Casual Bear Friday
123. Block party 2009. I make two wishes. One…glow sticks. Can we have them? Two…wouldn’t I love to hear “Total Eclipse of the Heart”? Yes. Why? Doesn’t matter. Wishes magically granted by block party gods. Everywhere kids on bikes. Kids running. Rascals. Watermelon. Watching the street go by. Watching the neighbor bust some moves with Stef.
And then, the bear. Usually Jay is the bear. Or Eric. They are not here and the bear must go on. Tonight, I am the bear. Bear slippers. Giant bear head. Little red bear neckerchief. All dolled up and waiting for the perfect song for the perfect bear entrance. It’s never comes. What would it even be? Nothing is worthy. I enter anyway. Look everyone, a bear! I want to do some mock breakdance moves. But 1) I can’t see and 2) the head is extremely heavy and prone to wobbling (nothing’s more disturbing than a bear losing her head).
I bounce. I bob. I sit and kick. Pump, pump, pump it up. I hope to not to clobber anyone. I can’t see, you see. Someone takes me by the bear hand and leads me to the DJ stand—about 100 steps and an eternity to go for a bear who can’t see. I have never been so hot and sweaty. Through the hot fog of the bear head, I understand that children want to dance with the bear.
I can barely lift my bear legs, but I reach out my hands, hoping to find kids reaching for the bear. I’m bouncing, waving, slowly as to not knock them over. My hand holds a toddler’s hand. A mom holds the toddler and we all dance. All of us happy, one of us an overheated bear.
Another little one runs away from me. The best always do. I barely see him shy
away. I kneel down for a friendly wave, but he’s gone already.
Stef and Tim lead me on the bear tour. Tim grabs my hand. We move into some kind of sexy bear ballroom. No one knows it’s a girl bear. I could be any bear. And good for that. Our moves teach the world that bears love everyone. Our kind of love is just that. A kind of love. Who can get mad at a bear in love?
Bopping. Bouncing. I crash into something. Someone. Frightened, frozen bear. I clobbered a child. I can’t believe it. I’ve clobbered a child. I reach out my blind bear hand to help.
I don’t hear the cries, “It’s not Jay! It’s not Jay.” (The bear, as you’ll remember, is usually Jay. Sometimes Eric.). It’s too late. I’ve been kicked in the nuts by Mike. Who kicks a bear in the nuts? Mike. Luckily, there is bear padding. And a heap of bear forgiveness. I mean…a bear getting kicked in the nuts. Funny. Okay, not a real bear. But a block party bear. Funny.
More bouncing, bopping. Sweatin’ and a-rockin’ to the oldies. I think I am dancing with Tim. But now it’s a new drunken friend, full of drunken bear love, and his drunken, bear-lovin’ friends. Everyone loves a bear. And a bear loves them back.
I pose for photos with kids. I can’t see the kids or the cameras, but I reach out a bear arm to love the whole street. In these strangers’ family photos, I am the aloof bear with the askew head.
I did a jig, Tim said.
“Let’s skip!” he said.
Everyone loves a skipping bear. Sweltering, swooning on the inside. I press on. Must lift bear legs. I skip. Laugh. Only a little. A bear doesn’t laugh. Or say she’s tired. Can’t tear down the 4th bear wall. Tim and Stef ask if I’m alright. I just wave and shake my bear hips.
“Yes!” my hips say, “yes, this bear is A-Okay!”
Bears don’t talk.
They lead me home. Well, to John and Jeremy and Stef’s home. Which is also this bear’s home. I go waving, dancing, until I reach bear freedom. Stef, laughing, thanks me. The bear has made another appearance, and everyone loves you, when you’re a bear. I am soaking wet, hair plastered, elated. A post-performance high, if you will. It was the performance of a lifetime. Perfect in it’s spontaneity and anonymity. And I knocked ‘em dead.
Break a Leg, Bear of 2010.
This story goes out to Bear. It’s also for Stef Bear, Jer Bear, John Bear, Er Bear, Jay Bear, Jo Bear, Amy Bear and D, Protector of Bears.
Bear Down Time
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