by Zoe Fishman
Just then her phone rang. She picked it up, eyeing it warily. Sasha! Sasha was a friend from one of Charlie’s very first yoga retreats. She, too, had left a well-paying corporate drone existence to open her own studio in Queens. Honest, funny, and smart as a whip, Charlie really liked her. As new studio owners however, they were both so busy that they barely had time to see each other.
“Hey stranger,” answered Charlie. She envisioned Sasha on the other end—in a borough that was really only a subway ride away but felt like Mars in terms of destination reality. Charlie barely even made it into the city these days. She got up to check on the status of the water’s boil.
“Helloooo! What’s new in the world of Charlie?”
“Oh, you know, same shit, different day.” She ripped open the box of noodles, her phone cradled between her jaw and neck, and poured them into the bubbling water.
“Tell me about it. All I do is work.”
“How’s everything going with your studio?” asked Charlie. She loved hearing about Sasha’s experiences, as they were always very close to her own.
“It might end up sending me to an early grave. Our pipes burst last week. Total nightmare.”
“Cha-ching!” said Charlie, cringing at the thought of that unplanned expense.
“You ain’t kidding. But what can I do, I love it too much to back out now.”
“Yes, me too. When it’s good, it’s really good and when it’s bad. . .”
“It blows,” said Sasha, finishing her sentence. “And you’re broke. It’s like a relationship with someone who has no money and never has sex with you.”
“Remind me what the good parts are?” asked Charlie, laughing. “I’m making macaroni and cheese,” she confessed. “I am a bad yoga teacher.”
“Ooh, the boxed kind that’s filled with garbage that rots your insides?”
“Yep, the one and only.”
“Yum! That sounds really good right about now. Too bad the only thing in my kitchen is a can of chickpeas.”
“Yuck,” said Charlie. She returned to her computer. “Hey Sasha, are you on Facebook?”
“Yes! I am a Facebook geek and I am not even ashamed to tell you that.”
“What’s the story with it? Aren’t we too old to join?” She glanced to her stovetop to find the water bubbling out of her macaroni pot. She got up quickly and removed it from the burner. As she poured the noodles into the strainer, the steam flushed her face with its warmth.
“What do you mean, what’s the story? It’s like high school except without the pressure to interact. You can be friends with hundreds of people you never speak to.”
“So it’s like being a single, thirty-something woman in New York?” asked Charlie. “Only in cyber-form?”
“Ha! Good call. But no, it’s more fun than that. The best part about it is the ex factor.”
“What do you mean?” asked Charlie, as she poured the powdered cheese, milk, and butter into her noodles. She began to stir.
“Well, my friends and I have actually developed a tag line for Facebook that pretty much sums up its appeal. Or lack thereof, as the case may be,” Sasha explained.
“What is it?” Charlie finished stirring and scooped a portion of her macaroni and cheese into a bowl.
“Take your vagina back in time with Facebook,” answered Sasha.
“Wait, what?!” Charlie almost choked on the gigantic spoonful of macaroni she had just consumed.
Sasha laughed. “Charlie, let me tell you. Everyone I have ever slept with has sought me out on this thing.”
“No wonder you have hundreds of friends.”
“Oh, snap!” said Sasha, laughing. “Very funny. No, but seriously. It’s actually kind of hilarious. You get this invitation from someone whose name looks kind of familiar. One click later, you realize that it’s the guy from 2004 who disappeared after a month.”
“So these men are still alive?! I thought they all died when they pulled crap like that. Or at least that’s what I hoped.” She took another bite.
“Me, too. But guess what, they’re all alive and well and more than happy to engage in cyber-friendship. They might not be able to tell you why they left you at that party in Green Point, with no way to get home at four in the morning, but they are more than willing to wall post with you.”
“Unreal! This is hilarious. Wait, you didn’t accept this Green Point asshole as your friend, did you?”
Sasha was silent.
“Did you!?” yelled Charlie. “You are such a sucker!”
“I know. But I couldn’t see his profile otherwise. I wanted to see if he had gotten fat, since that is what I wish on all of the assholes that have come and gone in my life.”
“Did he?”
“No, but he is totally bald,” answered Sasha.
“Nice!”
“Seriously, it’s fun. Vagina past or no vagina past.”
“All right, maybe I’ll check it out. My vagina might not necessarily want to go back in time, but lord knows she needs to go somewhere.”
“That’s the spirit!” exclaimed Sasha. “Good girl. Ooh, my sushi is here. I have to go. Find me on Facebook!”
“Will do. Bye.” Charlie hung up and returned to her computer, plopping down in her chair with a thud. Vagina back in time, she thought to herself. She wondered if Neil was on Facebook. Most likely, yes, as the entire world seemed to be on board. She was the sole remaining survivor of the cyber-networking apocalypse.
Do I stay the course or sell out? she asked herself—her cursor poised on top of the ‘Sign Up!’ link. “Sell out!” she yelled, clicking on it with abandon. She wondered if Facebook would have held any appeal if Sasha hadn’t pitched it the way she did. The moment she had explained it to be a link to lovers past, Charlie’s Neil-meter had gone into overdrive.
Spooning the rest of her now slightly cold mac ’n’ cheese into her mouth, Charlie filled out the required fields. She realized she didn’t have a picture to upload. That was okay by her. No need to get nuts.
She saw the search button in the upper right corner of the screen. Should she? She hesitantly moved the mouse toward it. Her fingers hung over the keyboard, ready to hit the N key.
No, she said to herself. Not yet.
Maybe, just maybe, Neil would look for her, just like Sasha had said. She would give it a week. No, two weeks. It was a test. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to see him—even if it was only in cyberspace—but her need for some sort of redemption was palpable. He had been the love of her life and had consequently smashed her heart into a million pieces. She hated herself for still giving a shit about him after all this time, and after all the pain that he had caused her. That said, as long as her longing was mostly private—save for the occasional drunken ramble to Julian or friendly commiseration with Sasha—who was it really hurting? After all, obviously I have some will power about it. If I was really psycho, I would search for him. She switched off her computer, the irrationality of her pseudo pep talk embarrassing her a bit. She knew who she was hurting—herself. Despite that knowledge, she couldn’t move past him. It was somehow infuriating and comforting at the same time.
Speaking of will power, she thought, and scraped the rest of the macaroni into the trash.
Chapter Fifteen
Bess
Bess sat at her desk, her requisite evening cup of coffee steaming beside her. She was struggling to write a caption about an unfortunate photo of Courtney Love in a bikini. At least she had been told that this was Courtney Love. The disfigured, plastic bobblehead staring at her bore no resemblance to the Courtney Love she had grown up with.
“Rob, is it my imagination or does Courtney no longer have a belly button?” she asked. Rob got up from behind his desk, which directly faced Bess, to have a look.
“It’s not your imagination,” he replied. “Jesus Christ, that’s creepy.”
“Yeah, that’s one word for it. Did the doctor just say to himself ‘Eh, she won’t miss it’?”
&
nbsp; Rob laughed. “I’d be surprised if she knew it was gone.”
“Yeah, except now her super secret prescription pill hiding spot has been erased by medical science. Ooh, that’s my caption!”
“Nice!” encouraged Rob. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks.” He returned to his seat.
Bess noticed her instant messenger dock blinking. She clicked on it. Dan! She beamed involuntarily, all thoughts of certifiably insane celebrities temporarily shelved. They had moved past their argument by basically agreeing to disagree about the article. Dan wouldn’t ask and Bess wouldn’t tell. Part of Bess knew that this was the equivalent of putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg, but she had decided not to focus on it. Besides, she missed the hell out of him.
DAN: Hey hot stuff. What are you wearing?
BESS: Nothing. I never wear clothes at the office. They’re too constricting.
DAN: That’s it, take a stand! How’s your day?
BESS: Sort of blah. I miss you.
DAN: I miss you, too! I can’t wait to see you in the flesh.
Dan was coming in three days. Bess had a countdown going.
BESS: Our itinerary is almost finalized.
DAN: Oh really? Does it go something like this: Morning: Sex, Breakfast. Noon: Sex, Lunch. Evening: Sex, Wine, Dinner.
Bess’s grin threatened to crack her jaw as she read Dan’s plan.
BESS: That sounds about right. One thing though, I can’t get out of yoga on Saturday morning
DAN: What?!? Yes you can. I’m not going to forfeit a morning together for yoga!
BESS: Don’t worry, it’s a very early class. I’ll be back before you’re awake. You won’t even know I’m gone.
DAN: Why do you have to go to yoga? Your boyfriend is flying a zillion miles specifically to wake up with you in the morning and you can’t miss one class?
BESS: I’m sorry, Dan, I really can’t. You know that time is of the essence with this article. The class lasts only six weeks. That’s very little time for research.
DAN: Oh, come on! You’re not still going through with this article, are you?
BESS: What the hell does that mean?
Her fingers pounded into the keyboard like nails.
DAN: Listen, I’m sorry. I just don’t think this article is a good idea.
BESS: No, you just don’t want to wake up alone on Saturday, and you’re being a big fat baby about it.
Her entire body was coiled to spring. It was all she could do not to put her monitor in a half nelson. She couldn’t believe Dan was being such a condescending asshole. And all because he would have to brew his own coffee on Saturday. Men really were transparent.
DAN: Sorry to get all heated over IM. I know that it’s a lame way to argue. You know how I feel. I guess beating my point to a pulp isn’t going to help anything.
BESS: Guess not.
DAN: I’ll call you later, ok?
BESS: K.
Bess clicked out of IM. The thought of continuing this asinine conversation gave her a headache. She and Dan should just stick to their plan of agreeing to disagree. There were plenty of times that Bess had read Dan’s screenplays and cringed inwardly. Had she always been kind in her critiques? Yes. Okay, except maybe once, when she laughed out loud at a premise that Dan considered to be avant garde but was really just obnoxiously pretentious.
She knew her article was no Pulitzer Prize contender, but she did think it had potential. It wasn’t just a puff piece. And all of Dan’s talk about the unethical nature of “betraying” these women was horseshit. Ugh, just thinking about Dan and his smug judgments from LA—the capital of unethical bullshit—made her want to scream.
“Hey Bess, you okay?” asked Rob, breaking her out of her head space.
She looked up to answer him. “Uh, yeah, why?”
“Because your face is the color of a tomato,” he answered. “And you’re crouched over your keyboard like a prize fighter.”
“Oh,” said Bess, attempting to straighten her posture. She so wanted to tell Rob about Dan’s asshole-like behavior, but she couldn’t. She wanted to keep her article idea to herself. She couldn’t stomach another opinion at this point.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to figure out what I’m going to do with Dan this weekend.” Besides drown him in the bathtub, she added to herself.
“He’s coming?” asked Rob. “Awesome. You must be psyched!”
Bess laughed. “Yeah. It will be great to see him.” And it would be. They just couldn’t talk about the article.
Rob switched off his computer. “Looks like it’s closing time,” he said. “Time to slide down the dinosaur’s tale and into the night.” Bess looked at her computer clock. How was it already seven?
“Don’t stay too late,” he warned, as he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Courtney Love will still be a mess tomorrow. There’s no need to break your neck over today’s caption.” He patted Bess on the head as he headed toward the door.
“Truer words were never spoken. Bye, Rob!”
Bess stood up for a moment, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. She had to loosen up and move on from the Dan disaster if she wanted to get any work done.
She sat again and faced her computer screen. She couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she wasn’t that different from these women at all. She too had sold out in order to make a living in this city. She worked at a tabloid magazine for chrissake. That was a far cry from Christiane Amanpour.
No! she reprimanded herself. She had shelved some of her dreams, but only temporarily. After all, here she was still doggedly pursuing them. Inevitably, her mind shifted gears to Dan. What would continuing their relationship do to her dreams? If he was already pulling rank about her article ideas, what was to stop him from sabotaging her entire future with his negativity? And what if he wasn’t even legitimately unconvinced about this article, after all? What if he was more concerned about her free time being sucked up by her outside interests instead of him? His overreaction to the fact that she couldn’t miss her yoga class was pretty telling, after all. Maybe beneath his sensitive, writer’s facade he was just a selfish, chauvinistic pig. Should she just break up with him now?
She clicked into her photos and pulled a picture of them up on the screen. She studied his face, wondering if evil lurked beneath its handsome surface. She had a look at herself as well, cringing slightly at the smitten, love-soaked grin plastered across her face. Was that the smile of a serious career woman?! No. She sighed heavily and closed the picture.
She had to focus. No doubts and no man (Dan, are you listening!?!?) was going to veer her off track.
Chapter Sixteen
Class Two
Good mornin’, ladies,” greeted Charlie, as Sabine, Bess, and Naomi sat on their mats, watching her as expectantly as Saturday morning at 9 AM allowed.
“So, I was searching for a way to open class today,” said Charlie. “The perfect quote or frame of mind to launch you back into this new world of yoga. On my bookshelf was a dog-eared copy of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. From college, no less. Have you guys read it?”
Sabine nodded. “Yep, in college. Humanities. Pretty epic stuff.”
“Indeed,” answered Charlie. “I had completely forgotten. Anyway, I was particularly moved by what Aristotle has to say about moral virtue and balance.” She paused, noticing Bess’s discomfort.
“Bess, stay with me here, I promise this will make sense in a minute.” Bess laughed nervously. She really had to be more careful about her facial expressions.
“He talks at length about how moral virtue is about striking a balance—‘hitting the mean between two extremes,’” Charlie continued. “He then goes on to say, more or less, that everyone’s balance is relative to themselves. There is no universal, inarguable mean that everyone should strive for. The best we can do is be conscious of what extreme means to us and always lean back toward the middle to regain our balance.” Charlie paused for emphasis.
“O
n some level, this same premise can be applied to yoga. Sabine, your sense of balance is not going to be the same as Naomi’s. And Bess, yours is not going to be the same as mine. The best we can do is connect with our inner equilibrium and encourage it. Here, in class, and beyond—in our everyday lives.”
Charlie smiled. “Sorry to ramble on, but I tend to get a bit nerdy when old school thoughts are so incredibly applicable, you know?” Sabine, Naomi, and Bess nodded in agreement.
“Okay, let’s begin,” said Charlie, as she took them into breathing.
As they moved through their mountains, trees, and triangles, Sabine struggled to maintain her positions. Her mind was elsewhere. Subway Crush to be exact. Tonight was their date and she could barely contain her anticipation. They hadn’t spoken all week, which worried her. What if he stood her up tonight and she could never take the subway again? Inevitably, she was also worried about the real Zach vs. Subway Crush. How could he possibly live up to the standards she had set for him? It was practically impossible. By the same token, what about the real Sabine vs. Subway Girl? Were they already doomed from the get-go?
“Hey Sabine, you okay?” asked Charlie, suddenly by her side and attempting to lengthen her back and adjust her hips. “You seem a little tense today.”
“Who, me?” asked Sabine, clearly flustered by Charlie’s critique. “I just,” she paused and released her position in defeat, “I just don’t think I’m very good at this.”
“What? ‘Good’ at this?” Charlie laughed, shook her head and lowered her voice. “Honey, there is no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in yoga. You have to stop thinking that way. Your sense of equilibrium is inherently your own, remember? Just aim for that connection here.”