Bear at the Block Party
The grin of anonymous dance moves
Welcome to Vera Monstera! Movement is Everywhere. Step into an embodied world where life springs from the power of play and slow-osity. What’s that? It’s like velocity, but instead of speeding in one direction, we dive into spacious, internal rhythms. No destinations, but lots of sights to see. It means the world that you’re here!
I used to make things with people (dances, shows, scripts, workshops). Now I make things by myself. But I still feel that I’m with people in my mind when I write, as though no time has passed. Don’t get me wrong. I love being by myself (it’s real weird and fun in here!), but I also want to celebrate community and collaboration and continue to seek out ways to make things with other people.
So much of Vera Monstera has been a chance to put on the page all of the love locked in my heart. I write a damn good eulogy, but I don’t want to wait til we’re dead to tell you that I love you. So, while I have you all here, let’s talk love, one movement moment at a time.
Speaking of time, that’s one of the things I like best about writing. I can take it apart. Open it up, pause it, play with it. Run it back and forth. Today, let’s run the tape back 15 years into the archive for a moment that seems to have happened yesterday.
What do you need to know before we begin? We open on a block party, featuring a locally famous bear costume. Enjoy!
123. Block party 2009. I make two wishes.
Glow sticks. Can we have them?
“Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Can we hear it?
ANSWERS: Yes! Why? Doesn’t matter. Wishes are granted by block party gods. Everywhere you look—kids running, kids on bikes. I look up to see the neighbor busting some moves with Stef.
The real question of the night: who will be Bear? Who will don The Costume? Usually Jay is Bear. Or Eric. They’re not here, but The Bear Must Go On.
So, tonight, it is decided, I am Bear. Bear head. Bear feet. Little red bear neckerchief. All dolled up and waiting for the perfect song for a Bear Entrance. But as we know from life, the perfect song never comes. You just gotta jump in there.
“Look everyone, a bear!”
I want to run and slide and spin. But 1) I can’t see and 2) the head is too heavy and wobbly (nothing’s more disturbing than a bear losing a head).
I bounce. I bob. I sit and kick. Pump, pump, pump it up. I hope to not 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 away. I have never been so hot and sweaty. Through the hot fog of the bear head, it becomes clear that children want to dance with the bear.
I can barely lift my sneakers inside the huge feet, but I lurch towards the kids, reaching out my hands like the world’s worst fuzzy theme park celebrity. I wave slowly, hoping to not knock them over with the swing of a mitt. My hand finds a toddler’s hand. A mom holds the toddler and we all dance. All of us happy. One of us an overheated bear.
A little one runs away from me. The best always do. I barely see him shy
away out of the corner of the screened eye holes. I am inside my own hilarious, nightmarish Blair Witch vision. I kneel down for a friendly wave, but the kid’s gone already.
Stef and Tim lead me on a Bear Tour. Tim grabs my hand. We move into some kind of flirty bear ballroom. 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?
Bobbing. Bouncing. I crash into something. Someone. A frightened, frozen bear. I clobbered a child. I can’t believe it. I’ve clobbered a child. I reach out my useless bear hand to help, but there is no kid.
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. The Bear is kicked in the nuts by Mike. Who kicks a bear in the nuts? Mike. Luckily, there is bear padding. And bear forgiveness. I mean…a bear getting kicked in the nuts. Funny. Okay, not a real bear. But a block party bear. Very funny.
More bouncing, bopping. Sweatin’ to the oldies. Thank you, street DJ. I think I am dancing with Tim. But turns out to be new 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 bear with a chef hat for no reason.
“Let’s skip!” Tim says.
Everyone loves a skipping bear. Sweltering, swooning on the inside. I press on. Must lift bear legs. Can’t lift. Must laugh. But 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, “this bear is okay!”
They lead me home. 123. I go waving, dancing, into the night.
I am soaking wet, hair plastered, elated. Everyone loves you, when you’re a bear. The performance of a lifetime. Perfect. Anonymous. Spontaneous. And I knocked ‘em dead.
This one goes out to Smack of Jellyfish. And specifically for this story…Tim Bear, Mike Bear, Stef Bear, Jer Bear, John Bear, Er Bear, Jay Bear, Jo Bear, Amy Bear and Dany, Protector of Bears.
Share Vera Monstera
Great story! Felt like I was right there with you in that oppressive and joyful costume. Also, "Everyone loves a bear. And a bear loves them back." is my new mantra!