by Ray Hecht
Didn’t help either that Andrea constantly came over.
Time, Carla felt, was an inescapable null space, stubbornly refusing to conform to one’s wishes, no matter how hard you try to keep it still when needed, yet it always passes and shifts faster that a body could take it. Too much, and not enough.
* * *
The yoga class was three minutes past the hour as she rushed through the glass doors, interrupting the solemn peace within.
“Sorry,” Carla blurted, and regretted opening her mouth as everyone turned to look at her. “It was hard to find a parking space,” she muttered softly.
The studio was a wide open floor, previously used for aerobics classes, which could house about thirty women. There were two men in the class standing in the back corners, both wearing board shorts and their long hair tied up in a bun.
Each of the patrons stood on the upper edges of their mat, feet planted down, their hands in prayer position, quietly contemplating their posture. A neatly arranged forest, rows and rows of bodies as trunks.
The teacher, Master Samara, was a middle-aged woman in a colorful headband and a rough voice.
To the left of her, stood Kai, another apprentice-in-training.
Carla took a deep, loud breath. She hopped over to the right of the teacher, and faced the students.
“Press yourself into the Mula Bandha posture,” said Master Samara. “Pull your belly button in and lift yourself up by your core.”
The row of trees rose ever so slightly, in a smooth flow, like wind rippling through leaves. “If you feel uncomfortable throughout the practice,” she continued, “breath into that spot.”
Several other students trickled in late, disrupting the flow. They rolled out mats, squeezed between others, and the class grew more crowded. Every latecomer relieved Carla; she was grateful to not be the last.
“Exhale,” commanded the teacher, “and fall forward.” She then left her role in the front and maneuvered her way into the forest. She adjusted legs, pulled bellies, and stretched out shoulders. One by one, she patiently reformed each student until she was pleased.
“Kai,” she said. “Please take over.”
Carla often feared that Kai was the master’s favorite. They were ostensibly equals, had both started the program a month ago, and were set to be hired by Ashanti Yoga Studio upon completing their training. After the checks cleared on their training fees.
But Carla suspected that in case economic times got rough in the following months, not everyone would be hired on fulltime. She’d seen it happen in other fields. This was as competitive a job market as any.
Kai was thinner. More flexible. She had long hair in yarn and body art all over and a cheerful disposition and she generally fit into the professional yoga scene. Carla felt like a passive observer compared to such a natural.
And she could tell Kai really took the new age stuff seriously. Always talking about past lives and energy work. When she said “Namaste,” at the end of class, she meant it.
Deep down, it annoyed Carla.
But this was yoga class, and she needed to push these negative thoughts deep down. She focused on the practice.
“Time for Down Dog, everybody!” Kai said, with enthusiasm. “Push through to your palms, and hop forward lightly. That’s great! Follow along with me, okay. Go to Plank. Down to Chataranga. Take a full, deep breath. That’s it. Exhale. Now Cobra, and we’re up to Down Dog. Five breaths…”
They repeated several times.
“And let’s do a Vinyasa,” she added. “Let’s do a Vinyasa again. Come on, just one more time! Again!”
Next up, “Touch your hips. Let’s get into archer pose. You’re doing great.”
And just as the sweat began to drop and muscles twitched, “Another Vinyasa, guys!”
Carla reflected on her studies, her notes at home, her other classes, and about how posture is important in hatha yoga but breath control is also important. Most teachers miss that. She wanted her specialty to be breath control, and she could show she has a more spiritual side as a teacher of—
“Carla, I said it’s your turn to take over.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing what was happening. “Yeah.” She took a quick look at her surroundings, and Kai smiled to her. Master Samara nodded slowly. All the student’s eyes were on her.
“In Warrior One,” she began, “notice your fingertips.”
“Warrior Two,” whispered Kai, loudly.
“Warrior Two,” Carla repeated, not missing a beat. “Let’s sink into char. Inhale with me. Yeah. Um, exhale. Hands to heart.”
She began the Half-Moon pose, landing the palm of her right hand down and holding herself up sideways. “Make yourself flat,” she said. “This is a chest opener.”
Some students seemed to have trouble lifting their legs, and the master adjusted them accordingly. The room grew quiet, and Carla thought of what to say.
“Five breaths. Breathe loud.”
She breathed loudly and coarsely.
“Make sure your right palm isn’t holding all the weight as you lift your left leg.”
Murmurs of confusion overtook the room, replacing the sounds of breath.
“Oh. No. I mean, that is, make sure your left palm and your right leg.” She chuckled, hoping that defused the mistake. “I always mix up my left and rights. Didn’t they cover that in kindergarten? And I’m actually trying to be a yoga teacher…” She chuckled more. Inside, she was furious with herself.
She repeated the opposing side in reverse, simply going on memory by mirror image. The second half of the symmetrical poses were not too difficult. Although her thighs were feeling sore. The side of her torso felt stiff. If only she had time to pre-stretch before class began.
Several students around the room fell over, and giggled. The sound of laughter after balancing falls was a common one.
“Feel your bundas,” she said, forgetting what bundas meant. “Let’s get ready for Pigeon Pose. Remember, if you feel uncomfortable then breathe deeply into that spot. Calm breath, guys.”
Then it happened. She slowly edged her leg down, and turned her shoulder ever so slightly, and fell straight down on her chest. “Ow!” she yelled.
All eyes on her. She held her breath, refusing to even smirk.
Kai smiled. Master Samara shook her head slowly.
The students looked on curiously.
“Sorry!” she shouted, repositioning. “Let’s continue, heh. Um, where were we? Guys?”
The rest of the class was a daze. At Master’s sudden suggestion, Kai took over. Carla was on autopilot. They talked about calm breath, did yet another Vinyasa, and seemingly started from scratch. Carla was erased.
They went to Half Frog then Full Frog, and hopped around. It was a tortuous feat for the thigh and calf muscles. Some of the beginner students rested at Child’s Pose, scrunched as if praying for forgiveness. Then they took their mats to the wall, though it was tricky in such a crowded class, and tried headstands and handstands. They ended up with some poses lying down, Bow and Bridge as all bended their backs as far as they could go.
“Carla,” said Kai. “Would you like to take over?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Okay, everybody, let’s prepare for Boat Pose.”
The mass of women—and two men—prepared for an ab workout. They all followed along with her, turning to a V shape with their asses pressed deeply down. The first ten seconds were easy. For the next ten seconds, the shakes crept in. Final ten seconds hands and feet tensed up like snapped rope.
“Don’t make fists. Relax. Breathe into the pressure area. Now, let’s ease down vertebrae by vertebrae. Exhale…”
A collective exhale of relief.
They repeated two more times, and class was almost over. Ninety minutes of sore muscles disguised as relaxation.
With everyone laying on their backs, Carla led the room into final meditation. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Palms skyward.”
The sound of several light
switches clicking off. The heavy smell of musty feet and silent farts pervaded the air.
Master Samara was in charge of turning off the lights, but Carla could follow along with the rest even while narrating. She closed her eyes and continued.
Unfortunately, there was one last light switch left on. It shone directly above her left eye, scratching through the skin, refusing to give her any peace.
“Relax,” she said.
Soft music emanated from the loudspeaker, exotic string instruments plucked and plang.
“Feel the effects on your body.”
She couldn’t wait for this class to be over.
The head teacher took over, spoke of mudras, and everyone was raised to the seated position. The keynote speech. Carla had heard it all before. She could have added, but declined.
At last, “Namaste!” shouted Kai. Clapping. The end.
Mats were rolled up, people said their hi’s and byes. A few students came to Kai and Master Samara to ask for specifics. There was that intense lady, Candace, who always insisted on extrapolations on the worst poses. One of the men lagged behind to smile at a tall woman, who ignored him. Another man put his arm around the waist of a thin girl.
She didn’t like the part with the comments and laggers-on after class. That always took forever. Like a restaurant trying to close but can’t when a table won’t leave. Still, it stung a bit that she made it all the way to the door and no one wanted to follow up on anything with her.
Suddenly, it turned out one did. “Thanks for the class,” said a student, a nervous-looking slim woman.
It took Carla a moment to process that anyone would talk to her. “Oh. You’re very welcome. Um…?”
“Sharon,” she said, offering up her name.
“Nice to meet you Sharon.” They shook hands. “I’d offer a hug, but we’re so sweaty.”
She got a laugh. “I like your teaching style,” Sharon said. “It kind of suits me.”
“Really? No way.”
“I mean it. I’m no beginner but I’m not like an expert either, I like how you’re not super intimidating. Oh geez, did that come out wrong?”
“It’s okay. I appreciate the sentiment. And here I was going to apologize for my performance.”
She laughed again.
“Come on, we got to go,” said Carla. “They have to use the space for a spin class.”
“Spin class?” Sharon repeated, perplexed. “But this is in a yoga studio, not a gym.”
“Kidding again. Sorry, not funny.”
“Oh, right.”
While walking, they split up. “See you next time,” she simply said, and Carla headed to the showers. Most of the yoga practitioners went straight for the cramped parking lot, those housewives headed home in minivans full of soccer balls. Sharon said bye. A few others stayed to wash up. The teachers had to stay, and get decent.
Carla changed and wrapped herself in a towel, her extra clothes left in her cubby from the last class. Kai was nonchalantly brushing her hair in the nude. Her small, triangular breasts bouncing with each stroke, her intricate tattoos dancing up and down her back. Rainbow-colored spiral galaxies and starlight, forming shapes of ancient religious iconographies from a dozen different cultures, ankhs and pentagrams and chakras, all interlaced. Carla caught herself staring, and quickly glanced away. For a brief moment her retinas flickered on the reflection of Kai’s smooth, bald crotch. Not that she hadn’t seen it before.
Contrasted with Master Samara’s greying, zig-zagging stalks, which Carla desperately tried not to look at but—on more than one occasion—couldn’t help notice.
She showered as quickly as she could, in her own booth with the curtain half-drawn, and dried up and waited in the lobby.
Everyone clean and refreshed and gym bags full, the teacher and trainees all sat at the center table.
“The written test is next week. I expect you to be prepared. This is a serious practice, remember that. Be ready.”
“Of course.”
If nothing else, Carla was confident in her test-taking abilities.
* * *
Carla Diaz rushed back and locked herself in the bedroom as soon as she arrived home. Again, like so many other times, she felt like a mere teenager.
Mama and Abuela were arguing in Spanish about how much money they spent in the grocery store. Abuela was going on and on declaring that she couldn’t understand how it was that she had raised such a wasteful daughter, and Mama dramatically announced she was this close to dumping her in a disease-ridden nursing home. No doubt they would make up in an hour. That’s family.
All the while Carla sat in front of her computer with an open PKZ yoga book on top of several closed math texts.
The two events together made her feel a curious sense of déjà vu.
She didn’t really feel like studying.
She felt like getting out of the house. But it was too last-minute to ask any of her girlfriends out for an evening drink. She wished she wasn’t single.
She couldn’t even go to the living room to watch television, so long as the fighting continued. Not to mention who knows what happened to her sister; she surely didn’t want to be out there if Andrea came down for an impromptu dinner.
Carla decided she needed a distraction.
She turned on her laptop and played the loudest indie music playlist on subscription in order to drown out the background, and opened her web browser.
Casually, she loaded up more than a few of her favorited erotic fiction websites.
And came across an Ice Realm fanfic.
I think my friend in Australia wrote that one, she pondered.
She read on.
The prose was nothing compared to the canonical novels, but the fanfic author was not without talent. The details were vivid, the imagery striking, and most of all it was hot.
As the princess began undressing and biting the neck of the royal dragon tamer, in a climax of sexual tension seven volumes in the making, Carla’s fingertips were suddenly unbuttoning her jeans. She slipped them down to her knees, and took the screen to the bed to spread out.
When the princess took her subject’s throbbing member in her mouth, Carla imagined herself there. Within the Dragon Kingdom. Studly men at her beck and call. Full, hard cocks of mighty men from a world of royalty and romance and mythic beasts. Hard hands, hard bodies, all around, everywhere.
Over in reality, her fingers dug passed the elastic bands of her cotton panties, snapping them a few times, testing out the waters.
She closed her eyes. Music filled her eardrums. Images imposed over the darkness on the wrong side of her eyelids. Fingers wandered lower and lower…
5
Jack
Jack met his date at the local Skydollars franchise. By this point in his dating career, he had already met six girls there.
The barista, an attractive young lady, eyed him as he entered. He was long since a clichéd sight in her eyes. Jack knew it and felt a bit embarrassed, as he occasionally thought of the barista as a possible romantic conquest, but upon further reflection he knew he had no chance. His focus returned to its usual mode of compartmentalized narrow-mindedness.
As quickly as he could, he scanned the room. Trying not to be too obvious, he paced in circles and casually glanced at some women. He scratched his cheek, brushed his opposing ear, and felt self-conscious for the lame attempt at being inconspicuous.
In a dark corner, a face he recognized. “Hi,” he said to the Minnderrr girl. “It’s me. Jack.”
She was sitting, looking bored and glancing at her Grapephone. Scouting for something new on Minnderrr already?
Their eyes met, and she sipped at her chai tea in a takeaway cup. The top was upside-down on the table. Three empty sugar packets rested on the surface, ripped and bleeding specks of white.
The drinker of the tea was plump, with pink lipstick. Her hair slightly curled. She wore a tight blouse exposing well-rounded cleavage. Her leg jittered.
&nbs
p; Jack approached the scene with his perfectly trained smile, exaggerated all the more because he was late.
He tried to read the indecipherable name scribbled on the polyethylene cup. Must have begun with a K. Or a Z.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” he said.
She pushed her seat back ever so slightly, and he took at as his cue to extend his elbow and invite her to stand. He led her up, and gave a halfhearted handshake which awkwardly shifted into an all-encompassing hug. He rubbed up and down her backside, feeling rolled skin against tight bra strap and silky cloth. “You’re even more beautiful in person,” he whispered.
“Nice to meet you too,” she answered, her voice high-pitched and shy. They sat down.
“You wouldn’t believe the adventure I had getting here,” he said, verbalizing the excuse he’d been rehearsing through his head the whole ride over. “My neighbor had an emergency. Her car was broken down and shit, and she needed to pick up her daughter. I had to give her ride. Sorry! It was a damn intense evening. I didn’t even have the chance to call you.”
“Oh. That is nice of you. Anyway, I’m glad you made it.” She didn’t press for details.
“Anything to be here with you. What are you drinking? Tea? They do good coffee here.”
“I don’t like coffee at night,” she said. “I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Don’t think we’ll be doing much sleeping.”
She didn’t outright blush or anything like that, but her eyes fluttered erratically and she took a quick sip of tea. Near-empty, the cup covered her face like a snout. “So, what do you do?” she asked beneath the polyethylene.
“Let’s be special,” Jack said.
“What?”
“Let’s be different, you and me. This is a special meeting. We’re going skip the usual talk about work, and hobbies, and all that trite nonsense.”
“Oh.” She snickered. “Okay.”
“I want to take you out of here,” he continued. “I got a fun evening planned for the two of us.”
