Mime

Photo by The Lawrence/KC Mimes

Still breathing

Bert Haverkate-Ens

Once upon a time I met a young mime, a woman in black and white with red lips. She was frozen in place, staring off into the space just over my head. I had been shuffling along and maybe I’d been talking to myself. I admit that I was a little lonely and a little lost in my thoughts. I had been seeing very little but the cracks in the sidewalk.

But I swear, that, although there were other people all around me, I heard a soft voice in my ear. It was no more than a whisper that said, ‘look up.’

And there she was, standing completely and absolutely still. One hand was gesturing towards nothing that I could see. I even turned around to look. And when I turned back, the young mime was clearly not looking at me. Her gaze was over my head as I have said.

She stood as still as a statue, hat in one hand. Her skirt fluttered a little. But for all the evidence in front of me, she was but a moment of longing, frozen in time.

I looked into her face. How could she bear the loneliness? I thought to myself. All of this living and animated life flowing past her at such a furious and seemingly carefree pace.

And then it occurred to me, that I myself was feeling exactly the same way. I looked again out to where she seemed to be looking and then I looked deep into her eyes.

I must have stopped breathing, but I could feel my heart pounding. I realized that the young woman inside this exquisite being was unmistakably alive.

Photo by Krissy

It was then that I wondered that if we could only and briefly share our loneliness – she in her still world and I in my moving one – perhaps we might be freed - for a moment, at least. If only I could give her a token of something that I couldn’t put into words.

And then I reached my hands into my pockets.

I know now what a ridiculous sight I must have made as I pulled two empty pockets out of my baggy pants like rabbits out of a hat. And then I nearly wept.

And if I am making this up, you can call me a silly old fool, but I swear that the young mime blew me a kiss with one eye lash.

And then my own stony face must have broken up, a smile cracked onto my old, gray front. And then – stars above – the mime melted right in front of my very eyes.

Not into a puddle - that would be absurd - but into a young woman jumping down from her pedestal into my arms. She planted two red lipped kisses, one on each cheek, and pressed her body into mine.

I suddenly couldn’t move a muscle. Not a single one. At least, not so that you could see – but my heart was now beating wildly.

And then the young mime skipped on down the street. She left me standing frozen there, her hat, with a few bills stuck in it, now in my hand, the other stretched out as if to follow her.

And then I could sense a crowd of people around me, staring at me where I stood – me, as still as statue. I heard a mother behind me tell her daughter – I could only guess who they were by their voices – that a dollar in my hat might wake me up. I heard a very young girl’s voice sound doubtful, but then I heard what sounded like rummaging around in a purse. And moments later a little girl in a pixie haircut and a pink dress was standing in front of me. Out of the bottoms of my eyes, I could see that her head hardly came up to the hat in my hand.

And then – even now I can hardly believe what I am telling you - we must have stood there looking into each other’s eyes forever – it seemed at least like twenty years, or so. That little girl looked back deep into my eyes.

And then I must have blinked (I wasn’t really very good at miming), and in the next apparent instant, her face was face to face with mine and she was dressed in a black and white top and a fluttering black skirt.

She said quite brightly, ‘thank you for holding my hat, I hope I didn’t leave you too long. But I just really needed a sandwich and something to drink. I’d been waiting almost forever.’ I could see her red lips moving. Her eyes were a liquid brown.

And this time it was me, melting into her arms. I kissed her soundly on both cheeks. And in a blink of my eye, she was frozen again, standing still, her slippered feet a fixed part of her pedestal. But this time her eyes were looking deep into mine. I swear to you that as I watched, her red lips never unlocked from their pucker.

But I could hear her whisper, directly into my ear: ‘I’m so very glad that you looked up at me.’

And I smiled back just with my eyes but I said out loud, ‘I think maybe I could use a sandwich and something to drink. Do you know a good place?’

Her free hand was already pointing and I followed the line to a coffee shop half-way down the block. I smiled at her then with my whole face and blew her a kiss and still she didn’t blink an eye. But as I turned around to go, I heard her voice calling in my ear.’ If you stop at Aimee’s  tomorrow, we could talk like real human beings. I’m a barista by day. This is only my night job.’

Photo by John Adair Photographs