Balancing Acts (17 page)

L
ight 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.

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.

“Hello, Charlie,” greeted Mario. His entire face lit up as she approached. Felicity sat back in her chair and watched their interaction with amusement. The attraction between the two of them was palpable.

“Hey, Mario,” she replied. The way he looked at her made her feel naked. Not in a gross, undressing her with his eyes sort of way, but more in a Sunday-morning, postcoital, prebrunch kind of way. “Whoa, is that a Manu Chao T-shirt?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, you like him?”

“I loooove him,” Charlie replied. “Did you see him at the bandshell a couple of summers ago? He was amazing.”

“Yep, I was there. Might have been where I picked up this T-shirt. We sat outside the bandshell and had a picnic. It was the perfect summer night. The music, the food, the vibe. . .
muy bien
.”

Charlie tensed up involuntarily.
Who was “we”? Who was he having a romantic picnic with? Some raven-haired Spanish seductress?

“Hey Charlie,” he said, interrupting her paranoia. She broke out of her daze to see him extending a brown bag. “I brought you something.”

“What?” replied Charlie, embarrassed and pleased simultaneously. “Oh Mario, you shouldn't have!”
Looks like the Spanish seductress is history. Bueno.

“Please, it's no problem. Happy to do it. I was thinking of you this morning, so I made you a special Mario green tea latte. That Starbucks mess has nothing on me. Trust.”

“Mario, that's so sweet of you. When did you start making green tea lattes?”

“Since I haven't seen you in weeks,” answered Mario, gazing directly into Charlie's eyes. Charlie felt like her entire body might be pink. His directness made her blush from her top to her toes. And the fact that he dug the same kind of music she did turned the heat up a distinct notch.

“I miss you, so I made you a new drink,” he explained. “I also got you one of those vegan muffins that you like, from that hippie joint down the street.” Felicity continued to watch their interaction with glee. This was better than any of that crap her daughter watched on MTV.

“Wow, you did?” asked Charlie. “That's so sweet of you. She took the bag from Mario and peeked inside. “This looks delicious!” She pulled the latte out gingerly. “It's still warm!”

“Yeah, I just made it.”

They gazed at each other for a minute as she took a sip. “This is goooood. Damn! Starbucks who?! Did you just whip this recipe together now?”

“Ahhh, no. I've been working on it for a while, hoping you would come by to try it out. But you haven't been by in so long, I had to bring it to you. Where you been?”

“I'm sorry, Mario. I've been so busy. I've started drinking tea at home in the morning. And it's so cold outside—all I want to do is get inside the studio where it's warm, you know? There's no time for hanging out.”

“There's always time for a quick hello,” said Mario. “Stop in and say hi—you get the Mario latte on the house. And maybe I'll have Manu Chao blasting from the speakers. Deal?”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” interjected Naomi, who couldn't help but overhear their conversation as she, Bess, and Sabine got ready to leave. The three of them had been exchanging glances as they unabashedly eavesdropped. Mario was hot for Charlie, no doubt about it.

Charlie giggled. “Yeah, it is. Deal, Mario. Thank you.”

Mario grinned. “You're welcome. I gotta get back. See you soon, Charlie,” he called over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs in his work boots:
clomp, clomp, clomp
. Charlie watched him go and then turned to see four beaming faces. Sabine, Bess, Felicity, and Naomi were all wearing shit-eating grins.