Breathe: A Novel (7 page)

I was dreaming that Louise had hammered an eviction notice on my front door. I sat up with a start and looked at the clock. 7:05am. Shoot! It was Jenny knocking at patient intervals. Heart racing, I scrambled across the hardwood floors to let her in.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Let me just . . . I just have to . . . ” I was running around, looking for I don’t know what. “I’ll just go get dressed.”

“Here, take this. It was hanging on the doorknob outside.” Jenny handed me a shopping bag with sage green tissue paper peeking out. It was from Chi Chi. A note inside said, “Love to Alex, from Nancy. Have a ball!” Piece by piece, I pulled out a gorgeous yoga outfit. I looked at Jenny. “Well, go put it on!” she said.

I dashed to the bedroom, ripped off the tags, and yanked on the stretchy clothes. I plucked, pulled, and jumped to get all the seams in the right places, then ran gracelessly to the mirror. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Look at that!” I said to Billy. My butt was lifted, my thighs smooth. It was a miracle.

“I’ve got your mat for you,” Jenny called from the living room.

“Great, thanks!”

I felt lighter than I had in months. With a quick brush and splash, I was ready to go. There was no time to stop or I would lose my nerve.

“I am so sorry, Jenny,” I said as I flapped toward her Mini Cooper waiting in the street.

“We’re actually okay. Or we should be, anyway. Parking is always a nightmare because of the Saturday market, but there’s a big retreat at Green Gulch this weekend, so I’m hoping the usual masses don’t show. Plus we’re two hours early.”

Huh?
I looked at her, slack-jawed, from the passenger seat.

“Oh, I know, it’s crazy, right? Here.” She handed me a steaming chai and sipped her own before putting it in the cup holder. “People start lining up for Galen’s class before sunrise. But just wait. You’ll get it.”

We rode in silence along the empty highway listening to KFOG’s Acoustic Sunrise, and I pondered the absurdity of my situation.
I hate yoga
. Sip.
My husband left me for yoga
. Sip
. I’m riding with his best friend’s wife to a yoga class at the crack of dawn
. Sip.
Broke, homeless, and wearing a $500 yoga outfit
. Sip. I looked out the window. We were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, and for a minute, I was distracted from my identity crisis. Sunlight set the city ablaze and the bay was calm. The vast blue Pacific Ocean stretched on and on forever outside my window.

If I could just stay right here, in this moment
,
everything would be okay . . .

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll drop you off at the studio to hold our place in line while I find parking.” There was a look of determination I’d never seen on Jenny’s face before, and she was gripping the wheel.

“Um, okay.”

“You’ll take both mats. If they open the doors before I get there, whatever you do, don’t wait for me. Go inside and unroll our mats as quickly as you can. Anywhere. But not in back right by the stereo. He never goes back there, and we want adjustments.”

Adjustments?

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Oh yeah! Totally, totally. It’s just game on, baby! Ya know?” She looked at me with intensity. “Okay, this is it.” We stopped at the curb in front of a very plain building.

In a line that wrapped around the end of the block and out of sight, I saw ponytails gleaming and lip gloss shining; they were all but pawing the ground. These were the real Yogarillas. Mats were carried in slings and bags, and on every face was that same look of intensity that Jenny had, which terrified me. Tripp was right; this was intimidating. I opened the car door and climbed out, awkwardly hoisting our two rolled mats before leaning over to look pleadingly at Jenny through the fogged-up window. She drove off before I could make eye contact. I straightened up and watched her peel down Valencia without a backward glance. I thought of my first barrel race. The fear, the rush. If only I had a horse to get me out of here.

Still clinging to my chai, I wandered toward the end of the line. Some women were texting while others gazed into their compacts. Some were stretching like Olympians before a race, and others had actually unrolled their mats, taking up major sidewalk real estate. I shuffled along, feeling conspicuous, especially when people looked up to watch me and my fancy outfit as we passed. Some flashed Tammy from ZEAL’s blinding smile, but most of them remained eerily expressionless and went right back to what they were doing.

It turned out that my place in line was behind one of the mat-unrollers. She sat bolt upright, Indian-style, except her feet were contorted on top of her thighs instead of tucked underneath. Her eyes were closed, so she didn’t acknowledge me when I parked myself a foot behind her “zone” or force field or whatever. Within five minutes, I was not alone; about twenty more people were lined up behind me, greeting each other and chattering ecstatically. Finally, I could ask someone to hold my spot in line. That chai had gone right through me, and I was dying. I turned around to face the girl behind me.

“Um, hi. Do you mind keeping an eye on my stuff while I dash in to,” I shrugged and gestured, “You know.” Smile.

“Dash in to what?” Frown.

“Ahhhh, well . . . Use the little cowgirl’s room?” She looked at me blankly. “I’ve really got to go, you know? Twenty-ounce chai latte. So ridiculous, right?” I forced a self-deprecating laugh. “Ha ha!”

Pause.

“Well, you’re really not allowed. The Space is supposed to be neutral, empty of vibration for two hours before we enter for class.” Say what? “Galen wouldn’t like it.”

Seriously? Who was this guy Galen with his claim on all things rational in the universe?

“Well, I guess I’ll risk it. Do you mind?”

Her eyebrows shot up and she shook her head sternly, stepping back as if to distance herself from me and my terrible fate. “Whatever,” she said.

“Thanks,” I muttered, dropping our two rolls onto Gandhi’s mat in front of me. She scowled up at me.

I wanted to shout “What’s the matter with you people???” but instead I smiled and arranged my cargo six inches from her border.

Jenny, where the heck are you?

I walked toward the head of the line and felt like a salmon against the current, pushed back with every step. Head down. Focus.

When I reached the front door and was about to open it, a petite woman with a bobbed hairdo said, “Stop, you can’t go in yet.”

“Oh, I know. I’m just gonna trot in real quick to use the bathroom. My stuff is back there.” I gestured to the back of the line.

“No. You can’t go in before eight-fifty. That’s the rule,” her friend chimed in. A Kombucha drinker, for sure.

“I’m not going IN in, I just need to pee. I’m coming right back out.”

“There’s a Starbucks three blocks that way.” She pointed humorlessly in the direction that Jenny had driven off. No less than ten other people at the head of the line nodded in agreement. They were all—coincidentally?—wearing a similar magenta color, cut in different mutations of sexy, stylish, and sporty athletic tops, like J. Crew bridesmaids, for yoga. Clearly, The Bob was the self-appointed gatekeeper. She actually folded her arms and blocked the door, reminding me of our first mule. There was no getting past her, either. Unless, of course, you had a peppermint. I shifted my weight and contemplated Starbucks, but at this point there was no way I’d make it. Then suddenly, in a bizarre turn of events, a peppermint appeared. The gatekeeper (named “Crystal”—her mat bag was monogrammed) smiled and bowed her head.

“Namaste, Galen-ji,” she whispered sweetly.

I turned and saw hotty-yoga-teacher-man ambling toward the entrance.

“Namaste, Crystal.” He, too, bowed his head. “What’s up? I detect a disturbance in your aura,” he teased.

The word “OM” was stretched across her cleavage. Breathless, she said, “There seems to have been . . . an unfortunate misunderstanding as this . . . uninitiated person thought she could . . . enter the building to use the . . . facilities before class, and I was . . . just explaining that we mustn’t—” OM om OM om OM om OM om, her boobs chanted silently.

“Thank you, Crystal.” He smiled then looked at me. “Normally we try to hold the practice space in a heightened state of vibrational purity.” I must have looked like a person emerging from anesthesia, so he elaborated, “You know, in silence.”

“Oh, yeah, right, right. Well, I promise I won’t make a lot of noise.” I really meant it.

At this, he threw his head back and laughed joyously at the sky. Although confused, I did stand a bit taller and stole a glance at Crystal whose mouth was now in a straight line. The word ‘OM’ screamed from her chest.

“Just this once, okay?” He smiled and held the door open for me.

“Scout’s honor!” I replied, first bounding, then catching myself, and tiptoeing up the stairs.

The reception area was amazingly quiet. Somehow, all the noise from the sorority rush scene outside didn’t penetrate the glass windows or door. Low lighting made the subtle orange walls glow. Plush pink cushions were piled invitingly on top of mahogany benches that housed square cubbies, for shoes and purses, I assumed. I looked around, loving the colors and calm. I thought about taking a seat to contemplate the décor until I remembered Galen, who stood watching me. He pointed up another stairwell and nodded his head. I nodded back and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, “Okay, great! Thanks!” He pressed his hands together like a Christmas angel, bowed his head, and then smiled at me before disappearing through a mysterious, carved wooden door.

I climbed the stairs two steps at a time into the vast, empty studio and found a miniscule bathroom painted periwinkle blue. Flipping on the light switch, I was horrified to discover there was no fan. Nothing to muffle or mask the sound of Niagara Falls which no doubt would echo thunderously throughout the “sacred silence” all the way down to Galen in his secret sanctuary. Weighing my options, I decided to go for it. I peeled down my Chi Chi yoga pants and tried to perch in such a way that I wouldn’t sound like a fire hose. Relieved, I washed my hands before skipping down the stairs and pushing my way out the door, smiling at Crystal.

Jenny had found our mats and was waiting for me when I got back. She was doubled over, but I was not concerned because I had already seen twenty other people in line doing the same thing; therefore, I didn’t worry she was about to pass out from the exertion of finding a parking spot and sprinting like a maniac to get back here in time for what I expected would resemble some sort of stampede. Which is precisely what it did.

I guess we were about thirty-ninth and fortieth in line. At approximately twelve minutes to the hour, pawing of the ground began in earnest. Heads were tossed and the air was sniffed. Jenny braced herself.

“It’s starting,” she said, deathly serious.

“What? What’s starting?” I widened my stance. I always feared San Francisco’s next “Big One” would strike on that random day I was outdoors amidst its skyscrapers.

“We’re going in.”

Sure enough, in seconds, mats were rolled up, lips were licked, and everyone was set to move. I looked around nervously.

“Jeez, Jenny,” I whispered.

“Shh. Just stay with me.”

“Okay.” I pressed myself up behind her.

“Ready?”

The anticipation was excruciating. We could see people ahead of us moving forward, a great thrust of blond highlighted humanity. When the surge reached us, Jenny said, “GO!”

We lurched forward to the sound of two hundred shuffling Havaianas. Scurrying, scurrying, we made our way along the sidewalk.

“This is insane!” I laughed. I mean, you
had
to laugh, right?

“Just stay with me!” Jenny shot back. We were very near the door at this point. Like a command officer, she gave clear directives: take off your shoes, put them in my bag, hold my hand, stay with me . . .

Up the stairs we dashed, again, two steps at a time. I was glad to be vaguely familiar with my surroundings. Jenny was still pulling me along by the hand into the studio when she stopped abruptly and said, “Here.” She was already on her knees, unrolling her mat. “Here!” she said with more force, pointing to the space next to her. Sure enough, there were already people on all sides, preparing to claim a spot.

“Sorry. I . . . I’m . . . This is my . . . ” I turned around in circles like Billy. Jenny grabbed my mat and unrolled it for me.

“Just wedge yourself in,” she said, “and do what I do.” She knelt down and curled into a ball, reaching her arms out in front of her.

“Okay.” I looked around. Everybody was doing the same thing. After much shifting and peeking, I got into a position that I thought approximated Jenny’s.

“Child’s pose,” she whispered under her armpit. “This is called child’s pose. It’s our resting pose.”

Resting pose? My knees were on fire. I turned my head to whisper back when I caught a glimpse of my armpits. “Shoot!”

“What’s the matter?” Jenny looked up.

“I didn’t shave!” I mouthed in horror.

A small sympathetic shrug said, “What can you do now?”

Then someone banged a gong, and the whole room sucked in a deep breath. I looked up to make sure I was still doing the right thing and saw Galen’s reflection in the mirror. He was shirtless now, and wandered among the rows of women bowed over their mats like they were worshipping at an altar. When he busted me watching him, I quickly put my head back down.

“In and out,” he finally spoke. “In and out.”

A chorus of high-pitched voices sighed ecstatically, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh.”

This was getting embarrassing. I was glad to be hiding my face in the dark cave created by bending over my mat.

“And again.” Deep breath, long sigh. It was deafening.

“Bring your attention to the depth of your breath, flowing on the expansion and contraction of belly and ribs, the rising and falling of the breastbone.”

Was this
supposed
to be erotic? Or was it all in my head? Because it sounded very . . . Maybe I was just desperate. Clearly, that was it. “Focus on the breath,” Galen intoned. A spiral of negative thoughts started pulling me down: