by Zoe Fishman
“Get out! I think that’s a great idea. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yeah, I am. I’m designing the website for them, so I thought I might take a couple of shots of the space and the people, you know? Just to give it a personal touch.”
“Naomi, I love it,” encouraged Cecilia. “I really do.”
Naomi hugged her, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for her friendship.
“Wait—hellooo?! I don’t know anything about this mystery man in your apartment! What’s the story, you minx?”
Cecilia blushed. “He’s pretty great, Naomi. I met him out in the neighborhood.” She paused mid-story and looked at the clock. “You better go, though! You’re going to be late for class.”
“Okay, but will you tell me about him later?! Please?” begged Naomi. “I want to know everything.”
“Will do.”
Naomi arrived at the studio feeling lighter than she had all week. Opening up to Cee felt like losing fifteen pounds.
“Hey, Felicity,” said Naomi, as she took off her jacket as quickly as she could. She could hear Charlie’s voice coming from the studio. “Class has already started?” she whispered.
Felicity nodded. “Get goin’,” she chided with a smile.
Naomi crept in as sneakily as she could. She made eye contact with Charlie and attempted a silent apology.
“Hey, Naomi,” said Charlie. Sabine turned to smile at her in welcome. Where was Bess? Curious. “I was just talking about those lightbulb moments in life. You can be going about your business, pretty content with the setup you have, when all of a sudden: bam! You make some sort of new discovery about yourself, or your perception is forced to change so abruptly that it feels as though the wind has been knocked out of you. It’s a form of reawakening, really. Marcel Proust once said, ‘The real act of discovery is not in finding new lands, but in seeing with new eyes.’” Charlie paused. “I think that’s a pretty accurate metaphor for self-actualization—this whole idea of ‘new eyes.’ I want you to think about reawakening today as we practice. Think about the self-imposed constraints that are holding you back—in yoga and beyond.”
As Sabine followed Charlie into Tadasana, she thought about the whole idea of fresh perception. Unintentionally or not, she did hold herself back a lot of the time. Take Zach, for example. Wednesday night had really thrown her for a loop. She wanted to believe that he really liked her, but couldn’t help but think that he didn’t. If a guy liked you, he wanted to sleep with you. Right? Or wrong? She had been obsessively rehashing the night’s events since; so much so that she could barely function at work. It was ridiculous. Zach had called her Thursday, to ask her out for the weekend, but she had made up some excuse as to why she couldn’t. Why did I do that? I like him. She had thought she was taking a stand by playing hard to get, but in reality she was just playing a silly game instead of confronting her feelings. Zach had been understanding, and had even gone so far as to schedule a date for the following Saturday, so obviously he did like her. . .. Why am I being such a jackass? No, you know what, I need a week to calm down. I really do. Knowing that might be fresh enough in terms of perspective, at least for now. She took a deep breath in.
Charlie realigned Naomi’s shoulders. She hoped she hadn’t sounded too “woo woo” up there, talking about reawakening. Up to this point, she had really had only one complete reshuffle of all she had deemed inherently “Charlie.” Now she was experiencing another as she shed the memory of Neil like molting snake skin. It felt right, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t scary. Redefining yourself took patience. She hoped that yoga was helping Bess, Naomi, and Sabine redefine themselves in a similar way. They had all been so quick to classify themselves as “nonyoga” people at alumni night. Bess had been particularly hard to get to open up. Charlie missed her today. She wondered if she was getting any yoga in LA. Most likely not. Regardless, it was clear that Bess had made some progress. Charlie hoped that all of them saw themselves, and yoga for that matter, differently now.
She took them through their sun salutations, happily noticing their increased confidence with the sequence. Sabine was almost graceful as she swooped to the floor. Naomi’s brow was smooth instead of scrunched like an accordion. The Saturday before, Charlie actually had to readjust her face—smoothing out her forehead as she assumed a posture. This morning, there was not a furrow to be found. I wonder how’s she’s feeling.
Naomi’s arms wobbled as she propped herself up by her wrists in an upward facing dog. Her back muscles burned a bit from the arch she had been holding under Charlie’s instruction, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. She was happy just to “feel” anything. Her appreciation for her muscles—for a body that “worked”—had never been so great.
“As you inhale, try to get your legs off the floor,” encouraged Charlie. “Very good. Today we’re going to attempt Urdhva Dhanurasana, or wheel pose. It’s a back bend, really.” She led them through their prepositioning. “Now press your inner feet into the floor,” she continued. “As you exhale, push your tailbone up. Pull in your tooshies and lift them off the floor. Keep your thighs and inner feet parallel. Very nice, ladies.
“Take three deep breaths here. In for three and out for three.” Naomi followed the count, noting the way she relaxed more fully into the stretch when she paid close attention to her breathing.
The blood pooled in Sabine’s head as she held the position. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been in a back bend, but she suspected it might have been at a slumber party circa 1987.
“Excellent! Now release,” said Charlie. “Lie on your backs and regain yourselves for just a moment.” Sabine inhaled deeply. Her shoulder muscles were screaming at her.
“Okay, we’re going to repeat the wheel three times,” Charlie continued. Sabine closed her eyes and mouthed “motherfucker” silently before launching back into the sequence.
Fifteen minutes later, after they had cooled down and uttered their requisite Namastes, Sabine felt differently. Her muscles were still jelly, sure, but she felt powerful nevertheless. Her head felt clear and her body lighter. She noticed the same kind of dazed, contented expression on Naomi’s face. If she didn’t know any better, Sabine would think that they were all in a postcoital haze.
Not postcoital, she thought to herself as she hoisted herself up from her mat. Postyoital, maybe? She smiled at the thought. Yoital. Sounded like a new brand of yogurt.
“Do you know where Bess is?” Sabine asked Charlie as they put their mats away.
“Oh yeah, she e-mailed me this week saying she wasn’t going to make it today. She’s in LA.”
“Really?” asked Naomi. “That’s great for her. She went out to visit her man, huh? I wonder if she is giving the whole moving thing some more thought.”
“Sounds like it,” said Charlie. “I hope she eases up on herself a bit. Moving out there doesn’t mean that she’s giving up her identity, you know? She’s just taking a risk.”
“True,” agreed Sabine. “But I don’t think risk-taking comes naturally to our girl Bess.”
“I know!” said Naomi. “She is tightly wound, that’s for sure.”
“Although when Dan was in town, she was positively fluid,” said Charlie. “I’ve never seen her so relaxed in class.”
“Homegirl is dickmatized!” exclaimed Sabine.
“Wait, what!?”
“Sorry to be so crass, it’s just that I have been waiting and waiting to use that word in the proper context! The guy who writes one of the gossip websites I’m addicted to coined it, I think.”
“Which website?” asked Naomi, grinning. “That is a great word.”
“Dlisted? You know it?”
“I do!” interrupted Julian, overhearing their conversation from the front desk. “That guy is funny as hell.”
Sabine nodded in agreement.
“Speaking of websites, I’ve come up with some ideas for Prana,” said Naomi, reducing her voice to a whisper.
“I dunno. I guess I’m sort of nervous. I’m gonna go talk to Charlie, Felicity, and Julian now,” answered Naomi. It was strange—this is what she did for a living, and she rarely, if ever, experienced any sort of nerves with her other clients. She had a job to do, and she did it. But there was something about this assignment that made Naomi a bit wary, and it had nothing to do with her vulnerable emotional state. She suspected it had something to do with the fact that she was completely in charge of the site’s artistic direction. Charlie and Felicity had placed it in her hands, no questions asked, no artistically displeasing requests. It was liberating, but a bit scary. She took a deep breath and walked over to the front desk to chat with Felicity. Sabine trailed behind her.
“Hey, lady,” greeted Felicity. “How are ya?”
“I’m well,” Naomi answered. “A little bit pooped, though. Charlie worked us today.”
“I know, I peeked in earlier,” said Felicity. “You all have really come a long way since your first class. It’s kind of amazing.”
“Really, you could tell?” asked Naomi.
“Absolutely. I’m impressed.”
“Well, thanks,” said Naomi. “Charlie is a wonderful teacher. Listen,” she continued, “I have some ideas about the website.”
“Oooh, goody!” Felicity exclaimed, clasping her hands together with glee. “Tell us, tell us!”
“Tell you what?” asked Charlie, suddenly beside them.
“I’ve been thinking about the website,” repeated Naomi. “I’m thinking that it should walk the line between personal and professional. You know, a really sleek, open design that mimics what you’ve done with the studio, paired with some great photos of you guys and the space. A mix of black-and-white and color photos.”
“That sounds perfect!” said Felicity. “I like what I’m hearing. Nothing too over the top.”
Julian nodded his approval.
“Yeah, I also love that you’re staying away from the whole hippie-dippie scene,” said Charlie. “I’ve seen a lot of yoga websites that look like acid flashbacks.”
“Or sites that are way too cool for school,” said Sabine. “You know, those stark, SoHo, Gwynnie and Madonna joints? Ugh. Those sites are so uninviting.”
“Who’s going to take the photos?” asked Julian.
“Well, I thought I might,” answered Naomi. She studied the floor, annoyed by her own nervousness. She forced herself to look up.
“Naomi, I think that is an excellent idea,” said Felicity. “I love it.”
“And I thought I would just set up a link on the site that took viewers to a page about your hair products,” Naomi added. “Your page will have the same look, but it will be all about the hair.”
“When is it not all about the hair!?” shrieked Julian, as Felicity beamed. “I love it, I love it, I love it!”
“I do, too,” agreed Charlie. “It sounds perfect. What can we do to help?”
“Well, I thought I might hang around and take some candid photos today,” replied Naomi. “Just to get a feel for the light in here.” She pulled her camera out of her bag. She was still nervous about taking photos, but somehow this felt right. The way that everyone had responded to her ideas made her feel confident and capable, like a woman who made her own rules. Like a woman who wasn’t consumed by worry about her health.
She stood up and looped the camera over her head. It felt so familiar to be wearing it again, but also somehow completely different. “Okay, just go about your business,” she instructed Felicity, Charlie, and Julian. She peered through the lens.
“Julian!” she exclaimed. “Be natural!” The women burst into giggles as they noticed Julian’s arm popped in an attempt to highlight his muscles as he leaned against the counter.
“Sorry, sorry!” he replied. “I can’t help it! It’s in my blood. You’re lucky I kept my shirt on. It took everything in me not to disrobe.”
“Thanks for that, Julian,” said Felicity. “You truly are a man of great sacrifice.”
Julian reached across and caressed her cheek in response. Snap, went Naomi’s camera. That was the kind of moment she wanted. She held the camera to her cheek, relishing the feeling of becoming one with it again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Charlie
Charlie approached the register nervously. It was official, she had a crush on Mario. She supposed she had always been aware of it, but the conversation with Julian had really brought it to the surface, like some kind of suddenly buoyant treasure chest that had been buried under the sea floor for hundreds of years. She hadn’t actually seen Mario since she had accepted her crush, which was always how these things went. The minute you wanted to see a guy, he disappeared, but when you weren’t into him, he was everywhere.
She rounded the corner of the aisle to get a peek at him. He was cleaning the coffee machine with studied concentration. Even squished, his face was beautiful. She took a deep breath. It’s still just Mario, she reminded herself. You know him. There’s no reason to get all silly about it. He paused, looking up. His face broke out in an enormous smile upon seeing her there.
Okay, I’m silly. Dizzy even. She smiled back.
“Good morning, Charlie!” Mario exclaimed, practically leaping over the counter to embrace her.
“Hey,” she replied. Suddenly, she felt like they were reenacting a scene from Grease, with her as the virginal Sandy and Mario as the dangerous Danny Zuko. She stifled a laugh. “How’s it going?”
“Life is good, can’t complain. Just trying to get this mess off the coffee machine; spiff it up a bit. You look beautiful this morning, as always.”
Charlie’s face warmed. “Thanks, Mario.” She felt awkward. Before, when she was happy to float along in her river of post-Neil asexuality, Mario really hadn’t fazed her. But now, back in the game so to speak, she was frazzled by his mere presence. She was sure that the hair on her arms was standing up beneath her jacket. What should she say next?
Mario saved her. “And you? What’s going on with the studio?”
“Studio is good,” answered Charlie. “Business seems to be picking up.” She fingered the packs of gum below the register. “One of my students is designing a website for us.”
“Nice! That’s something that will really make a difference. Web presence is key. That’s the first thing I did for my other business.”
“You have another business?” asked Charlie. She remembered Julian telling her about Mario’s entrepreneurship empire, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was that it entailed. Or did Felicity tell her? Funny how, thinking back, it was so obvious how eager both of them were to get Charlie to admit to her feelings for Mario—always bringing him up or asking her to pick up something for them at the deli.
“Yeah, my brother and I run a catering ser vice,” he answered proudly. “Mostly upscale Puerto Rican food.”
“That’s incredible! I had no idea that you were a chef.”
“Well, my brother is the better chef, by a long shot. I got into it at first just for the business angle. I thought he could do really well for himself. And he really has, too. It’s great to be a part of it.”
“That’s wonderful, Mario. Are you booked every night?”
“Oh no, we both have other jobs. I’m here and my brother also owns a small restaurant up in the Bronx. We mostly book gigs on weekends. And then, you know, I have my band, too. It’s been harder and harder lately to get it all in, you know?”
“You’re in a band?” How was it possible that she had known this man for so long, and actually not known him at all?
“Yeah,” replied Mario, somewhat bashfully. “It’s just a bunch of middle-aged guys messing around on some instruments, really. But we have a lot of fun. You should come see us sometime.”
“What instrument do you play?”
“Guitar.”
“Wow, I’m really impressed.”
N
ow it was Mario’s turn to blush. “Thanks. You know, we have a gig coming up next month in the neighborhood.”
“I’ll definitely come,” said Charlie.
“Really? Maybe we could grab dinner afterward or something,” he added. The intensity of his stare made her knees tremble. She clutched the counter for support.
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
Mario looked over her shoulder. “Oh hi, how can I help you?” he asked the customer behind her.
Charlie turned to let the customer pay. Her heart plummeted to her feet as she realized who was standing behind her. There, holding a canister of coffee and a roll of paper towels, was Neil.
He looked at her, dumbfounded. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Charlie! Hi!” Charlie swallowed deeply, desperately trying to moisten her Sahara-like mouth.
“Hi,” she squeaked in response. He looked the same—sort of. He had cut his hair and shaved the shadow that once had enveloped his face like a bristly cloud. He had also changed his glasses. Before, they had been thick-rimmed, “look at me, I’m a hipster intellectual” glasses, but now he was sporting a much more conservative pair. His entire countenance was actually that of a much more conservative man. Neil, the former chess-playing, wheatgrass-swilling, Bhagavad Gita–reading atheist now officially looked like someone who Hamptoned on the weekends and had a subscription to Netflix. He was a bona fide yuppie. The change was alarming.
“You look great,” he said, taking Charlie in. She wondered what he must think of her makeup-free face, her wild hair, and her puffy jacket. For so long, she had planned this reunion in her head. In it, of course, she had been the embodiment of spiritual fulfillment and easy grace, not a frazzled, winter-clad Bushwicker, flirting mercilessly with the deli guy.
“Uh, thanks.” Charlie felt Mario’s eyes boring into the back of her head. “Neil, this is Mario. Mario, Neil.”
“Hey man,” said Neil, extending his hand.
Mario tensed in response, as he grasped it to shake. “Hello,” he replied frostily.
“So Charlie, how have you been?” asked Neil. “God, I can’t remember the last time I saw you.”