Ace Jones: Mad Fat Adventures in Therapy

by Stephanie McAfee

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I’m seething inside. How could I have been so stupid? I look at Rosemary, who looks deeply concerned. “Could you please repeat that last part?” I ask, and she starts comparing my life to a blank canvas and then starts talking about me being an artist and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “It’s time to get to work on your next masterpiece,” she says. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes because I do not believe that I’m capable of accomplishing the endeavor she’s suggesting. Poor Rosemary. What did she ever do to deserve having someone like me come in here and lie on her couch? She needs people with fixable problems. Like Chloe. “Have you ever considered Vipassana meditation?” she asks.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s an ancient Indian meditation technique during which we strive to see ourselves clearly and as we really are.” I’m seeing myself pretty clearly right now, but probably not in the way she’s talking about. “It’s a practice I highly recommend.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “What we have to realize is that true happiness doesn’t come from our manipulation of the external world but from the cultivation of wisdom in our minds. Through meditation, we gain a deeper understanding of who we are. From there we can start to recognize the mental impurities that cause pain and distress, and then our mindfulness of that can eventually ease our suffering.” I’m not sure I follow, but I nod like I know exactly what she’s talking about. “We have to purify our minds in order to find peace.” She slides down onto the floor like a snake. “Join me,” she says. I get down there with her and lean back against the couch. I sit like she’s sitting. “Close your eyes and breathe,” she says. “Just breathe.” She takes a few deep breaths and I do the same. We sit there for a minute, and then she tells me to pay attention to how I feel but the only thing I feel is dizzy from all that deep breathing. “Now focus on what comes to mind, and see if it pertains to the present, the past, or the future. Don’t try to control your thoughts; just let them flow freely through your mind.” The only thought flowing freely through my mind is in the form of a question: What the hell am I doing on the floor?

  I don’t know how many minutes pass, but something starts buzzing somewhere and she tells me I did a good job. Of what, I’m not sure. I get back on the sofa.

  “I think your journey is off to a great start, Ace,” she says quietly. “You opened up today and released a lot of pain. I want you to try and meditate a few times a day if you can.” She walks over to a piece of furniture that looks like an antique sideboard. She picks up a few booklets and gives them to me. “This is some basic information on the practice of Vipassana. There are some Web sites listed here, but I recommend checking out books at the library because that’s a much more reliable source of information.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I stand up when she opens the door.

  “It was very nice to meet you,” she says. “Thank you for coming in today. You can make another appointment with Aurelia if you like.”

  “Thank you,” I say again. “It was nice to meet you, too.” Rosemary closes the door behind me. When I get to the waiting area, Aurelia isn’t at the desk. I slip out, grateful that I don’t have to lie or make up phony excuses about why I don’t want another appointment. When I get to my car, I realize that I still have the gift certificate in my purse. Chloe must’ve just written them a blank check and was like, “Please help my crazy loser friend however long it takes.” I turn the radio on and scan through the channels, but it’s all commercials and weather bulletins. Bugtussle is under a winter storm watch. I pop in a Pink CD and turn up the volume.

  • • •

  When I get home, I find Buster Loo curled up on the sofa. I turn the heat up, put on some jogging pants, and snuggle up beside him. We nap like kings until late afternoon when I’m aroused from my slumber by the doorbell. I get up and stumble to the back door, where I find Lilly Lane.

  “Let me in!” she shouts. “It’s freezing out here!” I open the door and she comes inside with two grocery bags. “You busy?” she asks as she hauls her bags up and onto the counter.

  “Not especially, no,” I say. Buster Loo comes into the kitchen, sniffs Lilly’s boots, then hops out the doggie door.

  “Dax is working until midnight,” she says. “I told him if he needed me, I’d be at your house. I don’t want to sit home all by myself in this dismal weather so I thought we could make some soup. Hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s perfectly okay,” I say. I unload the bags she put on the counter. There’s tortilla chips, a loaf of French bread, bananas, shredded cheese, Velveeta, four cans of corn, one can of Rotel, two boxes of crackers, and a package of Oreos. “What kind of soup did you have in mind?” I say, looking at her groceries.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, smiling. “You always tell me to bring tortilla chips or French bread.”

  “Okay, so I could make chicken enchilada soup to go with the tortilla chips or corn chowder to go with the French bread. Which one would you like?”

  “Hmm, that’s a tough decision,” she says. “What are you in the mood for?”

  “I love them both,” I say. “What does Dax like?”

  “He loves your corn chowder.”

  “Well, let’s make that and you can invite him over for dinner.”

  “Sounds great!” she says. “You want some Rotel dip?”

  “Lilly, I always want some Rotel dip.”

  I get out my grandmother’s cookbook and flip to the soup section while Lilly digs around in my cabinets until she finds a bowl. She works on the dip while I chop red peppers and potatoes.

  “You told Chloe all you had over here was Corona and frozen pizza,” she says, eyeing the potatoes.

  “I was joking,” I say. “Y’all know I don’t eat frozen pizza.” I look at her. “And before you ask, yes. I went to my appointment this morning.”

  “How did it go?” Lilly asks. She’s trying to be nonchalant. Like giving someone a gift certificate for a prearranged mental health appointment is something people do all the time.

  “I feel better,” I say, because I do. “It was good to air out all of my problems, but I don’t think the practice of Vipassana meditation is for me.”

  “The practice of what?”

  “The ancient Indian art of insightful meditation.”

  “Ace, I’m so sorry,” she says.

  “No, it’s fine,” I tell her. “I think it would be great if I could grasp it. The lady was very nice and she gave me some pamphlets. I’m all for a little quiet time and self-analysis every now and then, but I don’t think I’ll ever reach the level of enlightenment required to comprehend what’s going on with that.”

  “Chloe meditates like a monk,” she says. “I tried it, but it’s not for me. Chloe says I have a monkey mind.”

  That cracks me up. “Monkey mind?”

  “Yeah, my mind is always jumping around everywhere so I can’t focus on my thoughts.”

  I hold up the bananas. “Is that what these are for?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says laughing. “I knew you’d have monkey mind, too, so I came prepared.”

  “Lilly, do you and Chloe really think I need counseling?”

  “Chloe does,” she says, like a child laying the blame on an imaginary friend.

  “You were there when she gave me that gift certificate to see a licensed professional counselor, Lilly.” She looks like she’s about to cry. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I would just like to know if you really think that’s what I need.”

  “You of all people should understand someone going to extreme measures for a friend,” she says. I nod because she has a point. “Since you came home from Florida, you haven’t been the same. I’m no shrink, but I can see that this breakup with Mason was different.”

  “So y’all didn’t suggest this because I had to go to court?”

  “Well, that did cause some extra concern,” Lilly says. “I was terrified you w
ere going to jail. To stay!”

  “Truth be told, so was I.”

  “What happened to you in Florida?” Lilly asks. “It’s like you left all happy and free and then you came back with part of yourself missing. It’s not like y’all haven’t split up a hundred times before. Remember when you moved down there for the summer and then y’all broke up again and you moved back home and you were so happy. Well, you weren’t happy, but you were happy to be back. Nothing like this. Ace, what happened?”

  “It was all wrong, Lilly,” I tell her. “I was wrong. About everything. I hated being in that art gallery all by myself, and Mason talked about work all the time—I swear he never stopped—and when he wasn’t talking about work, he was at work. Then when I pulled that stunt at the charity ball and he wanted me to apologize, I knew then—”

  “Knew what?”

  “That it was over. We were over. For good and forever and that there would be no getting back together.” Somehow that seems easier to admit after squalling my eyes out this morning on Rosemary’s sofa. “He’s a great guy, Lilly, you know that. And you know that I love him and I always will. But I finally realized that we’re not meant to be together. I think we both realized that.”

  Lilly stands there, shaking her head while she stirs the Rotel dip.

  “I just wonder how many opportunities I passed up along the way because in the back of my mind I always thought it would be him. I never gave anyone else a chance because I was always holding on to that glorious hope of a life as Mrs. Mason McKenzie.”

  “It just breaks my heart,” she says.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty freakin’ sad,” I say. “But what can you do?”

  “Hey!” Lilly says, and I can see that she just had a light bulb moment. “I know what you can do! You can come to yoga class with me.”

  “I don’t think I would fare any better in a yoga class that I did with the Vipassana meditation.”

  “No, it’s not like that at all. It’s fun. Just trust me. We could start in the morning!”

  “Lilly, please. Fat girls don’t do yoga.” My trips to the gym haven’t always been pleasant. Okay, I’m lying. My trips to the gym haven’t ever been pleasant. Disastrous and humiliating would be much more accurate.

  “There are three girls in my class right now who are quite a bit larger than you, sweetheart. The teacher is wonderful, and the class is basically stretching to relaxing music. Nothing complicated. Nothing dangerous. Please go with me! We can go at five in the morning.”

  “Five in the morning!”

  “I don’t even want to hear it,” she says. “If I can do it, so can you. And I can tell from the way your hair looks that you slept all day today.”

  “Okay,” I say because she’s got me on that one. “Are there any machines involved?”

  “Of course not! All you need is a mat and I have an extra one.”

  Well, Lilly just has all the bases covered. “I guess it’s worth a try.”

  “Promise?”

  “You promise there are some fat girls in your class?”

  “Yes, I promise that there are some lovely plump ladies in my class.”

  “Okay, you have a deal. Now pass the cheese dip, please.”

  We snack on chips and dip, and I make some spiced tea. When Dax comes over at seven, we have corn chowder and French bread. It’s a pleasant evening, and I’m happy to have such good company. After they leave, I stay up until three a.m. because I slept all day, but I’m good and snoozing by the time Lilly calls at four thirty to make sure I’m up.

  4

  When the yoga class begins, I look around and see that all the fat girls must’ve slept in today. I glare at Lilly, and she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “I swear, they’re always here,” she whispers. “But I usually come on Wednesdays.”

  “Can we just leave?”

  “No, this class costs fifteen dollars.”

  “You said it was free!”

  “It is to me because I’m a member,” she whispers.

  “What?!” I cannot believe this.

  “It’s fifteen freakin’ dollars. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Dammit, Lilly!”

  “Quiet, please, ladies!” the instructor says. Her voice is smooth and mellow, but does nothing to alleviate my anxiety. She says her name is Olivia. I’ve never been to a yoga class in my life and the last time I remember stretching was last week when my keys fell down between the seat and the console in my car. There are twenty-six women in the room. I count them twice, and not a single one looks half an ounce overweight. Which is great, I mean, it speaks volumes for the program and whatnot, but my fat ass is way out of place on this little blue mat. I look around at the tanned and toned women and tell myself to remain calm. Because that’s the point, right?

  I’m thankful when Olivia dims the lights and turns on some soothing music, but she might as well be speaking Greek when she starts in with the instructions. Everyone slinks into position and Lilly whispers, “Just do what I do.” I roll my eyes at her and then, thankfully, Olivia explains what our bodies should be doing in a language I can understand. And so I begin.

  I twist and turn and grunt and stretch, all the while praying I don’t squeeze out a fart and gas every one of these limber bitches to death. I’m having a horrible time, my body is in a world of pain, and I swear I’d walk a thousand miles a day to never have to do this again. Olivia finally gives us a break and I roll onto my back and try to breathe quietly. I hear a commotion and turn to see Olivia getting out the balance balls. I glance at Lilly and shake my head.

  “I can’t do that,” I whisper.

  “You’re doing fine,” she lies. “This is the easy part.”

  “Quiet, please!” Olivia says. I can’t even get mad at her because, as a former classroom teacher, I completely understand how annoying it is when you’re trying to do something and a couple of assholes in the back won’t shut up. I decide not to open my mouth again because I don’t want to be disrespectful, plus I need to be fully focused to get through the second part of this class.

  Lilly rolls a balance ball my way and gives me a discreet thumbs up. Olivia says something about spinal rotation, and everyone sits on their ball. I ease down on mine, terrified of what might happen. I manage to get my butt situated without falling over, and I swear that a mountain climber just reaching the summit of Mt. Everest couldn’t be more pleased with herself than I am right now. The woman in front of me extends her arms like a bird taking flight. I do the same. I’m a little shaky, but I’m still on the ball. She starts moving her arms, but I sit still. When I feel steady enough, I start to move my arms and, lo and behold, I stay on the ball! That little victory makes me feel so confident that when everyone reaches out to touch their toes, I reach for my toes, too. My fingertips are almost down to my ankles when my balance ball flies out from under my rump. I look around in a panic and watch it bounce off the noggin of the lady behind me. It knocks her ponytail sideways and I can see that she’s not happy, but she flashes a smile and fixes her hair. I whisper an apology, but she puts a finger to her lips, then points to the front of the room. Lilly chases down that bastard of a giant ball and I get some dirty looks from my fellow yogis. I get back on my mat and look straight ahead. That’s when I notice the Ass Thong.

  The woman directly in front of me is tall and slim with a set of those extra-long teardrop-shaped buttocks. She’s wearing a black full-body leotard and some kind of high-waisted contraption that looks more suitable for a porno shoot than a yoga class. The neon green fabric running up from her crotch is disturbingly thin. Thank God for the black bodytard, or that whole scene would be indecent. I look over at Lilly to see her sitting peacefully on her ball with her eyes closed. I look straight ahead. I try hard but fail to keep my eyes off the neon green Ass Thong.

  The next pose is called the Seated Stork. I have the good sense to sit on my ball and not try any of that crazy shit. No one seems to mind, since they probably feel a
little safer with me just sitting still. Next up is squats. I stand up and participate because I think I’ve got this one. Sure enough, I do ten squats without incident. But when I’m done, my ass and thighs are screaming for me to stop. Olivia instructs us to come down to our knees—gently, slowly—and lean into the ball. I’m more than happy to do that. “Now roll forward,” she says, and I squish my boobs flat as I follow her lead. I can’t believe people get up this early in the morning to abuse their bodies in such a way as this. “Now press your hands into the ball.” I can’t do that. I know I can’t. I look over at Lilly.

  “Just hold onto it,” she whispers. “Keep your toes on the floor.” I’m going to jackknife this yoga ball. That’s what the end result of this will be. I watch as the woman in front of me rolls up to where her hands are on the floor. Those teardrop butt cheeks fan out and I just can’t stop staring at that Ass Thong. I make myself look at the floor. I’m not sure what I want to do more: laugh or cry.

  “Downward Facing Dog,” Olivia says. “Great job, ladies. Very smooth. Now up.”