by Zoe May
‘Yeah.’ I shrug. ‘Like, the objective?’
Seb smirks. ‘I can tell you work in an office. Next, you’ll be asking if there are meditation KPIs,’ he teases.
I give him a gentle shove. ‘Shut up!’
‘Objective!’ Seb scoffs, pushing me back.
‘Okay, okay, I may come from corporate London and all that, but surely there’s some sort of end goal?’ I huff.
‘The end goal is just to still your mind and feel peaceful. Seriously, when you can tune out all your thoughts simply by closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing, it’s liberating. Meditation is like a home for me now. I know I have this peaceful place to go, no matter where I am,’ Seb tells me, his eyes sparkling.
I can feel how much meditation means to him and his enthusiasm is infectious. Even though I still don’t really know what his life back home entailed and what mistakes led him to come to the ashram, it’s clear that he’s finding happiness and contentment here.
‘Okay, that sounds like a pretty good end goal, actually,’ I admit.
‘Cool. Now let’s action that objective!’ Seb grins.
He starts closing his eyes when I poke him in the side, making him laugh.
We stop laughing and settle down, closing our eyes. The way Seb described meditation, of having a peaceful place to go wherever you are – a home – did make it sound appealing. I close my eyes and try, sincerely this time, to meditate.
I inhale deeply and exhale. My mind is blank. Weirdly blank. White and clear. I picture tumbleweed rolling across it. I breathe in again and out. My mind’s empty. Almost too empty. Am I a natural at this? I wonder. Or am I just vacant? What if I’m just so vapid that meditation is easy for me because I don’t have any significant thoughts? I picture myself, becoming a spiritual guru, like Buddha, being lauded internationally for my remarkable meditation abilities. Maybe I’ll become a guru. I wonder whether I’d feel like a fraud, knowing that I didn’t have to sit under a tree for forty-nine days to achieve this state, but that it just came to me. Would that make me a fraud or a natural?
Suddenly, I realize I’m thinking. I’m actually thinking quite a lot. Damn. What kind of a moving vehicle would that thought be? A bus, I reckon.
Right, try again.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
Too empty?
I begin worrying I’m vacant again.
Cushions.
They were so pretty. Must get some later. Definitely. They really would look so great in the living room.
Damn, another thought.
As far as thoughts go, it was just a car though. A little Nissan. No big deal. I barely hopped on board. I picture the thought retreating into the distance, disappearing down the road.
Gone.
Right, clear my mind.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
Seb.
Sex with Seb.
Wait? What?
Where did that come from?!
Talk about a DOUBLE DECKER.
And yet, I can’t quite seem to hop off board. I don’t even want to. I picture Seb’s tanned brown skin, the light blond hairs on his arms, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles. I think of his arms, his build, his gorgeous muscles.
I imagine turning and moving towards him, kissing him. The thought is insanely hot. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re in this nice private studio and we’re meant to be meditating. Or perhaps it’s the forbidden fruit aspect of Seb having taken a celibacy pledge. The idea of naughtily breaking his vow and making this meditation session a whole lot more fun is far too appealing.
Could he be having similar thoughts?
I open my eye a crack and take a look at him, but he looks perfectly serene, eyes closed, back straight, hands still palm up on his knees. He doesn’t look like he’s having erotic fantasies at all, but surely the thought must have crossed his mind at some point? We’re both around the same age, both here, both alone. I’m not hideous looking, he must have at least considered it.
I close my eyes again. Perhaps he truly is committed to his pledge. Or perhaps he just thinks I’m a no-go zone because of Paul. He probably respects my broken heart. Maybe I should too, except don’t they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else? I might be in rebound mode, but the idea of a fling with Seb is very appealing.
I open my eyes once more and subtly peer at him. Could I make a move? What would I do? It works in my head but reaching out and touching his tanned brown leg might be really sleazy in real life. Is it really uncool to disrespect someone’s celibacy pledge like that? Probably.
Seb must feel me looking as he opens his eyes a crack.
‘What?!’ he asks.
‘Oh, sorry, err, nothing. Just got distracted,’ I reply.
Seb raises an eyebrow.
I got distracted by you, Seb. By you, I think, hoping he somehow picks up on my thoughts.
‘Remember, thoughts are like cars, just watch them come and go, try not to get on board,’ Seb reminds me.
‘Yep. Got it, thanks,’ I reply, feeling irked.
Bloody cars. If Seb was a car, he’d be a Rolls Royce and I’d definitely hop on board.
Seb closes his eyes, returning to his meditative state.
His face is completely serene. He looks truly peaceful. He doesn’t look even remotely horny. I should just leave him be, respect his pledge.
Suppressing a sigh, I close my eyes again and try to meditate.
At first my mind is like a suburban street with cars coming and going, a few pull me along and a few just drift past. Then I get bored and my mind becomes a motorway in which I’m hopping from car to car, and then it calms down and I’m back to the suburban street. I don’t know how much time has passed. It feels like forever, but it may only have been twenty minutes. I get that for Seb, meditation is his happy place, but I just feel crushingly bored. Life feels too short to meditate. There are books I could be reading right now. I could be exploring the ashram. I could be eating. I could be shopping. I could be trying to have fun. And instead I’m simply thinking about not thinking. Why on earth did Buddha do this for forty-nine days?
I sneak another look at Seb. His eyes are still closed and he still looks perfectly serene. Urgh. I could get up and go but surely he’s going to get bored fairly soon? I close my eyes again, reasoning that I’ll wait it out.
I’m back on the suburban street, cars coming and going, the odd bus, the odd cyclist. Then the cars get hazy, the buses morph into cyclists, then back to cars, then dissipate to nothing. I realize I’m falling asleep, the tiredness suddenly hitting me.
I lie down and place my head on the cushion. Just for a moment. Just until I’m ready to get back into proper meditation.
‘Rachel? Rachel?’ Someone says.
I open my eyes to see Seb looking down at me, gently nudging my arm. The studio is dark. I glance out of the window. The sun has set. What the hell? How long have I been sleeping?! How long was he meditating?
I realize I’ve left a puddle of drool on the satin cushion. Damn it. So much for enticing Seb to break his abstinence vow!
‘Hey,’ I grumble.
I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
‘You were meditating for ages,’ I comment, my voice raspy.
‘Yeah. I got really into it. Hours flew by,’ Seb says dreamily. ‘When did you go to sleep?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. I meditated for a while too,’ I tell him, while trying to subtly wipe the drool from the side of my cheek with the back of my hand.
I flip over the cushion.
‘That’s good,’ Seb says.
His stomach rumbles loudly, making both of us laugh.
‘Hungry by any chance?!’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ Seb laughs. ‘Shall we go back to the guesthouse? We could make something?’ he suggests.
I’m still pretty bleary and out of it, but I nod.
‘Sounds good,’ I reply.
We get up, picking up our cushions and placing them back by the wall. I feel a little guilty that mine is damp with drool, but never mind. We leave the studio as we found it and head back to the guesthouse. The cool air wakes me up as we walk.
‘So, how did you find meditating?’ Seb asks, looking over at me as we walk along the path, the sun setting in the distance. ‘Before you fell asleep, of course!’
I laugh. How did I find it? Boring, if I’m totally honest, but Seb looks so hopeful that I can’t possibly say that.
‘It was…’ I search for the right word. Something that isn’t an outright lie. ‘Relaxing,’ I tell him.
‘Relaxing? That’s good,’ Seb replies, a little weakly.
I can tell he’d been hoping for something a bit more enthusiastic.
‘I’m sure I’ll get more into it,’ I add. ‘Enlightenment takes time after all!’
‘Ha! That’s true,’ Seb concurs.
We walk in silence for a few moments. No longer racking my brains for pseudo-spiritual things to say, I take in my surroundings. The dusty path we’re walking along is lined on one side by cute little houses, set back from the path with hedges and gardens, and on the other side, are verdant fields, the grass long and overgrown like reeds. A buffalo grazes in the distance. The gentle fading glow of the sun shimmers off its fur making it look copper-colored, almost reflective. I’m about to comment on how beautiful the buffalo looks to Seb, when he turns to me.
‘What is it about Paul?’ he asks, taking me completely by surprise.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘What? What do you mean?’
Seb shrugs. ‘I was just thinking about you two last night. Maybe it’s not my place to say anything…’ he trails off. ‘Actually, ignore me. It’s not my place.’
He looks ahead, concentrating on the path stretching into the distance.
I laugh. ‘Oh, come on. As if I can just ignore you! I need to know now. What is it? I won’t be offended.’
Seb eyes me wryly. ‘You won’t be offended? How do you know?’
‘I’m thick-skinned! I can take it,’ I insist.
‘You might be offended. No one ever knows if they’re going to be offended. You can’t predict that,’ Seb points out.
‘Okay. Well if I’m offended, I won’t hold it against you. Hit me.’ I smile encouragingly at him.
Seb laughs. ‘Okay, if you insist. I guess I’m just a bit surprised that you came all this way to win Paul back. You two seem kind of…’ he pauses, searching for the right word, ‘different.’
‘Different?’ I frown, pacing along as I take in his observation. ‘I guess we are different, but aren’t all couples a bit different? It’s not like I’d want to date my clone,’ I point out, although I can’t help thinking how few arguments my clone and I would have about going to IKEA at the weekends and how perfectly our home décor visions would align.
‘Yeah, different. Paul seems kind of uptight, I guess. A bit… bland,’ Seb notes, with a sneer to his voice.
It’s clear he’s not the biggest fan of Paul. A butterfly flaps across the path before us. It’s larger than the butterflies back home. Much larger. Almost three times the size and I take it in, full of wonder, as it flaps its colorful wings, disappearing into the distance. It’s so pretty. Everything in India feels heightened. The grass is longer, the buildings are more vivid, the food is tastier, even the butterflies are bigger.
‘Well, I suppose he isn’t exactly edgy,’ I reason, ‘but what did you expect? Paul’s just a normal guy.’
I find myself feeling oddly defensive of him. I think of his habits: how he’d always have a sketch pad on the coffee table in our living room and would idly doodle characters from TV shows in the evenings. I think about how he had a thing for baking bread when he was stressed out or had something on his mind. He’d knead dough in the kitchen, his brow knotted with thought, and he’d always seem happier once the bread was baked, as though he’d worked his way through his problem. I think of how he used to buy expensive rose scented Neal’s Yard bubble bath. The first time he bought it, after we’d moved in together, I assumed it was a present for me, and then there was a slightly awkward moment when he admitted that no, in fact, he’d bought it for himself. He liked to take long luxurious rose-scented baths on Sunday nights. He’d even light candles. It was adorable. Paul definitely wasn’t an edgy guy. In fact, he was about as edgy as a satsuma, but I was fine with that. I liked him just the way he was.
I snap out of my thoughts and realize Seb is looking at me in a strangely penetrating way.
‘Yeah, he’s cool. Ignore me. I don’t really know him,’ he says. ‘I told you I shouldn’t have said anything!’
‘No, it’s fine. What did you mean though?’ I ask, my voice lower than before, more serious.
‘It’s just you. You’re funny and sparky and full of life. I thought Paul was going to be more like you, that’s all,’ Seb comments, smiling wistfully.
Funny? Sparky? Full of life? How is any of that offensive? I feel my heart swell. I feel genuinely touched. What a lovely way to describe me! And I can tell from Seb’s sincere expression that he means it too.
‘And there was me thinking I was just a boring, interior design obsessed, career-focused corporate bore,’ I laugh, still feeling bamboozled by his compliment.
‘There’s so much more to you than that!’ Seb scoffs, as though the idea that law and cushions and furnishings are all I’m about is insane.
I smile at him, feeling a weird combination of touched, relieved and genuinely grateful. The way Paul’s treated me recently has really got under my skin, more than I think I even realized, and it feels nice to be complimented and appreciated.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Seb smiles back at me, as another butterfly, even larger than before, flaps between us.
Chapter Eleven
Maybe it’s because I spent most of the day sleeping, or perhaps it’s because I went to bed early, at around 10pm after having dinner with a few of the other guests, but I wake up bright and early with the birds and this time, they don’t annoy me.
I lie in my treehouse, blinking at the mosquito net above me. I listen to the chorus of owls, blackbirds and sparrows. The sound of chirping is joyful and I smile to myself, enjoying the sound of nature beckoning in a new day. I think about my getting up routine back home and the awful nagging alarm on my phone that I keep meaning to change, which goes off every morning at 7am. I usually hit snooze a few times, before eventually dragging myself out of bed. I tend to be tired and not particularly well rested. I work long hours and don’t usually get home until gone 8pm, sometimes around 9pm, and I’m not normally able to fall asleep until I’ve spent some time winding down. Usually I eat in front of the TV, chat with Paul for a bit, and just watch whatever’s on until my brain has relaxed and I’m ready for bed. It takes a while though and it’s often not until around 1am that I crash. Thinking about it, I’ve probably got more sleep in the past few days, albeit at weird times, than I’ve had for months in London. I’ve simply been getting by during the week, high on ambition and hunger and then by the time the weekend comes, all I’ve wanted to do is catch up on rest. I haven’t been up for much apart from trips to IKEA; I’ve simply been too tired.
Yet when Paul and I first got together, we did all sorts. We’d go on the Time Out website and find random events taking place, from silent discos and pop-up theatre shows to gin-tasting workshops and cheese festivals. We’d go along, just out of curiosity, for the ride. I remember one time we went to a traditional Scottish cèilidh dance in a village hall and it turned out to be one of the best nights ever. We were explorers back then, living our lives to the full, striving to experience our city in as many unique and interesting ways as possible. I was a junior paralegal and Paul was still doing waiter work while freelancing in graphic design. Our jobs didn’t stress us out. I clocked off every day at 5pm and the moment I left the office, work couldn’t be further from my mind. But then, as the years went
on, we started doing those fun adventurous things less and less. I moved up in my job, from paralegal to solicitor, and Paul quit his waiter job and got an in-house graphic design role. I was working longer hours and so was he. We were both tired more often, and instead of having adventures every weekend, we’d manage one or two a month. And then eventually I got promoted to Partner and Paul became more senior too and somehow, we forgot all about Time Out and its catalogue of quirky, random events. I can’t even remember the last time Paul and I did something like that. I cast my mind back, gazing at the net above me. I think it was a vegan supper club night three years ago, that we left early because we were both so exhausted.
I sigh, feeling deflated. Guilty almost. I know I’ve been working too hard recently. When I was first made Partner, I thought the long hours would be a teething period in which I was adjusting to my new role. I kept thinking life would go back to a slightly less intense state, but then every time I thought I was about to get some reprieve, a new case would come along, or someone would leave the company and there’d be more work to pick up. After a while, I stopped fighting the intensity and the long hours and just, sort of, adjusted. I forgot what life was like before. Working all the time became my new normal. I’d never have taken this holiday and slowed down if I hadn’t considered coming here to be an emergency. I didn’t think I needed a break, I thought I was fine, but it’s taken being pulled out of my office, and having flown thousands of miles for me to realize that maybe I have been working too hard and perhaps I did lose a sense of myself along the way. Maybe there are reasons why Paul might have wanted out of our relationship. We haven’t been how we used to be for a long time. I haven’t been how I used to be.
A tear crawls down the side of my face, dampening my pillow. I sit up and flick it away. But another tear falls. I flick that one away too, when another falls. And another. I don’t want to give in to the tears. What use is crying? But they won’t stop. So, I just let them fall. I feel sad, but it’s not a tormented feeling. My tears aren’t angry tears or hurt tears or frustrated tears. I’m not upset that Paul’s left me, it’s not about that. I’m crying tears for myself. Tears that almost feel like grief for the person I used to be. Where did the person I used to be go? How did I get so carried away with work? How did I forget about having fun? And about being me?