friend looked at me and smiled and said this might not be a good idea. Fire. Smoke. Brown with a beard. After 2001. I cursed in agreement and quickly unwrapped my face. The fire department arrived, and soon after the manager—I can’t quite remember if we had closed down for the day, but our shift certainly went by rather quickly.
Perhaps my favorite memory of the Acadiana Mall is visiting Dillard’s to find a gift for my mom. I bought a dress for her—it was long and flowing, dark purple, almost black. I found myself standing in front of the mirrors in the women’s section, holding the dress in front of me, as if I was wearing it, and stemming out one leg—a motion I’ve seen my mother do so many times when I would go shopping with her as a child. I just wanted to make sure that it would fit her, at least in length, and another customer passed by, smiling. When my mom opened the box, I still vividly remember the light in her eyes, jaw dropping, and my dad saying, “wow.” She was absolutely amazed—never expecting such a thing, from me, and I don’t think I’ve ever topped that particular gift or that specific moment when she saw the dress. I felt so proud of myself.
After my college years as it relates to the kingdom, there was a stretch when I didn’t go at all until I started to work at the public library which was just about five minutes away. I anticipated such a romantic experience to be employed at such a place—the idea of being surrounded books and books and books and more books, but that notion soon dissipated after the third day; however, there was an excitement that went beyond the library, and this took place in the form of lunch break. The food court at the Acadiana Mall, and most specifically and importantly, 30 minutes of reignited pure bliss found in the stuffed pizza from Sbarro. A sweet reunion since when I worked at the music shop, but this time around, there was an overwhelming special experience. This will forever be my favorite dish of all time, and the time allotted for lunch was the perfect amount to leave the library and make it to the mall, ordering, sitting and eating, and then heading back to the library. I’m almost embarrassed with how much joy this brought me, a light that kept me going through the day, and I was so sad when, later on, after leaving the library, I heard that Sbarro closed down. In fact, I think that’s the main reason why I don’t visit the Acadiana Mall anymore, only living as a memory, the last being the delight of Sbarro, and I’ve come to terms with this being my last favorite recollection of visiting the tiered dynasty which all came tumbling down.
My time at the Lafayette Public Library and venturing to the Acadiana Mall for lunch was the last of such visits on a regular basis. Since then, which was about 15 years ago, I’ve only frequented the Acadiana Mall maybe a handful of occurrences, and even then, it was just walking straight into Dillard’s instead of ambling throughout the mall, except for the one time I had done so, and I became sad seeing so many stores closed, making what was once a kingdom a shamble of sporadic shops while other storefronts were all taped up or covered in black paper.
All I know is that Bath & Body Works, Victoria’s Secret, Chick-fil-A, Claire’s, which was the first place I pierced my ear when I turned 18—my mother accompanying me, are still there and going strong. Other than Dillard’s, there’s only JCPenney remaining as a department store when there was once a time when all sides of the mall were flanked with such notable larger shopping wings. The Acadiana Mall, as I envision it now, served as a model for my dystopian young adult manuscript, recently drafted, which is the closest I’ve visited the walls in years—all in my mind.
Every now and then I hear about a resurgence, but I refrain from witnessing it on my own—it’s not the same, and it will never be, and I’m fine with that. It’s perfect, actually, and maybe one day, I’ll give it a visit, but not to shop, but to immerse myself in memories of sparks and sparkles. Perhaps, I’ll reach out my hand to grab my mother’s arm, tripping along the way.
Shome Dasgupta is the author of The Seagull And The Urn (HarperCollins India), and most recently, the story collection Atchafalaya Darling (Belle Point Press), and the poetry collection Cajun South Brown Folk (Belle Point Press). His writing has appeared or it’s forthcoming in American Poetry Review, The Fairy Tale Review, The Emerson Review, Jabberwock Review, Arkansas Review, Magma Poetry, and elsewhere. He lives in Lafayette, LA, and he can be found online at www.shomedome.com and on Substack and Bluesky at @shomedasgupta.