Balancing Acts

by Zoe Fishman

  Sabine looked at Charlie quizzically. What she wanted to say was, “Okay, Yoda, thanks for the tip,” but what she said aloud was, “I know, I know. On paper that makes sense but on the mat it’s a bit more difficult.” She motioned to Naomi, who was moving through her positions like Mikhail Baryshnikov. “I mean, when you’re up against that. . .”

  “But see, you’re right back to that way of thinking!” scolded Charlie, her voice rising in frustration. “You’re not ‘up against’ anyone! C’mon, Sabine, work with me here. Really try to connect with yourself. Humor me.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. I have to switch the natural flow of my brain to get to the natural flow of my body I guess. Or something.”

  Charlie clapped and smiled. “That’s exactly it,” she whispered. “Exactly that.” She moved away from Sabine to continue her loop around the studio.

  Bess’s grin stretched from ear to ear, like a demented jack-o’-lantern. Dan’s arrival had catapulted her into a universe of elation. They hadn’t mentioned her article once since he had arrived. They hadn’t really done much talking at all, actually. She took a deep breath, relishing the lingering tingles of last night’s events.

  Sex, she thought. Really good sex. It was all she could do not to hump the door frame of the studio in excitement. All the stress of that week, all the doubt about her relationship with Dan and her independence. . .poof! Gone. She assumed tree position and marveled at the elasticity of her post-romp muscles. She had crawled out of bed that morning like a cat burglar, quietly gathering her things and even waiting until she was outside in the hallway to zip her jacket and climb into her galoshes.

  Of course, she knew why she was escaping her apartment with such unnecessary skill, but she didn’t feel like thinking about it then. Although she had told Dan ahead of time about her yoga class—memories of their IM blowout still haunted her—she hadn’t exactly reminded him the night before. Why ruin the moment? she had thought to herself. She had left a note on the bathroom mirror with the promise of bagels upon her return, but she couldn’t be sure how Dan would react. Hopefully he was over his high-and-mighty ethical stance and had just accepted her decision. If not, well. . .she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she would continue to marinate in her postcoital bliss.

  Charlie turned her attention to Bess. Bess was a strange one. She seemed to be the very definition of tightly wound. Charlie had seen her rolling her eyes on more than one occasion, so why was she here? Maybe she wanted to change those tendencies within herself. Or maybe she wanted Madonna arms—which was usually the case with the less than spiritually inclined. Either way, Charlie was glad to have her. She loved watching the ones like Bess learn to open their minds through yoga.

  It reminded Charlie of her own initial struggles with the practice. She was so busy doubting it that she had consistently missed out on its benefits. It was only after a huge fight with Neil and an ensuing yoga retreat to “prove” to him her openness that she had let herself go and surrendered to yoga’s powers. The rest, as they say, was history.

  Charlie circled Naomi, watching her with satisfaction. She really was a natural. Naomi, however, was battling evil thoughts about Gene and Mini-Noah. She was also hypersensitive to her body’s reactions to the poses. Last week’s sensations had thrown her for a loop, even though she was relatively back to normal now. Her body felt familiar again, but still unnaturally fatigued. It was becoming harder and harder for her to get out of bed in the morning.

  It’s just the winter blahs. Plus, the whole Mini-Noah thing, which I really need to just chill out about. It’s a freakin’ doll for chrissake. But why didn’t Noah suggest that I take his mini to yoga class? That would have been cool. Or to. . .wait, where else do I go? To my desk to work on lame websites? Naomi envisioned the sad Mini-Noah album she would produce.

  She could just see Noah in class, showing it to his peers, mumbling through it in an effort to mask his embarrassment: “And here’s Mini-Noah watching The Hills, despite himself. Here he is going to the grocery store with his coupons. And here he is coveting a bag in the window at one of the ludicrously overpriced boutiques on my block.” Naomi giggled to herself, but mostly she was a bit horrified by the lack of variety or spice in her life. Did her son think she was boring?

  “Hey Naomi,” said Charlie, who was suddenly beside her, “take it easy. Slow and steady.”

  Naomi broke out of her thoughts. “Oh, right! Sorry, I lost myself for a moment.” She attempted to regain some sense of Zen, but her doubts were working themselves into a frenzy.

  “Today, we’re going to segue into Surya Namaskar, or sun salutations,” explained Charlie. “The sun salute is a series of twelve vinyasas, or postures, performed in a single flow. Most of these postures are going to be new to you, so we’ll take it slow.”

  The tips of Naomi’s fingers grazed the floor as she followed Charlie. She was still trapped by thoughts of Mini-Noah, only now, she had moved from self-doubt to raging anger.

  Boring!?! I’ll show him boring! she thought. Naomi tried to breathe deeply in an attempt to escape from the boiling cauldron of her mind. She wasn’t boring per se, but her life was admittedly “small.” It revolved around Noah for the most part. She knew that it was time to let go of him a little, to return to her ideas about her own happiness pre-Noah, but it was not an easy feat. He was her baby boy.

  God, how did I get here? Naomi asked herself, exhausted by her interior wrestling match. From Mini-Noah to my boring existence to my resentment of Gene’s freedom to my realization that I need to get a life to utter exhaustion to the tips of my toes? All in less than an hour? She breathed deeply. Yoga was a workout in more ways than one. No wonder she was exhausted.

  Oh, so this is what downward facing dog is, thought Bess as her blood rushed to her head. Before this class, it was the only yoga position that she had heard of.

  Charlie walked over to Sabine and placed her hands under her lower back, lifting her gently. “Just a little further,” she coaxed. “Nice, Sabine.”

  As Charlie then led them into plank pose, Bess’s arms quaked from the pressure. I hope the next move involves sitting on my ass, she thought, as a bead of sweat wobbled precariously on the edge of her nose before falling to its demise on her mat below.

  “From here, we move into Ashtanga Namaskara, or the knees-chest-chin pose,” said Charlie.

  Enough already with the yoga names! thought Sabine. Like we’re going to remember them, anyway! Her triceps felt like Jell-O. She wanted to inflict pain upon Charlie. Smug, yogi Charlie, with her ropy arms and what looked like a six-pack underneath her shirt.

  “Exhale and bend your knees to the floor. Next, lower your chest and chin to the floor as well. Keep your chest open and your elbows close to the side of your rib cage. That’s it, Naomi, nice work! From here, we move into Bhujangasana, or cobra. Everyone, focus on pulling your tummy up and toward the back of your spine. Good, very good,” she encouraged. “Now, let’s repeat it on our left sides.”

  Nooooooo, damn you, evil womannnnn, thought Naomi. Her arms felt like limp noodles, as she begrudgingly followed along.

  Please, please let this be the last part of class, thought Bess. I promise I’ll be nice all week, she added. Her postcoital happiness seemed like a distant memory. She looked over at Sabine and Naomi. Their faces registered the same sort of frustrated exhaustion. At least I’m not alone here, she thought, before plunging her left leg back.

  When they had finished, Charlie led them into child’s pose on their mats. With their knees bent and their torsos extended over them as far as they could go, they all relished the release.

  Ahh, I love this one, thought Sabine. The stretch was so comforting and restorative. Sabine wasn’t sure what came first, the posture or its name, but they were the perfect match. It reminded her of nap time in first grade—that feeling of being sweaty and tired from recess. Mrs. Wheeler would dim the lights, Sabine would drift off to what couldn’t have been more than a half
hour’s sleep, and she would wake up to iced animal crackers and apple juice. Heaven.

  Charlie led the class through their seated stretches and into corpse pose on their mats. As they all cooled down with their eyes closed, she circled the studio and ran her fingers from the bridges of their noses to the tips of their foreheads, her fingers forming a V.

  Holy cow that feels good, thought Naomi, as Charlie completed her caress. All of her tension seemed to evaporate under the pleasant pressure of Charlie’s fingers. Amazing.

  As they returned to their seated positions, Charlie returned to the front of the studio.

  “Thanks for being here today,” she said. “I hope that you can take a sense of your own balance through the week. Remember to strive for it, even when the hustle and bustle of New York makes you want to scream.” She smiled.

  “Namaste.”

  “Namaste,” they repeated, smiling back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Post–Class Two

  Good morning, ladies,” greeted Felicity as they streamed out of the studio. She was setting up her various jars and pomades in a neat formation on the front desk with studied concentration.

  “Does this look tacky, Charlie?” she asked, a note of doubt in her usually confident voice.”

  Charlie surveyed the somewhat large pyramid she had assembled. “Hmmm, not tacky. But maybe a little much.”

  She picked up a jar of Felicity’s hydrating crème and eyed it. “Cool label, though! And the name is pretty damn clever.” The fat, glass jar was filled with a gelatinous goo that promised to relax even the most rebellious frizz. Felicity had called it “SHHHHut up and Curl.” Charlie unscrewed the lid to take a whiff of the faintly lavender scented pomade. “Mmm, it smells good, too.”

  “Really, you like it? I experimented with a whole slew of scents. In the end it was between this and tangerine.”

  “Well, if something is supposed to relax, better it smell like lavender than tangerine,” remarked Naomi, overhearing their conversation. She joined them at the desk and picked up the jar herself for a sniff. “Wow, this smells pretty delicious,” she added. “Are all of these yours?” She motioned to the now dismantled pyramid of jars and tubes.

  “Yep,” answered Felicity with pride. “I’ve been working on this hair care line since before you were born, I bet. Just tinkering with different ingredients until I got it right.”

  “Remember that shampoo from a few months back?” asked Charlie, laughing at the memory. “That was not one of your best works.”

  “Oh! The one that promised volume but instead delivered instant dreadlocks?! I still don’t know how that happened. A little bit too much of something.”

  “What? Elmer’s Glue?” teased Naomi.

  “At any rate, my point is that you have come a long way. Just the other day some woman at the grocery store told me my hair was super shiny and asked me what I had done to it,” said Charlie.

  “She did!?” exclaimed Felicity with glee. “What did you tell her?”

  “Well, I told her all about you, naturally. But when she asked me where to buy it, I was sort of at a loss.”

  “Asked you where to buy what?” interjected Bess as she came out of the bathroom. She was in a hurry to get home to Dan, but didn’t want to miss any potentially juicy nuggets of conversation.

  “My hair line,” explained Felicity. “I haven’t been able to get around to marketing the products like I want to. Between the studio and my kids, I barely have time to make them in the first place.”

  “You have kids?” asked Sabine, joining the group as she twirled her scarf around her neck.

  “Oh yeah, two. Malcolm and Dionne. Although, kids seems to be a strange word for them these days. Malcolm is a senior in high school and Dionne is a freshman.”

  “I can’t believe your kids are that old,” said Naomi. “You have the skin of an infant. It makes me sick.”

  Felicity smiled. “Thanks, love. But you’re in for the same fate, Naomi. I really do think that black skin wears well. My sisters look about ten years younger than they actually are.”

  “Really?” asked Naomi. “Even if I’m half and half?” She smiled mischievously.

  “There’s enough cocoa there to serve you well,” answered Felicity. She reached out and rubbed Naomi’s shoulder as she smiled back.

  “Yeah, and meanwhile us whities are practically born with crow’s feet,” said Bess with a sigh. “The other day I looked in the mirror and screamed.”

  Naomi laughed. “Bess, please. You are an ivory goddess.”

  “Felicity, do you have a website at least?” inquired Sabine. “I would think that would be an ideal place to sell your stuff. You could link to other websites and voilà! Instant fan base.”

  “Yeah, Malcolm and Dionne keep bugging me to get one up. I see their point, I really do, but I am embarrassingly ignorant about the World Wide Web. I can barely e-mail.”

  “But who designs the website for Prana?” asked Sabine. “Why don’t you just sign them up for your hair products?”

  Felicity cocked her head and looked at Charlie. “Charlie? Want to answer that?”

  Charlie fidgeted nervously. “Yeah see, we don’t exactly have a Prana website.”

  “What!?” shrieked Bess. “What is this, 1942? Hello? Without a website, you’re toast.” Bess made a mental note to include this information in the article. Even Charlie, who seemed to be an anomaly to the rest of the group (well, besides herself, of course) was half-assing her way through life. How seriously did she take herself if she couldn’t even announce her web presence with confidence?

  “Hey, take it easy, Bess,” reprimanded Charlie, annoyed by the intensity of her outburst. “I just haven’t had time to find a web designer yet. It’s the next thing on my endless list of shit to do.” She scowled at Felicity. “Why can’t Julian get it done? I don’t see why I have to take care of every damn detail around here.”

  The group was temporarily silenced by Charlie’s tantrum.

  “Hey Charlie, sorry to jump down your throat,” replied Felicity, placing her hand over hers on top of the desk. “I was out of line.”

  Charlie relaxed. “I know we need a website. I just honestly haven’t gotten around to it yet. I’m pretty web-ignorant, too, and the idea of spending more money to set one up is a bit daunting.”

  “Hey, Naomi is a graphic designer!” announced Sabine. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. She had an annoying habit of volunteering other people’s ser vices without asking them first. She glanced at Naomi to gauge her reaction.

  “I am indeed,” said Naomi. Sabine couldn’t tell by her voice just how pleased she was to make herself known. “I design websites all the time,” she added. “I’d be happy to try to get one up for you.”

  Bess wondered if Naomi would quote a price. Any man in that position clearly would. Why was it that women were so willing to undermine their worth? Obviously, Prana Yoga wasn’t exactly swimming in cash, but surely they could pay her something.

  “Really?” asked Charlie. “Are you sure? That would be amazing, Naomi.”

  “Completely amazing!” echoed Felicity. “I’ll keep you in hair products for the rest of your life.”

  “Speaking of, I could also showcase your stuff on the Prana site, just to get you started,” said Naomi. “Two birds with one stone, you know?”

  “Ooh Naomi, will you take pictures?” asked Sabine.

  “I dunno,” she mumbled uncomfortably.

  Sabine, oblivious to her discomfort, continued. “Naomi is the best photographer. I mean, the stuff she used to take in college. Her half of our dorm room was like a photography exhibit. She has the most amazing eye, seriously. She took a picture of me once, late at night in our room, and I still use it as my go-to photo to this day.” She paused. “Well, no, that’s a lie. I had to retire it last year. College was a long time ago.”

  “Ten years ago, to be exact,” added Bess.

  �
�Anyway, Naomi, sorry to blow up your spot, but I’ve never forgotten how talented you were,” explained Sabine.

  “Yeah, ‘were’ as in past tense,” replied Naomi. She sighed. “I just don’t really take pictures anymore. It’s not the same to me.”

  “Why not?” asked Bess. “You grew out of it or you just don’t have time for it?” She was anxious for Naomi’s answer. This kind of information was the fuel her article needed to run on.

  “I’m not exactly sure why,” Naomi answered. “I just don’t do it anymore, okay?”

  Sabine felt terrible. “I’m sorry for opening my big mouth, Naomi. I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s okay,” answered Naomi, slightly embarrassed by her defensiveness. “I’m happy to design the website, but I think you guys might need to supply me with the images, Charlie.”

  “Oh, no problem!” answered Charlie. She wondered why Naomi was so adamantly against her own God-given talent, but she knew better than to push. Everyone had their reasons for things. “Julian is a decent photographer,” she volunteered. “I’ll ask him to take some shots.”

  “Yeah, and so is Dionne,” added Felicity. “Naomi, we are so thrilled about this. Honestly, I can’t even tell you.” She got up from behind the desk and wrapped Naomi in a warm hug.

  Naomi, flustered by Felicity’s sweetness, detached herself from the embrace and smiled. “Oh please, it’s my pleasure. Everyone should know about this place! It’s about time for you to hit the Web. I’ll try my best to get something together for you in a couple of weeks or so.”

  “That would be amazing,” said Felicity, her warm brown eyes glowing with excitement.

  “Okay, girls, I need to run to the restroom before my next class,” said Charlie. “Today was wonderful. I’m looking forward to next week already.” She smiled warmly and trotted off.

  Bess looked at her watch. She had to run—no time for dawdling if she wanted to make it home before Dan woke up. “I have to dash! Bye, Naomi, bye, Sabine, bye, Felicity!” She waved good-bye and practically ran out the door.