by Zoe Fishman
“I introduced him to my parents!” Bess blurted out.
“Get out!” exclaimed Sabine. “That’s huge!”
“Yeah, it really is,” agreed Bess. “But it worked.”
“When’s the wedding?” teased Naomi. “You need a ring bearer? I’m happy to offer Noah’s ser vices.”
“Let’s move into the studio, shall we?” interrupted Charlie. She felt a bit uneasy. She wanted to open up to them about Neil, but her previously established ideas about boundaries and the perils of crossing them haunted her. On the other hand, their talk of attitude changes was right on. If she didn’t break through her own boundaries, she would forever be restrained by them.
She surveyed their warm faces from the front of the room and decided to go for it.
“Hi, everyone,” Charlie said.
“Hiiii,” they sang back.
“I wanted to start off today’s class a little differently,” she explained. “Something happened to me this week that I feel might resonate with all of you. I. . .I ran into the former love of my life, and the universe rewarded me with this. . .this. . .” She searched for the right way to phrase it. “This life-affirming, closure-inducing epiphany of epic proportions.”
“Wow,” whispered Sabine.
“Yeah, wow,” said Charlie. “I know, it sounds kind of mind-numbingly dramatic, but it really did change so much for me in such a positive way, most especially the whole concept of timing.”
“I don’t want to take up too much of class with my story, so maybe we can begin some stretching exercises while I tell you about it,” said Charlie. “Everyone come up onto their hands and knees. We’ll do a couple of rounds of cat-cow.” This setup was good actually. Now she could share her story without having to face their expectant stares. She was still the teacher this way.
“Okay,” said Naomi, as she pulled herself up onto her knees. “But I still want to hear this story. Don’t stop now!” She was so happy to see Charlie opening up. It felt like a gift.
“Yeah,” echoed Bess. “On with the show!”
“Okay, simmer down, I’m gettin’ to it,” replied Charlie. “Inhale deeply. And as you exhale, be sure to draw your navel to your spine. Nice, Sabine. So, about this former love of my life,” Charlie continued, as she circled the studio. “Our relationship was pretty textbook really. I was young and naïve and he was an asshole.” Bess laughed in response as she arched her back.
“He was into Buddhism and spirituality in a way that I just wasn’t,” Charlie continued. “I was working on Wall Street and hustling my ass off to fulfill what I thought was my legitimate dream. We were complete opposites, but something about that appealed to me. Work was making me very unhappy, and he was a hundred-eighty-degree switch from that world.
“Nice, ladies, two more. Make sure you drop your belly, Naomi,” said Charlie, momentarily breaking from her story.
“At any rate, to make a very long, painful, and predictable story short, we broke up under the guise that ‘I wasn’t spiritual enough for him,’ and some hot, young twenty-one-year-old was instead.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Sabine. “Just because you had a job and weren’t wearing crystals around your neck, you weren’t spiritual!? Give me a break.”
Charlie laughed. It was nice to have this sort of support. “Exactly,” she replied. “But I couldn’t see his ridiculousness at the time. His words haunted me. So much, in fact, that they led me to yoga. Very good, everyone, last exhale. At first, I didn’t take to the postures as naturally as I would have liked, but I loved it. And with that love, I began to see just how much my day job was sucking the life out of me. I struggled with it for a while, but then decided that I wanted to make the switch. I wanted to be a yoga instructor. I left it all behind. Quit my job, got a smaller apartment, sold my furniture and a lot of my clothes. You name it, I did it.”
“That’s pretty amazing,” said Sabine.
“Eh, it’s not so amazing. Okay, take a child’s pose. Nice. See, I was in love with yoga, but I was also still in love with Neil. In my mind, he was solely responsible for changing my life so dramatically.”
“How?” asked Bess, her voice muffled.
“I thought that I never would have found yoga if he hadn’t challenged my spirituality. In part, I felt like my new life was a little bit about proving him wrong. I was giving him all the credit.”
“Can we sit up for a minute?” asked Naomi. “I really want to hear you.”
“Uh, sure,” answered Charlie. “If that’s okay with everyone else.”
“Absolutely,” said Sabine. “Naomi, you read my mind.” The women all sat on their mats, waiting expectantly to hear the rest of Charlie’s tale.
“For years, I lived under that assumption. I was beyond happy with my decision to change all that was familiar to me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was responsible. Lately though, I began to break out of that bubble. I was releasing him, finally. And then, naturally, I ran into him.”
“That’s always the way it happens,” Bess volunteered. “Just when you’re over someone—there they are. It’s like the universe is testing you.”
“Exactly!” agreed Charlie. “Seeing him, now, was such a gift. I truly saw him for what he was and was able to give myself the credit that I had been masochistically denying myself for so long. He was just a rung on the ladder to my self-awareness, you see,” Charlie explained. “I am my own inspiration.” She teared up, saying it aloud. She paused, regaining her composure. “I just wanted to share this with you all. You are all such wonderful women. I really think our class has opened me up. Our friendships have opened me up. So I wanted to share this with you and then thank you.”
“I want to hug you so badly!” exclaimed Sabine. “What a wonderful story.”
“And one we can all relate to,” added Naomi.
“I don’t care, I’m hugging her!” said Bess, crossing the room to embrace her. Charlie’s story was such a perfect addition to the scope of her article.
Charlie hugged her back. “Thank you,” she said. “All of you.” She smiled broadly.
“Okay, enough of this!” said Charlie. “Class will begin now,” she said. “Officially. Everyone, press up into downward dog,” she instructed.
As Naomi flowed through her postures, she thought about Charlie’s story. It was so nice to hear about the “real” her. Her confession had set the stage nicely for Naomi’s own reveal. But am I up to it? Do they really need to know? She wiggled her fingertips. Still numb. They were the only remaining evidence of her episode. Naomi had read that sometimes, symptoms from a flare-up never disappeared. The idea of never again feeling Noah’s soft skin against her fingertips took her breath away.
Bess eyed her mat as she moved into downward facing dog. She thought about how much her article had changed—how much she had changed—since this class began. She had come in with such evil intentions. In a way, she supposed she had been holding these women responsible for her unfulfilled dreams as a journalist—using them as innocent pawns in an attempt to make her name known. It wasn’t until she took a step back and looked at the bigger picture—the truer picture that painted them all as women trying to maintain a balance between what they had to do and what they wanted to do—that she was able to consider the article from a different angle.
At the end of class, they all lay on their mats, eyes closed, emotionally and physically exhausted. Charlie’s story had set the tone for a grueling mind/body hour and a half.
“Allow your feet to fall apart,” instructed Charlie. “Spread your toes wide. Relax into your mats,” she encouraged. She dimmed the light and circled the room, stretching each of their legs and arms softly and rubbing their heads. When she finished, she asked them to slowly roll up to the seated position.
“Thank you so much for your compassion and empathy today,” Charlie said. “It means so much to have such an incredible support system. I hope that my story filters into your openness about yoga and, really, life as a whol
e. I’m learning so much lately, that I can’t help but share.”
“We’re so glad you did,” answered Naomi.
“Namaste,” said Charlie, smiling.
“Namaste,” they echoed.
Charlie stood up, slightly embarrassed but mostly so grateful. There was a reason these women had come into her life as she transitioned into this next, post-Neil phase. They were excellent guides.
Bess stood up and began rolling her mat. “That was like therapy!” she announced.
Naomi laughed. “Completely. Mind and body therapy.”
“Should I add a new class to the schedule?” asked Charlie. “Thoga?”
Sabine clapped her hands in excitement. “Thoga! That’s excellent. What about Yogapy?”
“Also good,” said Bess.
Naomi interrupted their conversation. It was now or never. “You guys, I need to tell you about something.”
Sabine, Bess, and Charlie turned to face her, noting the seriousness of her tone. “Naomi, sure. Go ahead,” said Bess.
Naomi took a deep breath and rehashed her MS-or-maybe-not-MS story. She had gotten much better at telling it. Practice was a natural editor. She no longer battled her own sobs when she spoke about it, either. The more she told her tale, the more rational she became.
“What a shitty break,” said Bess when she was finished. “Wow, Naomi. I am so sorry.”
“Me, too,” agreed Sabine. She fought back her own tears. Why did things like this have to happen?
“When do you get your MRI results?” asked Charlie. She had been wondering about Naomi’s health since their subway ride together, but hadn’t wanted to intrude on her privacy. She had been hoping and hoping that Naomi’s tingling was nothing; just stress-related moments of weirdness, but something inside her knew better.
“Monday. I’m nervous, of course, but I’m also looking forward to some sort of news. This limbo business is tough for a control freak like me!” Naomi laughed. “I can’t believe that I can joke around about it now. A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t even say hello to someone without bursting into tears.”
“Naomi, do you want me to come with you on Monday?” asked Sabine. “I’ll take off of work.”
“You’re sweet. No, that’s okay. I can handle it.”
“Naomi, whatever you need, please just ask,” said Bess. “I mean it.” The reporter in her had immediately thought about how interesting the MS angle would be in her article. The friend in her had put the kibosh on the idea before it grew any bigger.
“Thanks, guys, I will. Right now, it just feels good to talk about it.” She smiled at them. “Can you guys believe that next week is our last class? Is that nuts or what?!”
“I really can’t,” replied Charlie. “The time has flown. It makes me a little bit sad.”
“Me, too,” agreed Sabine. “You know what? We should have a brunch party after class next week!”
“That is a great idea!” said Charlie. “I like that. Everybody could bring something. Bagels, lox. . .”
“Danish!” added Bess. “I love it.”
“And I’ll unveil the website!” added Naomi. She looked to Sabine. “Sabine, do you think you could have the copy to me by Tuesday?”
“No problem,” said Sabine. “I’ll get cracking this afternoon.”
“Really?!” exclaimed Charlie. “The website is going to be ready next week? Naomi, are you sure? With all that you have going on?”
“Positive. It’s a great distraction, actually.”
“Okay, but only if you’re sure. I’ll have Felicity and Julian come.”
“And George and Michael,” added Sabine.
“The whole family,” said Bess. Her article was running in Saturday’s paper. It was perfect—or was it? Suddenly, she was scared. She thought it was something they all would love, but was she being naïve? Should she tell them all about it ahead of time or let it be a surprise? She made a mental note to consult with Dan. He would know the right thing to do.
“Great plan,” said Charlie. “I’m really looking forward to it.” She paused and then, to everyone’s surprise, hugged each one of them separately.
Slightly stunned, they hugged her back. In five weeks, their ice queen teacher had melted into a snow bunny. Call it what you want—thoga, yogapy, whatever—it was working.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sabine
Sabine exited the train with her head down, lost in thought.
How could Naomi have MS? How does a healthy woman just go about her business and then—pow—wake up totally numb? To think that whatever it was that was hurting Naomi had been lurking in her body; silently waiting for its moment, was terrifying. And so unfair. I have to get a physical, immediately. Sabine cringed, realizing that she didn’t even have a doctor doctor—just a gyno. Stupid.
Suddenly on the street, she looked up to get her bearings. Was that? Sabine’s heart plummeted in a mix of excitement and nausea. It was Zach. Well, the back of his head anyway. And he was with a woman. Sabine quickened her pace.
She wanted to get a better look at the back of their two heads. Could she really be trusted to pick out the back of his head in a lineup? Naturally, she knew the answer to that question before she even finished it. Thanks to months of subway stalking, she could pick out his backpack in a lineup if need be. She would know him anywhere—front, back, side to side. She peered at the shoulders, the thin hips, the corduroys, the peacoat. . .the brown sneakers, the hair. It was Zach.
Sabine watched him interact, or at least his back interact, with the woman beside him. She was blond and petite. Two strikes. Her hair was longish, reaching just below her shoulders, and wavy. Her jacket was of the puffy variety, in a soft gray color. It covered most of her, but Sabine could make out her legs, clad in dark, skinny jeans and a pair of ankle boots. Sabine considered the outfit. It was Saturday morning. She pulled her phone out of her bag to confirm the time. Around 11 AM. Who wore ankle boots and skinny jeans to go for a casual walk on a Saturday morning? No one, that’s who. This is a morning-after situation. Sabine’s heart crumpled like a lunch bag. She stopped in her tracks and watched them as they continued down the street. They made a right on Fourth Street. Brunch, no doubt.
Sabine suddenly wanted, more than anything in the world, to be in her bed. This was way too much emotional drainage for a Saturday morning. She ran/walked the rest of the way, practically knocking over a baby stroller the size of a small SUV and an old lady. In the door, up the stairs, out of the jacket, into bed.
“Ahhhh,” she murmured, pulling the comforter over her head. She felt Lassie’s tiny paws tiptoeing around her body. He was certainly familiar with Sabine’s hiding under the covers after a shitty day, but the fact that the sun was up threw his tiny cat brain for a loop.
Sabine closed her eyes inside her cocoon. She tried to make sense of how she felt about what she had seen. She wasn’t exactly sad. . .it was more a mixture of disappointment and anger. And not necessarily anger toward Zach—he was certainly allowed to date and sleep with other women, especially considering how she was treating him—it was more anger toward the predictability of the whole system. The dating system and, furthermore, the whole men/women/New York City dynamic.
If you were single here, you just had to accept certain codes. There was always going to be someone who was better looking, smarter, funnier, cooler, better dressed than you. That was a given. This was New York City, after all. Because of said code, a single person really had no firm ground on which to stand. Dating someone insured nothing in terms of exclusivity, and actually could be further fuel to the skirt-chasing fire. If a guy could “get” you, why couldn’t he “get” the hot chick at the bar? Or the girl at Starbucks?
Sabine’s head emerged from her fortress of solitude. She knew single women could, and often did, behave similarly, but somehow it wasn’t as gross when they did it. Well, actually no, it could be very gross, but it was never as maddening. Sabine wondered why. It just wasn’t as anima
listic, somehow, when women made sex a sport. It seemed more to be about female empowerment than sex for the sake of sex. Sabine sat up. Nothing made sense, especially if he was not sleeping with her, but he was sleeping with this blond person. She felt like Carrie Bradshaw on crack. All she needed was a laptop and a ridiculous outfit and she would be all set. Maybe some men’s boxers, suspenders, and a pair of stilettos. With a sports bra. Lassie approached her, cocking his head in concern.
“Don’t worry, I’m not losing my mind, Lassie,” said Sabine, as she scooped him into her arms and buried her face in his calico fur. I wonder if they met on the subway. Sabine hated to admit this, but maybe part of her was secretly relieved that Subway Crush a.k.a. Raisin Jewels a.k.a. Zach was a cad. Believing that he was actually someone with potential was somehow scarier than thinking he was a penis-driven jerk. I can’t believe that I am obsessing about this when a good friend of mine just told me she might have MS. Jesus, what is wrong with me?! Am I the most self-centered person on the planet? Who cares? She sat up abruptly and threw her covers off, startling an annoyed Lassie. “Enough already, Sabine!” she said aloud.
She eyed her phone, picked it up, and dialed her mother. Sabine wasn’t sure if she would even tell her about what was going on with Zach or with Naomi, but she knew that just the sound of her voice would make her feel better.
“Saby!” her mother cooed into the phone, picking it up on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Mama.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?” asked Sabine defensively. Even though her mother was right, something about her self-assuredness was irritating.
“You sound like someone ran over that damn cat. Wait, did someone run over that damn cat?!” Sabine’s irritation meter was officially at its limit. Her mother’s chipperness about the prospect of Lassie’s death was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.
“Listen, I’m gonna go, Mom.”
“Wait, wait, wait! Honey, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Hold on a minute.” Sabine heard her speaking to what was no doubt a table filled with her girlfriends for Saturday brunch. “Gladys, order me the fruit plate and a side of Canadian bacon,” she commanded. “I’m going outside to talk to my shana maidela.” Sabine smiled, thinking of her mother’s friends nodding sagely in response to her announcement.
