The Woman Who Yearned To be A Mime

“So…what’s the point of this anyway…?”

The towering man in front of me intruded on my dedicated and focused craftsmanship. I was in it to win it.

I’ve never considered myself to be a perfectionist. I’ve always done the best with what little I’ve had. Even with my feet firmly glued to the grey concrete below me, and the sound of someone loudly lapping at a freshly filtered fountain, nothing could break my focus. Nothing can truly break my moment of glory.

“I. Have. To. Do. This. Perfectly.” I muttered breathlessly. “But, this guy seriously needs to go.”

A tall and curious stranger was annoyingly ogling at me, with his head cocked to one side. I bet he was doing this to get on my last nerve, trying to break me out of my flow. God. It seems that my first gig as a professional mime wasn’t exactly going according to my overthought-out plan. All the muscles in my body ached from my stagnant and repetitive posing. The itchy black leggings and thrifted black and white striped sweatshirt outfit wasn’t helping me out either. Pretending to be stuck in a box may look easy, but it comes at an aching price.

However, nothing can stop me.

Well…maybe except for the high-heeled hellspawn coming toward me and this dimwit intruding on my space.

A woman, dressed in flashy clothing, rushed over and wrapped her elegantly ring-adorned hand around the man’s toned bicep. “Randall, honey. Stop trying to give the time of day to this mime. It’s not like she’d talk to you anyway…” her eyes slyly glided over to mine with her pupils shining with pure judgement, “...it’s one of their main schticks.” The woman’s body was angled affectionately against his, but her striking irises were stubborn in subtly looking me up and down.

“Is she…judging me? Why would she judge me for being a mime?” I thought. The sudden threatening wind slapped me in my eyes, causing them to well up with tears in mere minutes. Oh my god, this tacky woman might think I’m crying about what she said.

“Oh my god, she’s crying about what I said.” The woman pouted her lips and made puppy dog eyes that gleamed with ruthless pity. This act of pure slander made me want nothing more than to slap her across that flawless face. But if I even moved a centimeter, my reputation as a mime would be beyond ruined. This was all I had, after all. No circus would take me, even after I showed them my degree, which took years of drudging through understimulating clown classes to get. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the material I was learning, but there’s only so much an antsy creative can take before they yearn to go out and perform the very art they’re learning. When I’ve always come down to it, maybe I might be happy having a career as a mime in the end.

Lost in my thoughts, I forgot which hand was trying to break out of the top and which one was trying to break out of the side on the other. However, as my mind wandered off, my entire body had other plans. I first felt my knees about to give way. Then my arms started feeling wobbly like the inflatable man at the car dealership I passed on the drive here. “If I fall right here, right now…” I thought to myself, the anxiety rising higher and higher, “...then my future as a mime is done for…”

The couple watched my impending moment of embarrassment with judging glances. “Is she…going to fall over?” muttered the snide woman.

“Oh my god, I’m falling over,” were my last thoughts before my body completely failed to work with me. Knees collapsing, I felt the slight breeze of impending doom flutter my brain, letting my body succumb to completely crumbling onto the ground. The emotional damage of the collision with the concrete was far more painful than the tiny bits of asphalt caught in my freshly-washed cotton sleeves. To make matters worse, my tiny book titled “How To Be An Expert in Miming” slid out from the side pocket of my pants.

The air felt still, and wildly uncomfortable. I didn’t dare to look up at the nosey couple that I knew were judging me, the failed comedy act on the ground. I felt as though if I made eye contact, their lingering eyes would somehow sprout darts and pierce directly into my heart. Instead, I gently laid my head on the concrete, letting the tiny bits of asphalt remain on the side of my face. Letting out an audible sigh, I let myself accept that maybe today was just another failed chapter of my life story.

Coming to terms with my defeat, I closed my eyes and let the sensation of the warm concrete lull me into relaxation. The anxious side of my brain pondered when I’d have the courage to get up, but maybe letting myself accept the present was what I needed to do.

My peace was quickly interrupted by the woman whom I had hoped would’ve gone away by now.

“Oh my gosh, Randall, look!”

My eyes unveiled just a tad. I frankly did not care enough to go through the energy of seeing what she was seeing.

“There are more mimes over there. I didn’t know this was a mime kind of spot.”

It wasn’t long before my eyes completely shot open, registering before me the very last thing I would ever want to see in this moment: Other mimes.

Besides having more stylish mime attire than I, their talents of pantomiming knocked my heart still. Not only were they more interesting to watch, but it was clear they were a couple. From pretending to lasso the other toward them like a weird stranger in a nightclub to mirroring each other to near perfection, I wished nothing more than to look away. But it truly hit me when I noticed that their clothes were indeed matching one another. Goddamit. I knew, from then on, that these two were a threat to the start of my miming career. They stole my thunder.

When one of them busted out a balloon and blew it up to capacity, my heart raced.

No. No, this can’t be.

“Haha! That’s so cute. They definitely seem like a class act.”

“You. Are. Kidding. Me.” I muttered under my breath.

Soon, I felt the spine-tingling presence of multiple footsteps come near us as though they were spirits appearing from a thick fog to take me away from my embarrassment. Instead of saving me, the crowd just stood and watched.

That latex horror soon formed into a dog by their talented hands. I couldn’t believe it—these seemingly masterful mimes were also successful balloon animal creators.

Everything about my future was roasted to near completion now. Any hopeful perspective I could spin this into wouldn’t erase just how much better this perfect mime couple was. Any skills at my disposal were no match for this challenge thrown at me by the universe.

My mind was trying to give me all the cues to get up from the concrete, but my body emotionally ached to where physical energy was a foreign concept.

So..what was the point of this anyway…?

In this humbling moment, I have come to realize that I am, in fact, a huge perfectionist—even if I didn’t consider myself as such. Even though I let myself get broken up again in the moment, I still had a shining, small tale of glory in my own way.

I yearned to be a mime. I was meant to be a mime. But, for whatever reason, the universe won’t let me keep it.