Standing Still When No One Else Will

My friend Charlie and I stared into the room, mouths agape. There on the floor before us, rolling about on a bunch of mismatched mattresses, were a half dozen naked people, interacting in an unmistakably affectionate manner.

It was hot and I began to sweat. I had never seen, well, an orgy before, much less been invited to one. Actually we hadn’t been invited. And we weren’t going to be. Charlie looked at me deadpan and stated the obvious.

“I’m dressed as a chicken.”

It was true. From head to foot, Charlie was dressed as a giant red chicken, waddle and all. But at least you knew what he was. I’d come to this Halloween party wearing a neoprene scuba dive suit with an aluminum chimney pipe duct-taped to my chest. I’d painted my face silver and given myself a Mohawk. When people asked me what I was I would just say “Thank you,” or “Batman,” or “Are you kidding? You don’t know? You really don’t know!”

Because the orgy was not going to become a part of our evening, we went back downstairs to the party. Outside it was a rainy Seattle night. We were in our late 20s, an age where single people who dress up for Halloween parties also dress to flirt. We weren’t even going to get that far.

That’s when Charlie had the great idea to take our sense of isolation one step further. We were out on the dance floor making grotesque and uncoordinated movements and he just froze. One foot in the air, his fluffy red wings open. He was staring at a spot on the ground and smiling like he’d just run into an old friend. I let four beats pass then followed suit, crouching slightly, twisting my hips and holding out my hands like I was scattering birdseed. Frozen.

At first it was embarrassing. I felt so self-conscious. Here we were, posing literally in a sea of posers and pretty people bobbing and gyrating all around us. Someone, a guy, danced past me in a bathrobe without even a glance. Others bumped into us by accident. It was our fault for not respecting that natural flow of bodies in motion. Then, after a few minutes of being ignored, I started to feel like I was a part of things anyway. A stone in a swift moving river. And I liked it.

So does Jorge, one of the human statues along downtown Barcelona’s famous esplanade, Las Ramblas. He and 30 other artists earn their livings by doing nothing. By standing stone still. For the tourists. And the nothing that they do is so much work.

The hours pass. The tourists stop and gawk. By 11 a.m. the sun is burning high overhead. In pancake makeup, dressed as soldiers, Indians, famous artists, guys being blown in an invisible wind on stationary bicycles, gargoyles, maraca playing dandies, in whatever their elaborate costumes, these artists, men and women alike, suffer. And it’s not just the heat.

They are taunted, tempted, heckled and pulled on, mostly by kids. They are booed or cheered and leered at, all in attempt to break their ghost-like will.

At that Halloween party some 15 years ago the same thing happened to us. Where the crowd of dancers once ignored us, more and more of them began to notice. Not just that we were in the way. But that we were statues, purposeful statues, mannequin on a mission that apparently did not include them. A couple of people tried to dance with us but we weren’t in the dancing mood. Some sneered. So we were rebels too.

How dare we? But how dare we what? Were we making a statement? Were we too good for the revelry? Had someone sent in saboteurs to undermine the merriment? The worst, it seemed, for the onlookers, was that they could cajole no answers from us.

The difference between Charlie and me and Barcelona’s human statues is that no one threw us coins. The men and women on Las Ramblas earn their living this way. They’re professionals in spectacular costumes, with spectacular patience. Listening, no doubt, as the euros land in the cups and hats placed before them. We only lasted for about 20 minutes. The two women who finally grabbed our arms and began manipulating our limbs like marionettes to the music eventually got us to smile, then laugh.

Come on, they said, let us get you some drinks. We acquiesced. It was time to flirt after all.