Vinyl Cafe Turns the Page

by Stuart McLean

  He was about to reassure her that their daughter wasn’t involved with an axe murderer. But he looked at her face and realized he didn’t have to. She had already read Tommy’s pictures the way they were intended. As usual, she was way ahead of him.

  Instead of saying any of that, he shrugged, thinking—as he looked at his wife and thought of his daughter, and of his daughter’s boyfriend, and of the night that had just passed, all of it—that he was a lucky man.

  He could hear the clock. The clock was ticking. And he knew that he’d had his laugh, and his sigh, but that his thirty seconds of love was still not up.

  YOGA

  Stephanie’s friend Becky broke up with her boyfriend at the end of the summer. She was still a mess at Thanksgiving. Still crying.

  Stephanie said, “We’re going away. You and I. One week.”

  Becky said, “Where are we going?”

  Stephanie said, “I haven’t decided.”

  She settled on a yoga retreat.

  Stephanie said, “We’re going for a seven-day cleanse.”

  Becky cheered up.

  Then Becky and her boyfriend made up.

  Becky said, “I’m sorry. He doesn’t want me going anywhere without him.”

  Stephanie said, “But that’s why you broke up.”

  Becky said, “Sorrryyy.”

  Stephanie called the yoga centre. She explained all about Becky and her stupid boyfriend. Stephanie was angling for a refund.

  The man on the phone said, “They must often change, those who would be constant in happiness and wisdom.”

  Stephanie said, “Huh?”

  The man on the phone said, “Sorry. No refunds.”

  Stephanie stewed for a week. Then she called her mother. Seven days with her mother at a yoga retreat wasn’t exactly her idea of fun, but it wouldn’t be completely awful. They didn’t spend that much time together anymore. Stephanie said, “What do you think? You and me.”

  Morley said, “Sweetie, I would love to go with you. But we open a new production that week. I can’t. I think you should take your father.”

  Stephanie said, “Are you out of your mind?”

  Morley said, “He’s right here. Let me put him on.”

  Stephanie and her father were in the car heading for the retreat.

  Stephanie said, “This wasn’t my idea.”

  Dave said, “Your mother thought we should spend time together.”

  Stephanie said, “She is stark raving mad.”

  Dave said, “It’s not that bad.”

  Stephanie said, “Give your head a shake.”

  The retreat was in the country. Down a tree-lined driveway to an old Catholic monastery. On a hill, overlooking a lake.

  They went to the main desk and registered.

  There were three classes to choose from: gentle, intermediate, and vigorous.

  Stephanie chose intermediate. Dave chose vigorous.

  “I’m going to get as much as I can from this,” he said.

  The lady smiled at them.

  The lady said, “You’re here for the cleanse.”

  Dave looked at Stephanie.

  Dave said, “Cleanse?”

  The lady was nodding.

  The lady said, “Bodi-dharma will search your bags.”

  Bodi-dharma opened Dave’s suitcase and removed a pack of beef jerky and a bag of gummy worms.

  There was a tour. A woman with flared pants, a cotton wrap, and a headband showed them around.

  She left them at the Rejuvenation desk. “You can choose three treatments,” she said. “It’s part of the package.”

  Stephanie chose Pamper Yourself: a Swedish massage, a mineral mud bath, and a sea-salt pedicure.

  Dave looked at the menu and relaxed.

  The place wasn’t as strict as it looked.

  Dave chose Happy Hour:

  Three honey-mint-refresh-colonic cocktails.

  “What are you thinking?” said Stephanie.

  “What I’m thinking,” said Dave with a wink, “is when did I ever stop after one cocktail?”

  Dave was first up in the morning.

  “I’m going for coffee,” he said. “Shall I bring you a cup?”

  Stephanie said, “Um. I don’t think there’s going to be coffee.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Dave. “Of course there’ll be coffee.”

  He came back holding two hand-thrown mugs.

  “You’re kidding,” said Stephanie, sitting up.

  “Matcha chai tea,” said Dave.

  “It’s great,” said Dave. “It’s great. I like it. All good. I’ll be fine.”

  His right eye was twitching.

  There were already two women in the hall when Dave arrived at his first class. One was lying on a black rubber mat, her eyes closed, her arms stretched out, palms up. Corpse pose.

  The other was busier—pulling an endless supply of stuff out of a cotton bag: four rubber bricks, two canvas straps, a round pillow, a purple-and-black blanket with an Aztec pattern, a water bottle, a mister, and three bananas. She was organizing everything with great precision. It seemed important to her that everything line up perfectly.

  Dave took a mat off the wall and sat while the room filled.

  For the longest time he was the only man in the room.

  Then another guy came in. He was wearing knee-length yoga pants and a form-fitting black ribbed tank top. He had a red bandana around his shoulder-length hair, yoga beads around his wrist, and a tattoo of a lotus flower on his ankle.

  He unfurled his mat in the middle of the room like a flag.

  And then, while everyone else sat quietly, he let out a short, explosive exhalation.

  Ha.

  He stretched his hands above his head and leaned back. He bent forward at the waist as if to touch his toes. Except that he went beyond his toes. Way beyond. His palms landed on the floor. He rested there for a moment and then, impossibly, he kept going. Which is to say that, without any apparent effort, he went right over, like a mechanical toy. Over and then up, until he was upside down. In a handstand. Arms straight.

  And then … he started doing push-ups.

  Upside down, handstand push-ups.

  He did ten.

  Then he rewound. Slowly. Until he was standing again with his palms pressed together in front of his chest. He looked as if he was praying, but he wasn’t praying. He was looking around the room to see if anyone was watching.

  After class, Handstand Guy came over to Dave and put his sweaty arm on his shoulders.

  “Stick with it, bro,” he said. “The poses don’t begin until your mind forgives.”

  Then he said “Namaste” and walked away.

  “Nama-stay?” said Dave.

  Dave’s first treatment was scheduled for just before dinner.

  “Cocktail hour!” he said jauntily as he left the room.

  He came back pale and sweaty.

  “How was it?” asked Stephanie.

  “A little different than I expected,” said Dave. “But it was … great.”

  Then he said, “Whoops. Excuse me.” And he ran for the bathroom. He didn’t come out for twenty minutes.

  He ached all over.

  Not just his muscles.

  His heart. His head. His soul.

  He’d thought living without meat was going to be the challenge. But it was coffee that he was missing. His head was pounding.

  After supper he said, “I’m going for a walk.”

  He prowled through the building. There had to be coffee somewhere. In the basement, just past the laundry room, outside the staff lounge, he spotted what he was looking for. The warm glow of a vending machine. It was tucked into an alcove. He couldn’t see it, but he’d recognize that light anywhere. His right hand slid into his pocket and fingered the coins he’d brought for this moment. He began humming. Unconsciously. James Brown, “I Feel Good.”

  He stopped humming when he came face to face with the machine. It dispensed k
ombucha, coconut water, aloe vera, and shots of wheat grass.

  The next morning, class began with a sun salutation.

  Tadasana.

  Hands pressed in front of chest. Now drifting overhead, back arching, bending forward, reaching for the floor.

  Uttanasana.

  Reaching.

  He felt teacher’s hand land softly on his back. He tried to reach farther.

  But the backs of his knees were screaming.

  “Soft knees,” said teacher as she walked soundlessly away.

  Dave opened his eyes and peeked around the room.

  His arms were halfway down his shins. Everyone else had landed their palms on the floor. His hands were dangling in front of him like the end of an elephant’s trunk. A geriatric elephant.

  He felt clumsy and he felt awkward.

  Surely there was someone worse than him. He caught the eyes of Handstand Guy. Handstand Guy winked at him. Through his ankles.

  Dave pushed harder. It hurt. Lord, it hurt. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Everything hurt. He hated this.

  This went on for two painful hours. Between each posture, Handstand Guy jumped explosively. At the end of class he bust out a loud, explosive “OM.”

  And as Dave staggered out, there he was waiting for him in the hallway.

  “Keep at it, bro,” said Handstand Guy. “The pose doesn’t begin until you want to leave it.”

  He started off, then he turned and came back and said, “It’s not my business, bro, but I think you should have your chakras aligned. They look kind of funky to me.”

  The store was on the main floor by the reception desk. They sold books and tapes and candles and oils. Also clothes.

  It hadn’t taken long for Dave to realize that he was the only one in Bermuda shorts. He thought that if he got some official equipment he’d maybe do better.

  He bought stretchy black pants, a grey cotton top, and a set of beads. He put the beads around his wrist like Handstand Guy.

  When she handed him his credit card, the lady said, “Namaste.”

  “Nama-stay,” said Dave right back.

  Another classroom, another class.

  Dave was lying on his back.

  There was music playing softly.

  “Bring your right knee to your chest,” said teacher. “Hug it with your arms. Bring your head to your knees and exhale.”

  And right then, in the deep silence after teacher said “exhale,” there was an explosion. Or more accurately, a series of rapid little explosions. Like a machine gun.

  Dave winced.

  Someone sniggered.

  Teacher said, “Well. Now we all know why they call it the wind-releasing pose.”

  “Bro,” said Handstand Guy on the way out, “when they say Release the pose, they just mean the pose.”

  The lotus position is not the most dramatic looking yoga posture—not by a long shot. At first glance, you’d think anyone could do it.

  The Buddha did it, after all. And so did Gandhi.

  “And neither of them,” said Dave to Stephanie at dinner that night, “strike me as the most athletic looking dudes.”

  The pose is said to be the path to enlightenment.

  “And all you have to do,” said Dave, “is cross your legs and sit there.”

  Like a lotus flower. Open to the light.

  Best of all, Handstand Guy couldn’t do lotus.

  “Aha,” said Stephanie.

  “It’s not about that,” said Dave. “Seriously. It is not about that.”

  The problem is that as simple as it looks, the lotus pose is essentially—impossible. Only a fool would try to pry himself into lotus pose without years of preparation.

  But fools do rush in.

  On day three, Dave woke early and slipped out of bed. He let himself into the studio at the far end of the building.

  As the sun came up he stood by the window and studied the chart of postures.

  He limbered up.

  He sat down and placed his right foot on his left thigh.

  Then he grabbed his left foot and tried to put it on his right thigh. There was no way.

  But there had to be a way.

  He leaned both elbows and all the weight of his upper body on his knee. There was a sudden snap, and a pop, and a flash of pain deep in his body.

  Where exactly the pain was was hard to tell. Somewhere deep. It came and went like lightning. Hard and bright, there and then—gone.

  That was odd, thought Dave.

  He looked down at his legs.

  His right foot was on his left thigh. His left foot crossed over and under, or maybe under and over, it was hard to tell—but it was resting on his right thigh—he was in lotus.

  A profound sense of well-being washed over him, a sense of oneness with the world.

  Until he realized that he couldn’t move his legs.

  He tried to pull them apart, and they wouldn’t loosen.

  His legs were knotted together, and the more he tried to free them, the tighter they got.

  That’s because he wasn’t in lotus; he was in sheep shank.

  It took him an hour to drag himself down the corridor back to the bedroom. He used his hands to pull himself along on his bottom.

  Anywhere else in the world he would have been a disturbing sight.

  Here, everyone just nodded as he passed.

  It was exhausting work.

  Halfway back to his room, he stopped and propped himself up against the wall.

  He fell asleep.

  When he woke there was an embroidered hat sitting on the floor next to him. It was full of change.

  It took Stephanie forty minutes to untangle her father.

  When she finished his legs were too wobbly to walk on.

  Although he could put his feet behind his head.

  “Look at this,” he said.

  That’s what he was doing, sitting on the bed with one foot behind his head, when there was a knock on their door.

  It was Bodi-dharma. He was holding a bucket.

  He said, “It’s cocktail hour.”

  That night Dave dreamed he was being chased through a dark kingdom. There were baboons and eels and in the distance a volcano that rumbled and groaned and kept erupting over and over and over again.

  Maybe it was the next day. Maybe it was the day after. It must have been the next day. Day four. Right after morning class. They were given a longer than usual break—lunch and meditation.

  Dave staggered back to the room. When Stephanie got there he’d changed from his yoga clothes into jeans and a green checked shirt. He was standing in front of the mirror combing his hair. He was humming “I Feel Good” again.

  “Where are you going?” said Stephanie.

  “To meditate over a burger,” said Dave.

  He didn’t ask if she wanted to come.

  He said, “I’ll be back for lunch,” placing air quotes around “lunch.”

  The nearest town was fifteen minutes away.

  The hamburger joint was on the way. By a gas station. Dave had seen it on the day they arrived. A chain place. He considered going to the drive-through, but decided to forgo efficiency for the full experience.

  He parked by a little grass island at the side and wandered in, breathing a deep, meditative sigh at the counter as he looked up at the neon menu. The healthiest choice was the deep-fried apple pie. He ordered a double bacon cheeseburger and an extra large coffee. A small consolation for the disastrous lotus, for all the indignities he had suffered.

  He carried his tray over to a table by the window and sat down.

  He inhaled the first half of the burger, and then made himself slow down. Hadn’t he learned anything? It was important to eat mindfully. He put his burger down and looked around. There was a mother holding a child up to the condiment table so that he could help her pump ketchup onto a plate of fries. An older couple sharing a coffee in the corner. And a guy in a blue hoodie and sweatpants at the counter ordering.
>
  There was something about the guy that seemed familiar.

  Wait a minute.

  Dave leaned forward and squinted.

  Was it Handstand Guy?

  It was hard to tell; he had his back to him.

  It sure looked like Handstand Guy.

  He was paying.

  Soon he would turn around and walk to a table.

  Got you, you phony, thought Dave.

  Wait a minute.

  The girl behind the counter was handing him a bag.

  He was getting his order to go.

  “Turn around,” muttered Dave. “Turn around.”

  But the guy wasn’t turning around. He was walking out with his grease-stained bag and a large Coke. Dave was sure it was him. But he couldn’t be completely sure. It looked like him. It looked like him. Look at him. It was Handstand Guy. He was getting into a little—What was he getting into? What did Handstand Guy drive?

  It all happened too fast. All that was left of him was the red glow of his tail lights pulling out of the lot.

  Dave looked down at the uneaten half of his burger.

  It had to be Handstand Guy.

  All the good it did him. He couldn’t tell anyone without admitting that he was in the burger joint himself.

  He finished the burger and headed back to the retreat, more frustrated than ever, the hamburger doing an alarming dance in his gut.

  He got there just as the afternoon session began.

  Teacher said, “If you haven’t done headstand, you should do tripod instead.”

  He had been defeated one too many times.

  He was not going to be tripod guy in Handstand Guy’s room.

  Dave said, “I have done headstands.”

  He had.

  He had done hundreds.

  Not recently.

  But as a boy.

  It wasn’t hard.

  Teacher said, “Place your head on the floor in front of your knees. Now raise your legs slowly and gently.”

  That wasn’t the way he remembered it.

  The way he remembered it was to go up quickly. And with commitment.

  To get to the top, you had to commit.