by Zoe Fishman
“Totally!” agreed Charlie. “I never sat back there because I was such a little worker bee, but on my way to the bathroom I used to stick my head in and marvel at the level of debauchery. It was like a hormone zoo in there.”
Naomi laughed. She wanted Charlie to tell her more about her former love. If she could open up to her about her heartache, then maybe it would be easier for Naomi to open up as well.
Charlie, only semi-oblivious to the awkwardness she had caused with her drunken love question, stared off into the distance, thinking about her former life. Whenever she thought about her college self, hustling to and from class and the library and studying constantly, she wanted to go back in time and give herself a hug. “Slow down,” she would say. “Get to know yourself. You have all the time in the world to hustle.”
“Back to the love thing,” Naomi said, interrupting Charlie’s nostalgic moonwalk back in time. “What happened?”
Charlie cringed at the question even though she was the one who had brought it up. Obviously, the wine helped, but she did feel comfortable enough with Naomi to peel back a layer or two. Here goes nothin’.
“The truth is, my heart is still kind of broken. I’m having trouble letting go.” She threw up her hands as she finished her sentence as if to say, “Sue me!”
Naomi nodded in commiseration. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, honey. Sometimes it takes a lot longer than we would like to heal. You know yourself best. Whatever you need to do to take care of you, you’re gonna do.”
“Yeah. He was my first big love, you know? And when it crumbled, I crumbled. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be open again. I’ve been a closed door on that front for so long that the alternative seems impossible.”
“Never impossible. Just difficult.” Naomi patted Charlie’s hand. “I know all about heartbreak. Just imagine being broken, and then healing—only to find a miniature version of the heartbreaker eating Kix at the kitchen table every morning. It’s a trip.”
“Wow, I didn’t even think of that,” said Charlie. “That’s wild. Does Noah look exactly like his dad?”
“No, not exactly. But enough. And it’s crazy, sometimes the cadence of his voice is so exactly like Gene’s. . .it’s uncanny.”
“Does Noah see his dad?” asked Charlie.
“Yeah, every Sunday. He was MIA for a very long time, and then about a year and a half ago he showed up on my doorstep, ready to make nice.”
“That must have been unbelievably hard for you.”
“Yeah, it was,” she admitted. “But he’s good for Noah. And he pays child support, which helps tremendously, you know?”
“I bet. Do you have any feelings for him still?”
“Thank sweet Jesus, no. I thank the universe every day for that. We fell apart a while before Noah was conceived and when he turned his back on us, any remote inkling of an attraction for him instantly disintegrated.”
Charlie nodded. “Sounds like you’re a woman of conviction. When something’s over, it’s over.” She wished she could be as resolute as Naomi. Maybe her influence would help her release herself from Neil’s grasp.
“Oh please,” said Naomi, dismissing the compliment. “I’m a wreck.” She straightened in her seat and faced Charlie directly. It was now or never.
“Why, what’s up?” asked Charlie.
“I’ve been feeling a bit off physically lately,” she confessed. “I was wondering if you could shed any light on what’s been happening. You know, being so in touch with your body through yoga and stuff.”
Charlie put her hand on top of Naomi’s, instantly sobered by the frightened look on her face. “Hey, of course. I’m no doctor, but I want to help you any way I can.”
Naomi took a deep breath and described her symptoms. “Do you think this is just a case of being out of shape?” she asked, when she had finished.
“Wow, Naomi, I don’t think it’s as simple as that, unfortunately. I mean, if that was the case, how would you account for the headaches?”
Naomi sighed. “I know, right?” Against her will, she teared up. Shit.
“Hey, hey,” cooed Charlie. She hugged Naomi. Her heart was breaking for her. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that something horrible is happening, Naomi. It could just be a virus. Or maybe you slipped a disk in your back and your spinal cord is a bit out of whack.”
“You think that’s it?” asked Naomi. “I hope it’s that simple. It’s just that my back doesn’t hurt at all, you know? Wouldn’t it hurt?”
“It could be so interior that the pain hasn’t progressed outward yet,” answered Naomi. “Or something else I was thinking about is stress. Stress manifests itself in some really crazy ways.”
Naomi nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking about that, too. I have been stressed out lately.” She thought about the silly Mini-Noah saga that still, despite her best intentions to put it in perspective, bothered her.
“Yoga is great for stress,” said Charlie. “Maybe you should think about coming by during the week as well. Or if you can’t because of Noah, I could map you out a routine to do at home.”
“Really? You would do that?”
“Of course. But in the meantime, you’re going to see your doctor, right?”
“Yeah, I have an appointment next week. With a neurologist.”
“Oh wow, a specialist, huh? That’s probably your best bet, with the headaches and stuff.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
The train pulled into Naomi’s stop. “This is me!” she announced, enveloping Charlie in a tight embrace. “Thanks for all of your excellent advice.” She pulled back to look at her. “I really like you, Charlie.”
“Ditto,” said Charlie. She smiled warmly. “And please keep me posted on everything. I mean it!”
As Naomi left the subway, Charlie thought about her symptoms. Sure, stress was sneaky as hell, but she had never heard of it having such an impact on the brain before. The headaches, sure, but the tingling? She sighed deeply. A student of hers had dealt with the same kind of sensations, and had gone to acupuncture religiously in addition to coming to yoga once or twice a week. She had gone on what seemed like an endless journey to what finally became an MS diagnosis and, shortly thereafter, medication. She was fine now; a little tired and bruised by her daily injections, but otherwise just a normal, thirty-something woman. Normal save for an incurable disease, that is.
Please let Naomi be okay, she thought. A single mom has it hard enough. Jesus, here I am obsessing about dumb Neil, and look at the real life shit going on all around me! Why is he still haunting me?
Why do I continue to credit him with my life change? Was it easier to give him the glory than herself? Somehow she supposed it was, in the sense that if her career tanked, she could blame him. But clearly it wasn’t tanking, and her love for the practice gave her true fulfillment. I would have found yoga on my own, without Neil. It was time to embrace the idea that she had been on a quiet quest all along, and Neil had just been the gatekeeper—the mean-spirited centaur at the gates of her inevitable future.
On the street, she marveled at her newfound sense of self and clarity. It was as though a hundred-pound weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She sincerely hoped that her lightness would continue on into the morning, when she was fully sober.
She hugged herself over her jacket. She was that much closer to forgetting Neil entirely, just by opening up about him. She had challenged the unfair boundaries she had placed upon herself tonight, and look what had happened? It was heartening beyond belief.
She turned the key in her lock and bounded up the stairs, eager to take off her jacket and sink into blissful slumber. Once inside, she brewed herself a cup of chamomile tea to soothe her churning pizza belly.
She switched on her computer to e-mail Naomi. She wanted to let her know that she was really there for her; whatever she needed. And that’s when she saw it. In her in-box, a Facebook e-mail. “Neil Saunders added you as a friend on Facebook,” she read, her heart
quickening at his name in boldfaced letters on her screen.
Just like that, when she had finally decided to let him go, the universe brought him back. She eyed the e-mail but could not bring herself to click on the link. Shocked and vulnerable, she switched off her computer as calmly as she could, put her mug in the sink, and climbed into bed.
Under the covers, where no one could see, she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Class Three
Light streamed through the studio windows and filled the space with a quiet, early-morning glow. It bled warmly into the corners, shading the wall of mats and dappling the front desk.
Charlie sat in the center of the open space, eyes closed, listening to the sheer wonder of almost absolute silence. On the ledge, she heard a soft rustle. She opened one eye to find a red robin, its tiny head darting to and fro as it opened its beak to emit a tentative warble.
The first sounds of spring. She knew it was just a tease, that at least two more months of blustery winter remained before the full unveiling of spring’s glorious warmth, but it was nice to see the universe preparing.
She took a deep breath. Her long cry post-Facebook shock had released a tension that had been building for years. She had awoken on Friday morning, eyes red and bleary, with a sense of calm. In twenty-four hours, she had let go of a good four years of pain. She felt more aware of her true self than she could ever remember. It was as though she had woken from a long, tortured sleep.
She had taken down her Facebook profile and thereby erased Neil—not from her past; he would always be a part of her past—but from her future. She was at peace.
“Hellooo,” spoke a timid female voice from the front room. It was Sabine. Charlie stood up to greet her.
“Hey, Sabine,” she called. Sabine poked her head around the corner—her eyes sparkling from underneath her burgundy hood.
“Morning!” she chirped.
More feet on the stairs heralded the arrival of Naomi and then, a minute later, Bess. They all smiled and said their hellos—slightly shy after Thursday night’s drunken bonder.
Sabine broke the slight tension. “So, who regretted that fifth glass of wine on Friday morning?” she asked.
“Oh, man!” replied Naomi. “My head felt like it was in a half nelson all day. Brutal.”
“Me, too,” agreed Bess. “I actually left work early. You would be surprised how meaningless celebrity shenanigans can be when you’re carrying a piano on your head. I was worthless.”
The women laughed in response. Bess had been terribly hungover, but she knew that her continued discomfort had much more to do with her guilt and anxiety about the article than with the tannins in the wine. She had left the bar on Thursday night convinced that she was kiboshing the article, but had woken up Friday in a state of panic about her lack of follow-through. If she didn’t do the article, she was convinced she would never leave the tabloid world. It was her ticket out. Or was it? She felt like she was wrestling with a tiger.
The women unfurled their mats and sat in their respective places facing the front of the room. Charlie took her seat. She smiled at them warmly, both as their teacher and now, officially, their friend.
“Before we get started this morning, I thought it might be fitting to talk about the concept of openness.” She looked at Sabine, Bess, and Naomi, referencing Thursday night without having to say so directly.
“Yoga is about opening yourself up physically, of course. You extend your muscles and open yourself both internally and externally to achieve total balance. This extension does not come easily—it is only fully achieved with practice and repetition. In life, openness is also a sort of elusive concept, especially when you are just trying to make it through the day. I often feel like there is no time for a true, selfless connection with someone. You have to train yourself to not think that way and then turn that thinking into doing. It’s really hard, and harder still to open yourself up in a state of utter sobriety.” Charlie cocked her head at the women as if to add, like us, duh.
She continued. “The concept is scary and foreign. But I also think that it’s essential to a true sense of well-being. Only by taking a risk and being open in a world where almost everyone else is closed can we transcend the confines of our existence.”
“I would like all of you to take the openness you experience here and apply it outside of class. I think you might be surprised at the way in which your lives will change.” Charlie paused. She hoped her speech didn’t come off as holier than thou or pretentious.
She segued into the beginning of class with Vajrasana. As Bess raised her arms toward the ceiling, she wondered if Charlie had special powers. Could she know about the article? Most likely not. But could she sense Bess’s lies? Could she sense that she was the traitor among them? In a class of people concentrating on being “open,” she felt like she was in the state penitentiary—locked up with no hope of breaking in or out. She reluctantly followed the class and transitioned into Tadasana.
As Sabine moved into what Charlie called something that sounded like a cat releasing a hairball (Vrka-what?!), and that she liked to call tree pose, she thought about what being open meant to her. Instantly, she thought of Zach. He had called her last night to cancel their date. On the plus side, he called her—not a small feat considering how easy it would have been to brush her off via text. On the minus side, their date was canceled. He had blamed it on his exhausting case, which continued to require all of his attention apparently, but c’mon. Unless it was a Roe v. Wade redux, how bad could it be? Everybody had to eat. He had been incredibly apologetic, and even asked her for a Wednesday reschedule, but Sabine was still suspicious. Why can’t I just go with the flow and believe him? Why does a simple reschedule send me into a tailspin of self-doubt? She wondered if she was more terrified of Zach being a lying jerk than the unthinkable alternative—that he was nice and genuinely as bummed as she was to have to postpone their date. Her mother always said that Sabine was scared of her own power over men and that, instead of embracing her potential, she shunned it entirely. Is that crazy lady right? She thought of her mother’s endless parade of men. Maybe she was on to something.
Oh Mom, thought Sabine. You wise old owl. She needed to call her mother, actually. She made a mental note, between ‘learn how to roast a chicken’ and ‘buy Spanx.’ She would never get to the other two, but she would call her mom that afternoon. One out of three ain’t bad.
“Whatcha smiling about?” asked Charlie, suddenly standing beside her.
“I’m practicing being open,” Sabine replied.
“It looks good on you.” Charlie rested her hand on the small of Sabine’s back for a moment and gave her an encouraging grin before walking away. Despite herself, Sabine blushed.
After a few grueling rounds of downward dog, the women thankfully sat on their mats, waiting for Charlie’s next instruction. “Today, I’m going to bring in some blocks and straps,” she announced. “Sounds scary, but they actually make difficult poses easier and really help you concentrate on your form.”
Charlie gathered three purple foam blocks and green cotton straps from the back of the classroom. She circled the room with her booty, handing one of each to Bess, Sabine, and Naomi.
“Our first foray into the wonderful world of props will be using the block for Setu Bandha Sarvangasana, or bridge pose.” Sabine stifled a laugh. Seriously, what was this one called?! That was a whole lot of syllables for something that’s English translation was “bridge.”
“Okay, lie on your back,” Charlie instructed. “Bend your knees, bringing the soles of your feet close to your bum. Now, here is where the block comes in. Take your block, and as you lift your hips up toward the ceiling, place it beneath your sacrum.”
Bess froze. What was her sacrum? She felt like an idiot. It was her tailbone, right? Or was it her brow bone? The thought of the block balancing on her forehead seemed ludicrous even for yoga, so she went with tailbone.
&nb
sp; Naomi exhaled in gratitude. The block felt like heaven against her tired lower back. I need to get a firmer mattress, she immediately thought, thinking of her lumpy, years-old hand-me-down. Her parents had given it to her when she had moved into her Fort Greene apartment.
After giving their backs a pretty thorough stretching, Charlie introduced the straps for leg stretches. She demonstrated their use, looping the band into a noose around her foot and pulling her leg to its opposite side before instructing the women to do the same.
“Naomi,” whispered Charlie, who—again—just seemed to materialize out of thin air like some sort of yoga prophet, “you’re not falling off the Brooklyn Bridge here. Ease up a bit.” She loosened Naomi’s grip on her band, which was threatening to rip the plastic weave in two.
“Oh wow,” exclaimed Naomi. “I didn’t even realize!”
“Everything okay?” asked Charlie with genuine concern.
“Oh sure. Just one of those days.”
“Already? It’s not even ten AM.” Charlie lowered her voice. “You feeling okay?”
“Oh yeah, fine.” Naomi laughed nervously in response. She hoped that Charlie wouldn’t be watching her like a hawk now in class. The last thing she wanted was to be singled out as “the sick girl.” All through class, despite herself, she had been hyperaware of her body’s reactions. She thought she felt normal but did she even know what normal was anymore? She couldn’t relax, hence her death grip on the strap.
As the class came to an end, Charlie commended them on their progress and signaled its close with “Namaste.” Exhausted, the women lifted themselves from the floor.
Charlie exited the studio as they rolled their mats and gathered their respective props to put away. She really was pleased with everyone’s progress. Already, just by their third class, their growing comfort was evident.
Charlie noticed Mario talking to Felicity at the front desk. He so wasn’t Charlie’s type—relatively short, muscular, working class with a heavy Puerto Rican accent and an affinity for tight T-shirts—but there was something about him that made Charlie a little warmer every time she saw him. Maybe it was his unapologetic maleness in a world of hipster, emo guys in skinny jeans and Keds. Or maybe it was his tight nugget of an ass. She couldn’t be sure, but something was definitely agreeing with her.