Surprise! Stillness in a crowded op shop

Involves some nudity. It was an accident.

Welcome, all. Welcome to Sproutings this day.

Today I have this story about stillness in a busy op shop.

I call it stillness in a busy op shop because it relates to two things that happened last Saturday while I just happened to be particularly still inside a busy op shop in Brunswick.

Stillness can be a simple description of behaviour, and it can even be a trait of a person, as in: “Oh, that Kevin, he has a real stillness about him.”

About four years ago an old friend surprised me in conversation by talking about superpowers. She commented on another friend’s ability to respond to huge amounts of social inputs as their superpower. “Yeah, she’s incredible. She can walk into any room that’s thrumming with voices and immediately understand social hierarchy and need. It’s her superpower.”

It struck me as a lovely idea. “Superpower?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Everyone has one.”

“Oh,” I said. “What’s yours?”

“Oh, that’s not for me to say. Others have given me their ideas. I can tell you yours, though.”

“OK.” Of course I was intrigued.

“Your superpower is stillness.”

==

So, it’s Saturday morning and I’m in the op shop. Opportunity shop, a.k.a. thrift shop, a.k.a. second-hand shop.

There are all sorts of items here. I’m not particularly looking for anything. Just out for a walk, enjoying the day. Previously I’d once seen a small circular wall mirror in this shop. It had a weathered old timber frame that I liked. Alas, I chose not to buy it that day, and I’ve not seen it since. It seems I have a soft spot for circular wall mirrors.

The artworks here today are of random style. There are pop art pieces, landscapes, portraits. And today I am taken by an impressionist piece that I have seen previously. The painting is of an arched bridge that spans a river. A hill rises behind. The perspective is a bit off – something about the bridge looks odd. And a boat that rests on the river jars with me somehow. But I find the colours, the style, the whole work at once soothing and deep. Arresting. Like I am both relaxed and underwater. Both carefree and outside of time’s reach.

I don’t know anything about the work, the artist, the history or what a learned art critic might say. What I do know is that I feel like I somehow float a centimetre or two from the floor of this op shop in Brunswick.

As I gaze at the painting, I become aware of a dark shape approaching. When I shift my eyes from the painting to the shape, the shape gasps.

“OH!”

The dark shape is a woman. She has been thumbing through a nearby clothes rack, stepping closer and closer to me.

“OHMYGOD! I’m so sorry!” she says. Only my eyes have moved. But now I tilt my head towards her concern.

“Oh! You were so still!” she smiles. “I thought you were a mannequin!”

I can’t think of much by way of reply. So, all I say is: “Surprise!”

==

The woman has a dog with her inside the shop. That surprises me. Later she comes to regret having that dog with her, I think.

==

Some while later, I’ve moved around the shop. I have seen no sign of any small, round, wooden-framed wall mirror. But I continue to scan the walls as I amble along, attention darting this way and that.

Over by the changing rooms, I flick my eyes to the very place on the wall where I last saw the long-lost mirror. But as I do so, a minor skirmish occurs in changing room number two. The curtain that can be slid across for privacy begins to shake, and then a dog steps slowly out of the changing room. The curtain is now draped over the back of the dog and with each step the dog takes away from the changing room, the privacy of the changing room is further compromised.

I look at the dog and as I wonder who would bring a dog into the change rooms, I recognise the dog.

Still the dog steps further out of the changing room. And three things happen simultaneously. First, I think “oh, if that is the dog from earlier, then the person using the changing room must be the woman from earlier who was surprised to find I was not a mannequin.” Second, I think “oh, that curtain is stretched quite wide open now. I really should avert my eyes to give her the privacy she deserves and that she thinks she has.” And third, I look directly at the changing room, to find that the woman is now naked from the waist up. And looking right at me.

Everything happens so quickly. What have I done? Am I a pervert? Have I crossed a boundary of what is and what is not socially acceptable behaviour? Have I acted appropriately as an innocent bystander? I feel frozen. I drop my eyes.

But as these questions bubble up and bubble up, for some reason again I lift my eyes.

From change room number 2, I see that she still looks directly at me. But this time, she gives me a small wave. And she mouths one word: “Surprise!”

==

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artist’s impression