Breathe: A Novel (12 page)

“You are late!” Giovanni whisked the mat from under my arm and unrolled it.

I started work at the rescue one week after meeting Simon. My new schedule limited our sessions to odd hours—late nights, early mornings, and weekends—but I filled every spare minute willingly. I was determined to get it. To get good and to get Galen. Oh, I’d ‘find my truth’ alright. Maybe even my Authentic Self.

That particular Sunday morning, I was moving extra slow. In the middle of the night, I woke up in a cold sweat from a terrible nightmare: Louise was buying Winger for Tripp and Lauren’s wedding present. In the dream, I screamed and screamed without making a sound while my parents kept repeating, “But, honey, remember, you’re never here, anyway!”

Afterwards I lay there, freezing, lonely, and heartsick. I tried my mantras, I tried my breathing, I even tried shoulder stand. Nothing worked. Defeated, I succumbed to replaying Louise’s every criticism, and worse, imagining Tripp and Lauren’s perfect, tan, acrobatic sex life. I finally dozed off at 5:15 in the morning and woke with a start at 8:30, late for Giovanni and with a pounding emotional hangover.

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night. I was—”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest. “What did you eat for dinner? Did you eat for your
dosha
like I instructed? Remember, you’re that challenging balance between
Pitta
and
Vata
, so I certainly hope you didn’t have any gluten, dairy, nuts, flour, sugar, or raw vegetables. Meat?” He paused and sniffed the air. “I smell meat on you. What did you eat, bambina?”

He looked intensely into my eyes, but his bright orange Speedo was making it hard to focus on his face.

“Giovanni, this
dosha
stuff is not that easy to follow,” I said, avoiding his question.

The day before, I was so hungry after our “practice” (as Giovanni liked to refer to our grueling lessons) that I went home and made a bacon, cheese, and potato omelet. It had been four weeks of near starvation, and though I did look fit, I couldn’t bear another olive oil and maple syrup smoothie.

“In time it will be as obvious as the sky is blue.” Giovanni looked me up and down. “We will shed layers, cara mia. Layers and layers of,” he paused and looked at my thighs, “Shit.”

“Come on, Giovanni. I dropped a small fortune at ZEAL to contain these things.”

“Oh, Alex, stop. Your body is delicious. Curvy and tight. Mmm.” Was Giovanni hitting on me? This wasn’t the first time that I’d suspected it. “No. The ‘shit’ I am talking about is the
mental
, your psychic baggage. We are shoveling and shoveling, baby.” He patted my butt. “Now get in down dog, so we can rebalance your chakras.”

“Giovanni, my butt is off-limits, remember?”

He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of the ‘power tea’ he had trademarked. I was instructed to drink six cups a day.

“
Amore
, it is with affection and respect that I touch you. Remember, it is all in the intention. Not what we do, but the energy we bring to it.”

I certainly appreciated the concept, having heard this yoga tenet from Nancy countless times, but a pat on the butt was a pat on the butt. Whatever. We had work to do. Only two weeks until my debut—or re-debut—with Galen.

“Alex, eyes down! Presence! You are not here!”

“Sorry. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be working for me?” I half-joked.

“
Tadasana!
” he barked, and I jumped to the top of my mat. “Now. Let us begin.”

I followed the sequence as Giovanni named each pose: chair—
Utkatasana
; twisting chair—
Parivrtta Utkitasana
; forward fold—
Uttanasana
. Low push up—
Chaturanga
; up dog—
Urdhva Mukha Svanasana
; down dog—
Adho Mukha Svanasana
. Now that I knew the moves, I could flow more or less on my breath from one to the next, and an hour would fly past, a blur of stretching, reaching, extending, and releasing. It always felt great.

Until
Savasana
.

At the end of an exhilarating, life-affirming hour of wrestling my body into unimaginable shapes, Giovanni would then leave me alone to lie like a corpse in the middle of his studio for a full ten minutes of terrifying silence and solitude.

“Think of nothing,” he would say.

I wasn’t supposed to move. I wasn’t supposed to itch. I probably wasn’t supposed to fantasize about Galen either, and I certainly wasn’t supposed to think about . . .
Marin
. Needless to say this was impossible, so after our third or fourth session, I found a secret solution: do an excruciating pose to pass the time when he wasn’t looking. I chose dolphin pose. The searing pain in my shoulders was a perfect distraction. Plus, it was helping my progress. Savasana was a waste of ten minutes, if you asked me. I mean, we weren’t even meditating. Sure, all the books and apps and DVDs said it was the “most important pose,” but really, how was lying on my back going to help my handstand or side crow?

I became a rabid consumer of instructional yoga media, watching, listening, and reading all the time. Every day another package arrived from Amazon.com with something new for my library. I tackled
Yoga for Beginners
first, and despite the abundance of nineteen seventies unitards and body hair, it did give me good tips for my home practice.
Light on Yoga
was a bit heavy, but eventually, I grew to appreciate Iyengar’s precise alignment cues.
Yoga Anatomy
was my favorite, though, since it reminded me of those vet school pre-reqs I’d taken. I loved that humans and animals had muscles, tendons, and bones of the same name. And apparently, it served us all, two-footed and four, to “play dead” every now and then.

Frankly, I didn’t have the patience.

For the most part, we were right on schedule. Giovanni and I had spent last week perfecting the warrior poses: one, two, two and a half (I think this was some sort of yoga joke) and three. He told me that my core had gotten so strong that I should no longer bother doing Warrior III with airplane wings, but should just go for it and reach them forward. I felt good and strong, but as I told Giovanni from the beginning, my goal was to master the more challenging poses I saw those students busting out at Galen’s. I didn’t want to go back to Yoga Garden until I could nail the arm balances. So session after session, I did my secret bonus workout by pressing into a dolphin savasana. If there were footsteps in the hall or the door creaked open, I would flop onto my back and squeeze my eyes shut, quickly flipping up my palms.

Giovanni had yet to catch me.

***

“Hey, Simon, can you grab me that blue file to your left?” I asked. We had been working together for a little less than a month now, and I looked forward to my days with him in the office. He was quirky, intellectual, and funny—a lot like my friends at Reed, busting on government policy and purposely misquoting ancient philosophers. The Mobile Rescue program claimed him most days, but once or twice a week, we found ourselves sharing the little office and attending to the work at hand.

Simon kept typing with his right hand and passed the file with his left.

“You are seriously talented,” I observed.

“Health Department documents are due by noon, girl. It’s not talent; it’s necessity.”

“Gotcha. Hey listen, that sweet couple is coming in again to look at Buck.” I opened Buck’s file and began to flip through the sheets of paper. “I was wondering,” I paused, looking up, “if I could offer them an incentive?”

“And by incentive, you mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we could cover his vet bills for a year or get them a discount at Pet and Supply? Something.”

Buck was a clumsy Bull Mastiff with exceptionally long ears. He was terminally goofy and all love, slathering everyone with slurpy kisses. Simon had rescued him from one of the larger government shelters on the day he was scheduled to be euthanized. A death row doggie. I’d already seen several come in and get snapped up, but Buck was constantly passed over. He had some signs of hip dysplasia, which concerned me. When I was a kid, our German Shepard, Hodge, had suffered with the same, so Mom rigged a back-end wheel chair for him. I wanted a Maggie Greene for Buck.

“Don’t get your hopes up. Bull Mastiffs are hard to place.”

“That’s why I thought some financial help might motivate the—” I shuffled through the file again. “The O’Connors to commit. Actually, I was thinking it might help our adoption rate in general. What if we tried partnering with some of the local pet stores?”

“It’s a good idea. If you can make it happen, I’m in full support.”

Simon was still typing furiously. I couldn’t help smiling. He was always so encouraging. “And what about Hoot? Can you believe he’s still here? That dog is a gem.”

Simon stopped typing and looked at me. “Alex, getting too attached to the animals can make this job really hard. You’ll be more effective and less tortured if you keep a little distance. Trust me. I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

I knew he was right. I wanted to take them all home, and there were nights when I felt sick leaving new dogs in those kennels, afraid and alone.

“But Simon, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

“I get it. You’re amazing with animals. I’ve never seen anything like it. I just don’t want you to burn out. We need you,” he said. “Badly.” Then he went back to typing. “First, you want to take them all home. Then you do it. Then you can’t fit in your house anymore and I find you sleeping in the kennels. I’ll have to send you to an inpatient psychiatric program, and everything gets all messy and expensive . . . ” His voice trailed off as he continued typing.

I smiled. It felt great to be needed.

“I won’t burn out. I’m a yogi, remember? Check it out; want to see my latest?” I stepped out from behind the counter and attempted side plank with the toe grab.

Normally, Simon was game to show off some of his own moves. He called himself a “yoga dabbler.” He said he didn’t want to do it too much or too often, because then he’d be forced to evolve. Still, he loved to try to outdo me, claiming yoga was an innate gift and not something that could be “practiced.” But today he stayed glued to his chair.

“Yeah. Right. Yogis are unaffected by life’s turbulence. Yogis never sleep. And they sustain themselves on sunlight and wheat grass.”

“Yep, that’s what I’m told. I’ll be a vision of peace and contentment at the end of all this.” I was still in
Vasisthasana
and was starting to shake. “Just wait.” I crashed to the ground. Alright, so I wasn’t quite ready for Galen yet.

“Okay, I’ve got to ask. Who’s the guy?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. Your yoga obsession borders on insanity. There’s got to be a dude involved.” He held out a sheet of paper. “Can you run this through the copier?”

Blushing, I got up off the floor and reached across the counter for the paper.

“Cut me some slack, Simon. We don’t all have a soul mate waiting for us at home.” I bit my lip and watched the blue light of the copier illuminate my hand. I walked back and handed him the document, glancing at his wedding ring. “So how long have you been married, anyway?” I studied him for a moment. Black hair, horn rimmed glasses—urban alternative. He was good-looking in an artsy kind of way.

“Four years,” he answered distractedly. “Although Kim might leave me if I don’t start getting home at a more decent hour. Woman’s a saint. A pacifier in every pocket, hasn’t slept through the night in two years, and she still greets me with a smile when I get home from this place. For some reason, she still seems to think I’m alright.”

“I’m sure she loves you for your dedication. But now that you mention it, maybe I’m not the one with the attachment problem here. You don’t need to stay late every night, Simon.”

“Fair enough. What do you New Age types say, everyone you meet’s a mirror?”

“Someone’s a little more into this stuff than he’s letting on.”

“Yeah, well. The web makes it accessible to the unenlightened masses.” He tapped ‘save’ on the keyboard. “Done. Alright, Greene, I’m out. I’ll be in the truck for the rest of the week. You got this? Kaitlyn and Marcus will be in tomorrow.” He was putting on his sweatshirt and shutting down the computer.

“We’ll miss you, Simon,” I teased, “but, yes, I’ve got it.”

“And for what it’s worth, you’ve got your own special something. Maybe if you would ease up on the yoga, you might find some time to meet your soul mate.” He waved and walked out.

“But that’s what the yoga’s for,” I said to the empty room.

I was finally ready. I had staked out my place in line only three from the front and fifty-two minutes early. I spread my mat and began my warm-up Sun Salutations, just as I practiced with Giovanni. Jump forward, no sound; jump back, no sound. I paused to catch my breath and peeked around the three perfect butts in front of me, trying to get a glimpse of Galen.

It had been almost three months since I last saw him, since my first class at the Garden. Now I could do crow—even on Jenny’s slick kitchen floor—and eagle with my eyes closed. My dancer’s pose, wheel, and forearm balance were all perfect. Giovanni insisted that there was no such thing as “perfect,” but I figured this humble attitude was just part of the yogi image, an image I was having trouble cultivating at the moment.

I looked at my watch. Three minutes. We were behind schedule. My pulse quickened as I felt the energy of the pack behind me. Suddenly, we were pushing and squeezing and twisting through the door. I dumped my boots in the lobby and ducked under someone’s arm, bolting upstairs and into the yoga room. I needed the spot by the gold elephant-man statue. As much as the thing creeped me out, I remembered seeing Galen rub its head every few minutes, so I knew that’s where I’d have the highest adjustment probability. I was just a rub away.

With a snap of my wrist, my mat shot open in the very space I wanted. But as it floated to the floor, I realized someone else had been quicker to the draw. My mat landed half on top of another that looked like a turquoise kitchen sponge. I was indignant, ready to defend my territory as Jenny had instructed.

“This is my spot,” I said adamantly.

I was met with a bright smile and unwavering gaze.

“Oh, please take it. I’ll just take the one next to you.” She politely asked the person on her other side to move over, then placed her mat down gently one centimeter from mine. “How’s that? I’m not too close, am I? You know how these classes go. If we don’t put our mats on top of each other, Galen will just move us closer after we start.” I looked at her. Why was she so familiar?

“That’s fine,” I replied then added, “Thank you.” I quickly got myself into child’s pose to avoid any more talking. I needed to concentrate. It felt like my life had come down to this one yoga class. As if my performance here would determine whether or not I truly was a failure.

When Galen finally entered the room, there seemed to be a silent gasp that I hadn’t noticed the last time. It was crazy. He hadn’t said a word. My nose and forehead were pressed into the floor, yet I still knew the moment he stepped into the space.

“Please rise.” His voice made me melt. “Take a moment to connect with your intention. What brought you here this morning?”

You, you, and only you.

“Now breathe in that intention and offer gratitude to the divine presence that guides you.”

Thank you, Galen. Thank you, Galen. Thank you, Galen.

I imagined him shirtless in my bed, begging me to do naked down dog one more time.

“
Tadasana, Uttanasana, Urdhva mukka, Adho mukka.
”

I so had this.

I flowed tirelessly on my breath. From the Sun A’s to the Sun B’s, to the Sun D’s. I kept my eyes quiet and used my breath, just as Giovanni had taught me. It was invigorating, calming, and I had almost forgotten about Galen until I felt his hand on my butt. My butt? I was in a forward bend when suddenly his was body pressed up against my back. He grabbed both of my hipbones and began pulling them up. Score! I think? I mean this wasn’t the best view of my new butt, but it did remind me of why I was here—back to that intention.

For the remainder of class, I clenched and pushed and twisted. I kept hearing Galen nearby, complimenting someone else’s pose. Why wasn’t he complimenting mine? I stepped it up, determined to get his attention. I pulled off crow into headstand. Yes! I pulled off the heavenly bird thing. Yes! Now, bring on the splits . . .

“Either remain in pyramid pose, or you may come into
Hanumanasana
, if you are sure your body is ready.”

Never readier!

“Go slow, moving only on the exhale.”

As I slid my left leg back and wiggled my right leg forward, I happened to look to my right for just an instant, and my eyes got stuck there. I had been absolutely unaware of the yoga goddess beside me. She had not a drop of sweat on her, and that beatific smile hadn’t faded as she gazed at her spot on the floor. I tried to copy her effortless expression, but sweat was making my eyes burn, and my hair was sticking to my face. I tried to focus on my pose, but suddenly she slipped into a full split and then—what in the world?—bent backwards and grabbed her back calf. And she was still smiling!

I began to feel myself give up, but I forced myself to think of Tripp, Lauren, and my intention. I could do this. I could do
that
. I slid my left leg back; there were still two inches between the floor and me. I took a breath and forced myself down. Slight pain, but I had done it! I looked over at my competition. Galen was whispering something in her ear. She laughed, still holding her back calf.

I was being out-shined! After working for months and spending every penny I had, I couldn’t fail at this too. I lifted my arms in the air and started to bend backwards. The back of my neck started to tingle; I held my breath and pushed further. Then—everything went dark.

When I came to, I was flat on my back. Slowly, I turned my head to the side and there was Galen, squatting—in
Malasanana
—by my side. He looked so concerned, that for a moment I was actually happy to have been such a donkey, that is, until I tried to sit up and felt a searing pain down the back of my right leg. I lay back down.

Galen whispered, “Just stay like this. Jonathan is bringing you some ice. I’m going to finish the class, and then we will take a look at that leg.”

The class. Right. I turned my head and saw a million eyes peering out from under extended arms, all in child’s pose.
Find your spot people! Drishti!

“That’s fine. I’m so sorry,” I whispered back, still not sure whether I was humiliated or grateful to have gotten myself noticed. It hadn’t gone down exactly the way I planned, but hey.

“Injuries are our greatest teachers. I sense this is a good lesson for you,” he said kindly, nonetheless making me burn with embarrassment. All I’d wanted was retribution for my misery, but what had I gone and done? Created even more. I closed my eyes and listened to Galen’s voice as he led everyone through poses that I could have nailed.

Darn it.

When the class ended, Galen came over to help me down to the lobby, and a gaggle of groupies rushed to his aid. With the assistance of nearly eight people, I was escorted down the stairs and onto the bench in the lobby. My leg screamed with pain every time I moved. So I sat there. I sat there while Galen offered advice on poses. I sat there while women demonstrated their very best hip openers. I sat there while Galen encouraged and charmed all ninety people who had been in his class. And while I sat there, I watched him.

He was definitely beautiful. He was definitely captivating. But observing him from the pile of pink pillows, I felt absolutely no attraction. Admiration and appreciation, yes. But no attraction. What was going on with me? Galen was going to be my rebound; he was going to help get me over Tripp. He was going to be the best sex of my life, making Tripp disappear into the land of not-so-memorable men. I pressed my fingertips to my temples and scrunched up my eyes. I was completely lost and overwhelmed—again.

Galen sat down next to me.

“How is it?” he asked, putting his arm around me. He smelled like citrus. A little feminine, but the closeness felt good.

“My ego or my leg?”

He laughed and began inspecting the injury. “That was some impressive work in there. Aren’t you pretty new to yoga?”

“Who, me? What gave it away? The tags on my pants or the fact that I almost killed myself in there?” I was a disaster.

Galen looked at my pants. “They’re cute.” He shrugged. “Go easy on yourself. Most of these people have been practicing for years. It’s Alex, right? You’re Jenny’s friend?”

He remembered my name and Jenny’s? How was that possible? This guy had hundreds of students.

“That would be me.” I looked down, humbled. There certainly was something special about him, something I’d mistaken for sex appeal. “Do you know all of your students’ names?”

“I try,” he answered.

We were the only ones left in the lobby, and I thought for a moment about how many women would give their right arm to be me right now. But all I felt was reverence, a stark contrast to what I’d been feeling ninety minutes earlier. Life was strange.

“I can’t even remember my new neighbors’ names,” I confessed. He laughed.

“That’s because you’re in your head, thinking about the past or the future even when you’re face-to-face with them. Just try really listening. You’ll remember. Every encounter is a gift. You’ll start to appreciate the uniqueness in each being. Including your own.” Was this guy for real? And could I marry him please? I would forgo the sexual attraction.

“I’ll try that, thanks.” I massaged the back of my thigh, which was beginning to throb.

“It looks like you injured your hamstring, and might need some time off your feet. Do you have someone who can pick you up?”

Jenny and Nancy were in Marin. I could call them, but to have them drive all the way in seemed overly dramatic. And, honestly, I wasn’t ready to talk about my shameful display. There was only one other person I knew in the city. Why not? I had no pride left.

“Would you mind grabbing my boots?”

I pulled out my wallet and shuffled though ancient receipts, finally finding the card.

Galen stood and said, “I’m just going to finish up a few things behind the desk.”

“Okay.” I dialed Andy’s number, grateful that he seemed to know very little about yoga.

“Alex, to what do I owe this honor?” His tone was familiar, as if we’d spoken yesterday. “Another bed you want carried up three flights?”

“Something like that.” I looked down at my leg.

“Lay it on me.”

“Well, I kind of injured myself and I need a ride. I think you said you work around here maybe?” This conversation was more painful than my leg.

“Injured yourself doing what?”

“Yoga. Don’t ask. Any chance you can come get me? I’ll . . . cut up fruit for you for the next four Saturdays?”

“Fruit? You’re going to owe me your first born at this rate, Alex. Where are you? The Garden?”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. I’ll be there in five,” he said. I wondered how it was that Andy could always leave what he was doing in a matter of minutes.

Within seconds of hanging up, I heard footsteps in the hall. Either Andy was stalking me, or he was strangely in sync with my every move. But the man that rounded the corner wasn’t Andy. He was . . . Well, he was beautiful. Even more beautiful than Galen. Not that Andy wasn’t good-looking, but the men around this place were otherworldly. Whereas Andy was earthy and bright-eyed, this guy reminded me of some fine Roman statue.

He walked past me and headed straight to the desk where Galen was doing something on the computer. I surveyed his entire backside.
Wow.
A tight t-shirt accentuated his broad, chiseled shoulders and strong back. His low-slung board shorts suggested the rest of him was just as good. There wasn’t another class until evening, so I guessed he was there to pick up a brochure. But he walked around behind the desk and stood next to Galen, watching him work at the computer.
Must be an intern, or teacher in training.
I shifted my weight slightly and winced. They both looked at me.

Galen said, “You alright over there? I can go see if we have any arnica in the back.”

The Adonis, now standing behind him, peeked over Galen’s shoulder and said, “I’ll go check.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Please don’t worry about me.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s another four letter word to describe how your leg feels right now. Marco, could you grab her some more ice too?”

Marco walked through the exquisitely carved wooden door and returned with another bag of ice. He handed it to me and smiled. “I’ll let you place that where it needs to be.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Galen looked up again. “Alex, let me introduce you to Marco. Marco, Alex.” Marco extended his hand. I took it and went back to positioning my ice, completely overwhelmed by the sight of him.

“Nice to meet you. Do you teach as well?” I cleared my throat.

They both laughed.

“Galen’s breaking me into yoga slowly. Obviously more slowly than you.” Marco nodded toward my leg. He took my old ice pack, walked back behind the desk, placed it on the counter, and positioned himself behind Galen again. This time he rested his chin on Galen’s shoulder.

Huh. So, male yogis are super-affectionate, too.

Jenny and her friends were always hugging each other.

“Yeah, well, some of us are un-teachable,” I said, trying to make it clear that I knew how foolish I’d been.

Galen replied, still focused on the computer, “Alex, it happens to the best of us. We all start off wanting to master the physical practice. You were just a little more zealous than your body could handle.” He turned his head toward Marco so that they were almost nose-to-nose. “You missed quite a performance.” He smiled at me. I turned the color of Marco’s magenta peek-a-boo briefs. He was now standing so close to Galen that his entire body was actually pressed up against Galen’s backside. Then it hit me. Poor Marco was in love with Galen, too! I marveled at the way Galen gracefully handled people throwing themselves at him all the time. I mean, Marco obviously had a serious crush on him. Who didn’t? I looked up again. They were holding hands.

Wait a minute
.

Then they were kissing, the Michelangelo and my guru/ex-almost-rebound!

Alex, how clueless can you be?!

I had not one foot grounded in reality.

I must have made some sort of noise, because they untangled themselves and Galen walked over to where I was sitting while Marco blew out the last of the candles.