Balancing Acts (16 page)

“We met here in New York, at a random party,” answered Bess. “You know, typical story: I didn't want to go at all, but forced myself off the couch after days of self-imposed, glorious isolation. I showed up and there he was. It's been about a year since we got together.”

“Wow, do you guys live together now?” asked Charlie.

“I wish. He actually moved to LA. He's getting his MFA in Screenwriting at USC.”

“How do you guys pull off the long-distance thing?” asked Naomi.

“Not very well. It's hard, you know? Not having that immediate access can change the dynamic incredibly. But we try to see each other at least once a month.”

“How long is the program?” asked Naomi.

“Two years. But when it's over, Dan will probably need to stay out in LA for work. It's hard to land a screenwriting gig in New York, at least in comparison.”

“Really?” asked Charlie. “What will you do?”

Bess reached for the now practically empty bottle. How did the conversation become all about her? “I don't know. I love him, but I don't want to leave everything I have worked so hard to create for myself behind. I mean, ten years of blood, sweat, and tears in the magazine industry is no joke. Not to mention the fact that I just moved into an apartment that has actual, legitimate space. To give that up just seems really naïve, you know?”

“But you love each other,” said Charlie, quietly. “That counts for a lot. If you overlook that by focusing on the size of your apartment, I think you're doing yourself a disser vice. I mean, you could work in LA, couldn't you? Doesn't your magazine have a West Coast office?”

Bess nodded. “Yeah, they do. Lots of silly magazines do. But that's just the thing. I'm trying to break out of silly and segue into substance. You can't say
LA
and
substance
in the same sentence. They're oil and water.”

“What about the
Los Angeles Times
?” asked Sabine. “Your New York credentials would probably be much more impressive outside of New York. You could break in with them and then expand your empire.”

Bess shook her head in frustration. “Newspapers are dying and, even so, I would be following him. Giving up my entire life—my dreams!—for a man. That sounds terribly archaic to me. Not to mention the resentment I would feel toward him, and the fact that I'd be returning to the place I grew up. I spent half my life wanting to get out of there.” She thought guiltily of her parents, and her dad's illness.
I have to get home to see them soon.

Naomi spoke up. “See, I think you're looking at this the wrong way. You're seeing it as an end rather than a beginning.”

“Excellent point, Naomi,” said Sabine. “I tried to tell her the same thing before.”

“If you're in love with Dan and he's in love with you, moving to be together as a unit is just a natural next step. Your dreams used to be just about what you wanted in a very individualistic sense, but now that you have someone else to consider, your dreams can just as easily evolve to envelop two.” Naomi paused, seemingly impressed by her own wisdom. “Wow, I don't even know where that came from!” she exclaimed. “Must be all the yoga, Charlie.”

Charlie laughed. “No doubt! But Naomi, what you're saying is truly right on, and kind of why I fell in love with yoga. Yoga taught me about evolution on both a spiritual and physical plane, you know?”

“How?” asked Bess.

“Yoga is about surrendering to a sense of flow and internal rhythm,” Charlie explained. “You connect with your inner being to flow more successfully on a physical level. You are evolving inside in order to evolve outside.”

“That's incredible,” said Sabine. “It makes complete sense.”

“You guys are very wise,” said Bess. “It's great advice, it really is, but I just don't know if I am evolved enough as an individual to really pursue us as a unit. Either that, or I'm scared shitless. I mean, intelligent journalism has always been a dream of mine, and I guess true love has as well, but never as concretely. Balancing the two together seems almost impossible. Men take up a lot of time.”

“Only if you let them,” said Naomi. “It sounds like you are aware enough of your time and its management not to get caught up in the inevitable male domination of it. Something tells me that you would have no problem standing your ground.”

“Wow,” said Bess. “Thank you.” She really meant it, too. She hadn't been surrounded by such warm, wise, and empathetic advice since. . .well, since never. She fought the urge to lift up her shirt and expose the tape recorder. How could she write this article when they were all caught up in the same struggle?

“I feel like I'm on
The Tyra Banks Show,
” said Sabine, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I know!” agreed Charlie. “There is a whole lot of sisterhood going on at this table.”

Bess laughed in relief. “Seriously! And by the way, I'm getting tipsy. Do you guys want to order some food?”

“Yes, pleaaaase!” answered Naomi. “My stomach is digesting itself at this point.”

Bess motioned for the waitress. These women had incredible things to say, but she was still battling with what moving to LA really meant for her. Despite her conflicted emotions, she did feel blessed. For this interaction, for Dan, for the options she had at her fingertips. . .. Her glass was full.
Well, figuratively at least,
she thought, as she eyed the empty bottle on the table and smiled.

I
can't believe I ate three slices of pizza,” Charlie moaned, as she and Naomi waited drunkenly for the subway. “What was I thinking?!”

“You weren't,” answered Naomi. “It was the wine talking. Besides, they were fancy pieces.”

“Fancy pieces? What does that mean?”

“You know, it was a yuppie pizza joint. The pieces were small. Three of those pieces are really only one and a half in the world of true pizza,” Naomi explained.

Charlie laughed. “I like your math, Naomi. But they were still piled high with mounds of cheese. And don't forget the Caesar salad and calamari.”

“Why are you trying to kill my buzz?” Naomi asked, playfully pushing Charlie away. “If you're drunk, calories don't count.” She wasn't sure if it was the drink or the company, but she felt really good—physically and mentally—for the first time in what felt like weeks. To be so hyperaware of everything that was going on in her body, from the slightest muscle twitch to the mystery bruise that she had found on her thigh, was exhausting, not to mention completely depressing. And then, to keep it all to herself. . .it was a heavy burden. She wondered if telling Charlie about it would help.

“Another dietary gem! Okay, okay, I'll shut up about calories. Even tomorrow when my gut hangs over my waistband during my seven o'clock class, I'll shut up. Promise.”

“Deal,” said Naomi. The train approached. Once inside, Naomi yanked off her hat. She wondered if Charlie had heard of symptoms like Naomi's before; if she would laugh and say,
No offense, but this is clearly a case of being out of shape.
Naomi hoped for that kind of reaction, but knew she was being naïve. There was no way that someone as in tune with the body as Charlie would be so dismissive. She glanced nervously at her. She was grinning with her eyes closed, her head against the wall. She seemed a bit drunk. Maybe this wasn't the time to bring up her troubles. Talk about a buzz kill.

Charlie opened her eyes suddenly and faced Naomi. “When was the last time you were in love?” she asked.

“Well, there's an interesting question. What brought that on?”
Definitely drunk,
thought Naomi. She had never seen this kind of candor from Charlie before.

“You're avoiding my question!” said Charlie.

Naomi laughed. “Yeah, I guess I am. Hmmm, the last time I was in love. Has to be Noah's dad, Gene. We broke up like, almost nine years ago, so. . .there's your answer.”

Charlie nodded. “It's been four years for me.” She sighed heavily. “Four freakin' years.”

“Who was it?” asked Naomi. “What happened?”

Charlie suddenly sat up straighter and shook her head in an attempt to realign her brain. “Oh God, look at me! Drunk girl! Forgive me, it's that damn wine talking.” She smiled shyly, revealing purple-tinged teeth.

“I'll say it's talking! You have red wine mouth. Do I?” Naomi opened her mouth wide to give Charlie a good look.

“Totally!” shrieked Charlie. “Aren't we a vision? A drunk yogi and a drunk mom, waxing poetic on love lost. It's like an episode of
Sally Jesse Raphael
or something.”

“Do you remember in college how they used to air those episodes in the smoking section at the GSU?” asked Naomi. “All day long, nothing but
Jerry Springer
,
Sally Jesse
, and packs upon packs of Camel Lights. Jesus. You practically needed a flashlight to find anyone in that cloud of smoke.”

“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.