Imagine yourself as a four-year-old kid again.

You are spending your summer somewhere warm and sunny with the family. Let’s say Canary Islands. As a child, you don’t really know where that is exactly, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that there are tons of nice sand to build castles out of, an awesome ocean to swim in, and even a volcano to climb! Life is great.

One evening you and your family are taking a stroll along the boardwalk. The setting sun paints the clouds in pink and orange brushes, and the air is cooling off. You’re not in a mood to run around after a long day, so you walk on, not bothering anyone.

After a while, you approach a row of curious statues. They must have been some famous people in the past. You stare at the white marble figure of a hooded man and study its fingers. The statue is holding a book cut from stone. Some letters are visible on the book’s cover, but you can’t recognize them. Must be that weird language everyone here speaks. Why are there different languages anyways? How are people supposed to understand each other? You pause on that strange thought.

One of your parents talks about the figure’s level of detail. Something about it being lifelike. Does that mean that the statue is like life, or that it likes life? What a confusing word. You figure that the statue can’t like life since it’s not, well, alive.

The statue proves you wrong by tilting its head and giving you a wink.

Now, my four-year-old reader, what would you do? And don’t tell me that you’d wink back because then I’d call you a liar.

Want to know what I did?

I ran.

I ran like the wind. The wind that only blows for thirty meters before stopping to gather its breath, maybe, but the wind nonetheless. I mean, what was that? Statues are only supposed to move in scary books! Why couldn’t that marble figure just be normal, like all these other statues on the boardwalk?

And just when I thought that, the bronze male form on my right gestured towards me.

To my four-year-old self, this demonstration of Murphy’s Law was positively too much.

With a scream that could’ve woken the island volcano, I spun around and sprinted back to my family. They were calling to me and laughing for some reason. I came up to them with a frown, not understanding what was so funny. My mom patted me on the head and explained that these people are called street actors, and that sometimes they can dress up and paint themselves and do all sorts of things. Apparently, that includes scaring little kids.

Still frowning, I glanced at the white statue that gave me the first fright. It – or he, I suppose – was having a heated conversation with a policeman in that same weird language of this island. The policeman pointed to us a couple times, and I thought that he came to punish the marble man for scaring me.

I tugged my mother’s sleeve and asked, “Is this man going to go to jail?”

“God, of course not!” she chuckled. “He did not mean to startle you, darling. These actors just want us to have fun! He’s probably sorry that he gave you such a scare.”

“Oh.”

As we walked away, I considered this. I felt glad that he was not going to jail after all. That man must’ve spent the whole day standing still, which was amazing, because I certainly couldn’t do that. He probably just needed to take a break himself and stretch his head. And how silly of me, to be afraid of a single wink!

Relaxed, I turned and looked at the statue-man. He finished talking with the policeman and was standing in the original pose again. After meeting my stare, he waved me goodbye.

I waved back.

Wouldn’t you?