He didn’t choose this.
But after that birthday party when, despite their better intentions, his parents paid a professional mime to perform, he started miming- and he never stopped.
He practiced in the mirror. For hours. Days turned into years. He refused meals. He refused to take phone calls. He refused therapy.
His parents considered the stockades. They considered an exorcism. Instead, they bought blackout curtains and a lock that deadbolted from the outside.
There were no more birthday parties.
While other kids were playing in Little League or roller skating, Derrick was working out the details of The Invisible Box. Miming gave him a sense of power. He was both an artist and a magician and he entertained people.. once a year, at the Springfield County Fair. Most of the time he just drove his family nuts.
At home, all the furniture’s a stage. There were a few accidents, though none fatal. As time went on, Derrick cataloged and mimed every human activity you can name. And several you would care not to.
He mimed every morning waking up. He mimed breakfast. He mimed brushing his teeth, he mimed Mom brushing her teeth.
His mother still keeps the ad on Craigslist.
His siblings begged him to stop. “Can’t you just get a job?” they would admonish him. Or “stop being a freak and get a girlfriend.” Nothing bothered Derrick. He would just laugh.
His parents issued bans, then ultimatums, then exhausted sighs of defeat. They built a summer home. The kids had no idea what state that it was in.
And Derrick kept on refining his art—The Dishwasher Ballet, Trapped in the Linen Closet, Rope Pulling up the Stairs. Peeling and Eating the Banana, Miniature Pole Dancing.
No applause, of course. But that didn’t matter anymore, if it ever did.
He saw in a chat room where some Pantomimes make good money, miming in any big city, “MIMING FOR GOLD”, it said. There is so much information out there. “you can too”, it said.
Downtown Springfield is pretty big. Someone is getting the money being a professional Pantomime in Springfield, so why not him? He could even pick his own city. Mime on his own corner.
It’s not like Derrick hadn’t thought about working for Dad in the sheet metal shop. Safe. Familiar. Boring. He wasn’t dumb. He could slide into an office job, and learn the books. But the word “work” stuck in his craw—like surrendering his daylight to something gray and clunky.
He didn’t have deep thoughts often, but this one clanged around like a crescent wrench in the dryer: No time clock would ever understand MPT; mime people’s time.
Unlike his life as a mime, time doesn’t bend so fluidly. It doesn’t give up a minute.
A good mime knows timing, alright. But, yeah, we are not good with time. Derrick has had trouble getting up before noon, ever since “he barely squeaked by” graduating high school, a sticking point with his Dad.
“Stop acting like a fool!” His Dad would tell him. “Get a haircut and go get a job”. Derrick never understood his Dad’s anger. “Anger is just wind trapped in a tight space,” as if that explained everything. Like everything else, Derrick just found his Dad’s anger to be funny.
I’m like a ham sandwich when you expected steak . Both are pretty good, but you don’t usually burn a ham sandwich. It’s all in your expectation.
As for the rest of the family, he couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand. Derrick has one brother, Benjamin, and a sister Madeline, all three a year apart, Derrick jr. being the oldest. Oh, they are not supposed to call him junior anymore. Fine.
Madeline, we call her Maddie, because it fits. She was always angry at him, too. Maddie was the least sympathetic, and the meanest of his siblings. Once she stole Derrick’s mime outfit while he was asleep and she threw it over the power line. We had to have the power company come out and remove it. Dad had to pay them $100 for the service call.
Maddie still won’t own up to it, though she acted proud of herself when Derrick woke up and had to run outside with a bedsheet wrapped around himself to try to retrieve his clothes.
Someone told Dad that I ran out into the street naked. To this day, he thinks that I was the one who cost him $100 for “parading around like a dipshit for the neighbors to see.” It wasn’t like that. That bitch. What am I gonna say, right?
Ben and Derrick generally got along. Ben takes after Mom. Easygoing, never quick to anger. Ben realizes that no one can change Derrick. Furthermore, there was nothing to change. And that, he learned, was all it took to get Derrick.
Benjamin always took the persuasive approach. He was already working in Dad’s shop, since the age of 16. He guessed that it will be his someday. Ben would like Derrick to “clean up his act” and work there too, but he doesn’t press it. To Derrick, nothing seems more boring.
Sheet metal. May as well be counting rocks all day. “I’m happy for Ben, good for him, fell in line and all.” Derrick just made that unnamed hand signal (mime trick# 25).
So he made up his mind. For whatever reason, whatever flipped the switch, he chose this night. Derrick decided to set out on his own.
He found temporary refuge that night, the “couch-surfarorium has begun”, he mimed to himself.
Bart is an old friend from the neighborhood. He was at work washing pans at Popeye’s at the time, but he owed Derrick a favor from long ago when Derrick worked at Domino’s and delivered pizza by bicycle. Derrick was quite a hustler, they say, out of the back door of Domino’s Pizza.
He did get fired after a month, but that is another story for another time. Anyway, Derrick knew there was a couch there if things ever got bad at home. So he just showed up to crash on Bart’s couch.
He found out right away that Bart had a girlfriend. And that girlfriend had boundaries.
She found out, right away, about Derrick.
Derrick immediately went to work annoying her. He mimed her folding their laundry. He mimed her sweeping their floor. He threw hand shadows on the wall, He even mimed a dramatic reenactment of her daytime story “Days of Our Lives.”
She mimed the door for him. She was pretty good, actually.
He left the door wide open as he stepped out into the rainy night. “she’ll figure it out”, he thought.
“Can I say something, Derrick?” she said. He just shrugged and pulled his suspenders tighter, disappearing from her view as quickly as he appeared. Harsh. Weather, Women. Everything.
Though he knew he must have better things to do with his life than to live like a beggar. And he realized just then that being outdoors sucks when you have nowhere to go. He just kept walking through the downpour.
Eventually he saw a house that had the porch light on. Someone had laid out some blankets for the neighborhood cats. He kicked the cats off the porch and made his bed for the night.
The next morning, Derrick got up bright and early. He didn’t want to get caught by the people who lived in that house. But, he was certainly grateful.
On to day two of the great adventure. Who knows where the winds may blow today. Derrick realized that it was up to him.
The morning smelled fresh as the sign rising heated the air; thick and humid from last night’s downpour. Derrick kept walking in the same direction that he did last night; the opposite direction of his neighborhood. Soon, the sun was high in the sky and he realized that he needed to find water. He spotted some kids playing with a garden hose.
He went up to them and mimed: “thirsty, need glass of water” (mime trick #13) .
He thanked them and then took to the street, once again, with a quickened step and a hopeful but silly grin on his face. Derrick found it safer to walk in the middle of the road, that way he could see the cars coming, and they could see him. It only made sense.
Derrick liked it when things just made sense. When everything fits into his imaginary box, all nice, neat, and snug. With a bow. Anybody can make a box, think about it. But, the bow, that was Derrick.
But suddenly, he spotted this on a telephone pole. It called him from out of the street. He pinched himself. He pinched himself, again, because it reminded him that he was both alive and awake.
A *M.I.M.E. Convention? No way! He has never seen the word written in all caps posted on an old telephone pole before. “It’s as if this was meant for me to see”.
He yawned, and wondered for a moment if it wasn’t he who stapled that poster. And it took him back to that life transforming experience from the 2 AM Infomercial:
“TONY ROBBINS (grinning, energized):
“Are you TIRED of being talked over? Talked down to? Are you tired of talking at all? What if I told you…
…you could change lives…
…without ever saying a word?”
[Cut to exaggerated black-and-white footage of a mime lifting an invisible barbell.]
TONY:
“This isn’t your grandma’s clown college.
This… is the BIG TIME *M.I.M.E. METHOD™.
I’m talking world-class pantomime performance strategies drawn from the greatest silent masters of our time—and also me, Tony Robbins, your verbal Sherpa into the land of absolute quiet.”
[Dramatic cut to him whispering directly at camera:]
“Most mimes fail… because they don’t dream big enough. You think the box is imaginary?
THE BOX IS REAL. And you’re stuck inside it.”
[Cue applause track, zoom in on Tony gesturing furiously to a blank whiteboard.]
TONY (yelling now):
“Well it is time to jump out of the box. For just SIX EASY PAYMENTS OF $116.66, you’ll learn..bzb bzzzz wffwfwfw…”
*code for Me Inside, Me Explained
How would he get there? No one drives! But, if he was born for anything, he was born for this. He had to find a way. Wait a minute! (DERRICK realizes)I’ll bet Tony has a car! I’ll bet he has a nice one!
Indeed. Tony stepped into a nice red Lamborghini Countach.
TONY ROBBINS (disappears)
Derrick continued dreaming. As he did, he went downtown and walked the boulevard sidewalk, stopping to mug at the expression in the glass.
Derrick laughed. He imagined that he finally made the Big Time:
Just his reflection now, on 5th Avenue
Broadway, Macy’s Parade, Blinking lights.
He mimed delight into the window of Saks Fifth Avenue.
He dared to scale the building like Spiderman.
People passed by. Some laughed. One clapped.
Most ignored. It’s possible he is sleepwalking.
But his reflection smiled back. That was all that mattered.
Then he started dreaming about the girl next door again. And the girl from Starbucks. Before it happens, a friendly female voice.
“Are you ok, sir” The kind voice brought him back” Yes, thanks” he replied.
Between the ache to make something of himself and the acid reflux, he just wasn’t sleeping well at all.
But, as he was most accustomed to thinking to himself, deep inside, that applause was building—somewhere beyond this city. He could hear it. He wanted to escape. Not to escape, exactly. To en-scape. To entertain people. To hustle. Feel his way around the streets. A street hustling mime. He was brainstorming now. A brainstorming street hustling mime.
Later, that evening on his front porch he chatted with two fellow misfits—one a mime-adjacent juggler, the other, his friend Kevin. Derrick couldn’t hold it in any longer, he was ready to burst.
“Ever heard of the Big Time Mime Convention in New York?” he blurted.
His juggler friend dropped his clubs. It took both boys by surprise. Derrick rarely speaks.
“Give us a heads up next time, will ya Chief?” Kevin said.
To hear himself utter those words. They hit like thunder in a chapel.
New York. Next weekend. A real event.
“How are you going to get there, nobody drives!”
Mimes. His tribe. “my Bros.” Mimes won’t let me down.
He spoke it, so it will be, he thought.
“Well, good luck with that, Bro of the tribe” Kevin said.
“It’s getting late, I better go” he said. Yeah, I should get going too” said the juggler. No one knew the juggler’s name.
Derrick started brainstorming with himself again. Eyes wide open, using his whole brain, front and back.. On fire and alive. Not a sound made.
Word spread.
At first, there were just quiet mentions in AOL chat rooms and folding-chair rehearsals.
Then, the posters and the flyers. Even regular people were picking up on this.
Our quiet little closet community was about to get the spotlight. People can’t help but to take notice.
The cable news picked up on it with the headline “Oh No. Not Another Clown Convention!”.
As could be expected, we experienced the harshness of that spotlight. There have been stories of reported anti-mime crimes breaking out in pockets of the country where there are large groups of mimes.
The ADL reports a rash of threats, from email harassment to threatening voicemails to actual assaults.
*The Anti Defamation League tracks and documents details of all crimes committed against people because of their race, gender, or religious beliefs.
It will be a keynote topic, for sure. Anyway, a true mime will never be deterred.
This wasn’t just going to be another convention—it was destiny in greasepaint, to Derrick. Seminars and classroom training. Keynote speakers! A weekend that could change everything for him. Derrick was convinced that he was going to be the greatest mime that he can be. It was the promise of a real future as a street performing professional with a hat full of twenty dollar bills. And they doubted him on AOL. He was going to show them all.
By the next day, all of the local mimes had gathered for more information. Mainly, they were trying to bum a ride.
Mimes gathered in greater numbers, in parks, dance studios, Walmart, and an abandoned schoolyard. Many were coming out as mimes for the first time ever. It was a real celebration. A coming of age. A recognition. You could feel the excitement. You could hear a pin drop.
Someone introduced a “friend of the arts” to this local gathering. He was a young investment banker with a flair for spectacle and a penchant toward hipster-ness. He was absolutely enamored with the Movement, as he called it. I’m gonna make you BIG, he said. “The Mimes of Springfield.” He wanted to hire a film crew and shoot a documentary.
He will be financing the trip for a bunch of the guys, he told us. He’s renting a bus too, to round us up and take us to the airport. He’ll need several just to gather up all the mimes in and around Springfield after this announcement. The black and white photo captured the moment: wide-eyed mimes listening to the man with a briefcase full of important stuff. It was official.
Regular guys don’t have a clue about the sheer numbers of us who are ready come out, to don the stripes and represent the mime community. No, we are not all gay. And no, we all aren’t named Bill. We are your neighbors, members of your church, The UPS guy. The window guy for breakfast at McDonalds that says “Have a good day”, as if it pains him. It does, by the way.
You can tell the mimes from the regular guys, even if they are wearing a different shirt. Well, I can.
“Your vagabond shoes, they are longing to stray
And step around the heart of it, New York, New York”
Everyone was on their very best behavior.
I took my performance to the street.
At a busy Midtown crosswalk, I launched into The Collapse of Civilization (in Three Sobs and a Rope Pull).
A cop pulled up mid-act.
“Hey. What are you doing?” I was startled “What, don’t you knock anymore?”, I thought.
I mimed being handcuffed (mime trick #13). I rolled an invisible donut (mime trick #147).
I paused to gauge the reaction.
Just a cold stare.
Then I rolled a joint—(mime trick #34). The cop kept staring, but I saw it: the jaw clenched. A little twitch in the temple.
A reaction. A professional mime knows how to read the room.
Then I mimed the cop smoking the joint. And eating the donut. That was probably a step too far. This one was a little sensitive.
“I already know I have the right to remain silent. dumbass.”
I realized later—I must’ve said that last part out loud.
That was probably what did it.
I got roughed up a bit. Ended up with a split lip—not too bad.
Some lady started screaming, and the cop finally stopped wailing on me.
Unnecessary, really. He could’ve kept going. I would’ve been fine with it.
I bit my lip, fixed my face, and moved to the next corner. No problem.
This guy got it. Not every corner is for me. I get that. Life lesson learned.
Day two at the Lattimer Convention Center. Wow!! I mean mmnm. Look around at all my Bros and Sisters! The Beautiful People, the Beautiful People
On my first trip away from home, I found them. my people. My tribe. My Bro’s.
And it made me question everything I thought I knew about life.
Look at the diversity! I had no idea there were this many ways to be black and white, all at the same time. So many egos. so many individuals, So many ways to wear makeup, So many routines. So many different bananas.
People outside the mime community are simply not aware of the strength in numbers and strength because of our diversity. There are groups of us in every large city.
Right now. I Googled it.
I’ve also been researching our movement outside of my local area. That’s how I got involved in the church. Well, I’m not involved yet. But I will be. I stopped at their booth and watched a preacher mime a sermon. The girl at the booth smiled and handed me a flower and a pamphlet. It was a great sermon from this mime, I think he was southern ’cause he was preaching the fire and brimstone. I think they wanted a donation. I politely walked away. The girl wanted her flower back.
“You will not see pantomiming in regular church. It is not allowed”, he mimed.. “It makes people question their faith.”
“I am the Preacher of the Pantomime. Welcome all to our church. Join us with questions. Leave with the same questions. If you can leave at all” He preached as I moved on.
Written on the pamphlet:
“We know you know that God loves you. We shut up and get out of the way.
-Church of Mimeology
I can feel it, the pamphlet is all folded and warm in my pocket. I tell you, because of the church, I’m a changed mime. Or I will be. I’ll read it later. Church would be good. As long as I don’t have to stand up and say anything.
So, I signed up for every class and event, I saw every speaker, filled out cards at every booth twice, and picked up every piece of pantomime swag that I could lay my glove on.
Later that evening were the Workshops. Just by chance, I ended up joining in a group scene that was built around an old accordion.
No one could agree who should work the accordion. No one really knew how to work the accordion. So, all of the mimes squeezed. pushed at it and pulled on it til someone poked a hole in it.
In turn, the accordion eked out the most pitiful wheeze.
No one knew where to go from there. So, we turned around. And we took a bow.
A perfectly synchronized backwards bow.
Not one person in attendance made a sound.
Other groups looked on and seemed to feel ashamed and embarrassed.. for us!
I was ashamed and embarrassed for us. This was in front of my tribe. They weren’t feelin’ the vibe.
No one told me this was the “Mime-Off” for the grand prize “Big Time Pantomime” trophy.
But, there we were.. and somehow we had won!! I wondered who to thank?? And then I saw that banker, the guy that financed the trip. He was leaving through the rear entrance with a girl on each arm, he smiled and tossed a $20 bill in the air. It was him?? He was the one we should thank? Who could have guessed? I peered around to see him escort the two ladies into a bright red Lamborghini Countach. No way.
He must have had his hand in stuff here in New York City. But, Tony! ? Tony Robbins??!! Things I shouldn’t know.
But, wow! Even better than I thought! This was the prestigious “The “American Pantomime Association’s 35th annual Pantomime-off” contest! Since our benefactor financier didn’t avail himself to the ceremony, I, instead, thank the academy. Most everyone else thought the performance was a disaster. I know we sucked. The self-admission smacked me in the head with a cold salmon. Of the thousands of mimes who attended, it just came down to the handful of us. Words escape me. I tried calling for them. Words do not listen. They would not return for awhile.
We pass the trophy around so that everyone could get a feel. And..
Now, what? One trophy. Seven mimes. Somehow we missed it. Six of us would go home with no prize. No proof, even that we hit the Big Time in New York City. Go home, Go Big that is if they can get out of New York City.
It’s a good thing I collected this bag of stickers and tri-folds. At least I have proof of leaving my hometown for more than one day. But, who do I show it to anyway?
We were pelted with insults as we left the Convention Hall, each left in his own direction without a word. It was the “You Suck” that hit me like a rancid monkfish.
And so my situation came to the front of my mind. My brain. My brain and mind.. front and back. “I am in New York City and can either find an opportunity, or find myself a failure.” I prophesized, the sound of my voice echoed in my head like a cracking across a frozen lake of ice.
“But, these guys get me, my Bros.” rings in my head. The words mock me. As they should. My Dad’s voice; “stop being a fool”..
I guess we’re all kind of screwed now. I guess I just expected more from my tribe. But you know what?
“All we are inside are people.” Everyone likes a good ham sandwich. Wish I had a ham sandwich. I was feeling hollow.
Turns out, I wasn’t prophesizing, I was just hungry. I reached into my pocket. Of course, there was a ham sandwich. After eating it I realized that my mom put it in my nap sack when I ran away to New York. Oh.
Oh, someone made off with the trophy. So no one got to take it home. Problem solved, I guess. Unless you consider we have no way to get home, most of us. All chasing the same dream. And paying $700 for the ticket in, most mimes hocked what they could to get the money.
Our “friend of the arts” has stranded us here in New York City. The boys were not happy.
Everyone hates on me because I was the first one to notice that poster on the telephone pole. Some were saying that I was in cahoots with that flashy banker guy. One guy accused me of being in cahoots with Tony Robbins and his criminal enterprise. Another guy said it was Dr. Phil and Kid Rock, but I think he had the wrong guy.
“At this point, my fellow Pantomimes would like to thank you for keeping the bars open and keeping the women filled with alcohol and sponge cake.” That came from my late pal Mikey, the mime at the zoo, above left, just before the entire family of monkeys made quick work of him. Here he is, riding the fence. Bad choice. RIP Mikey.
Meanwhile, I found my own trouble.
Again I am stopped in the middle of the expressway. He thought I was drunk and tried to get me to blow in this device. I tried holding my breath. The cop told me that wasn’t an option.. He was right. After three minutes I thought I turned into a vacuum jar. Couldn’t breathe in, couldn’t breathe out. It was not an act. He still wasn’t laughing. Not again, I thought..
Luckily, the DUI test came back negative. I tried to tell him. No, I guess I didn’t. When he realized that I was naturally like this, he let me go with a Warning. I was not to walk in the middle of the 95. Or any street. And then he left.
And I was still standing there, in the middle of the 95. “Dumbass”, I thought to myself.
A woman pulled up and rolled down her window. “Get in. Get in!” She said and tried to mime me getting in.. So I got in. She expected me to explain myself, but when she realized that I couldn’t she just started telling me about her life. She realizes pretty fast that I am a good listener. in the twenty minute drive I know everything about her past five relationships. So, she drove me to her place. Well, well! Just my luck that she had an upstairs apartment, right above her makeup artist shop.
She must have softened a little after seeing my window routine on the front window of the shop. The street light was on and the moon shined an interesting mime-shadow on the store room floor. I could have practiced it all night. After a while she let me come in to refresh my pancake.
There was some chit chat (again, all on her end) she told me it was getting late that I could stay in the store overnight, where it would be warm. There was a couch in the back. But she was a step ahead of me and was already on her way readying herself for bed.. She did not mince words, her intentions for me that night were very clear.
What is it that I tell everyone about not trusting a mime? I guess she took pity on me, standing there in the middle of the freeway.
“I can’t. I- I really shouldn’t”
Come on, make me a man, I (said to myself).. I couldn’t believe the luck!
“Just one night.” she said, breathlessly. I could barely hear as she was climbing the stairs.
to her upstairs apartment.
And with that, the door was shut with a creak and the deadbolt was latched.