From Comfortable Distances (18 page)

Yoga
Zone, NYC @ 1-800-IDO-YOGA

How odd. What in the world would a flyer
advertising the yoga teacher-training program at the studio she went to in New
York City be doing on a bulletin board over two and a half hours away from New
York?  Tess thought of Dale—the night the two of them had laughed about the
prospect of joining the yoga teacher-training program at the studio. That
seemed like years ago, but in reality it couldn’t have been longer than two
weeks back. 

She wished that she could
call Dale, share the coincidence with her, only she didn’t know how to reach
her, which made her think of Kyle. She wondered what had happened with the
brownstone—if he had given up on it since Tess had disappeared or if he had
followed up with her agents who were covering for her.
What you think you
want is not always what you want
. Her mother’s words were there with her,
in the forefront of her mind. Maybe there was more to her life.
The time to
become a yoga teacher is now!
She folded the flyer in two. She didn’t know
at this moment what she wanted, what she didn’t want.  Her life in Brooklyn
seemed so far away while she was here in Woodstock and thinking of returning,
of all the responsibilities that awaited her, a sense of dread filtered through
her so that she swallowed hard, nausea overcoming her. She sat down on the
bench beside her. Maybe she had it all wrong. Her life. The way she was living.
Where had any of it gotten her? And now her mother was gone. In a flash, it was
all over. A yoga teacher. The concept of it seemed ridiculous to Tess. She was
too old. It was the opposite of all that she had aspired to. And yet, here,
now, the idea of delving into something like a yoga-training program appealed
to Tess—serenity, peace, a group, a place to go, something to dive into that
helped her, calmed her. Something that perhaps would lead her to know her
mother more. A link between them. A yoga teacher.

She did the math: her
mother had died on May 6
^th
, which was two days ago, which meant that
it was May 8
^th
; there was still a week to join the program, assuming
there was room. She vaguely remembered something about the program being sold
out. Clearly, she was losing it. She exhaled, and stood up. She had family on
their way to think about, a memorial service to plan, her mother’s house to
clean out and close up, a job to get back to. A young girl in a tie-dyed poncho
making her way out of Moe’s Country Market held the door for Tess. She folded
the flyer neatly into squares and stuffed it into her sweatshirt pocket. She
muttered thank you, and passed through the open door.

Tess was unpacking the
items purchased on her shopping expedition—organic apples, organic bananas, morning-glory
breakfast muffins—when there was a knock on the kitchen window and she jumped
so that the oranges she was holding fell to the floor. Michael peered in at her
and motioned for her to open the front door.

 “Don’t look so glad to
see me,” he said standing across from Tess in the doorway.

“Actually, I am glad to
see you.”

“Perhaps you should
invite me in? I was knocking for a good five minutes before I ambushed you in
the kitchen.”

“Sorry, when you’re in
the back of the house you can’t hear anything out front,” she said, stepping
aside and brushing her tendrils behind her ear. She had planned to shower, but
somehow time had gotten away from her again. She felt her face; her eyelids
were puffy from crying.

 “Gosh, do you know it’s
been years since I’ve seen you outside of the city. You look like a bumpkin out
here.”

“We’re still in New York
if I remember correctly, so
bumpkin
would hardly be the right
terminology.”

“Oh, sorry. Upstate New
York folks can’t be considered bumpkins. I’ll have to refer to my almanac next
time to see what towns I can associate bumpkins with.”

“Do you practice being
sweet or does it just come naturally to you?”

“My girl hasn’t lost her
edge,” he said pulling her to him and squeezing her.

“Ohhh.”

“Was that a sigh or a
moan?”

“I’m tired. Am I allowed
to be tired?” she said, pulling away.

“Slumping around for days
and tired? What’s becoming of you, Tessy? By 10 am you’re usually on fire.”

“It’s 10:00?  Kash will
be here soon. I didn’t even have time to straighten up yet and I still haven’t
showered.”

“Somehow I don’t think
that your son will be judging you for how clean you kept the house. Do you need
me to pick him up at the airport—wait, is there an airport near here?”

“He’s flying into
Poughkeepsie and renting a car—it’s about a 45-minute drive.”

In a moment, Tess was
moving around the kitchen, putting away dishes and cleaning off the counters.

 “How are you holding up?”
Michael said.

“That sounds so dramatic.
Holding up
.”

“Are you ever able to
have a conversation without going into attack mode?”

“I’m
holding up
just fine, thank you. Everything is rosy as a matter of fact.”

“Sit down. Tell me what I
can do to help.”

“I have a lot to do,
Michael. I appreciate the charity, but the best thing you can do is keep out of
my way.”

“Didn’t you just tell me
a few minutes ago that you were glad to see me? I know you’re stressed, Tess.
Your mother just passed. Let me help you. “

“Can you just shut up?”
she said. “Please just shut up.”

Tess braced her hands on
the kitchen counter and stretched her arms out, leaning her forehead on the
granite top. She closed her eyes; the coolness on her forehead soothed her. She
wasn’t ready to deal with anyone in her space.

“Kitchen yoga?” he asked,
beside her now.

Tess straightened and
punched him in the chest. “Asshole,” she screamed. “You’re an asshole.”

“Owe,” he said, gasping
as he bent over to catch his breath. “Slugger, calm down.”

“You can never just stop.
I asked you to shut up. I just need some quiet,” she said and then she was
crying, loud sobs coming out of her. “Please, I just want some quiet,” she
said. The feel of her mother’s cold hands filtered through her.
I’m sorry
for your loss
.

Gently, he pulled her
away from the counter, and took her in his arms.

 “You’re such a jerk,”
she said, letting go, allowing him to hold her. “Do you know that?”

“You always remind me,”
he said.

“I’m so tired,” she said
in his ear. “I am just so tired. I can’t believe she’s not coming back.”

“A lot has happened.”

“I’m sad, Michael.”

“I know,” he said.

“It happened so fast. She
was doing fine and then just like that, she’s gone.” She sighed, her breath
wavering as she wiped her eyes. “I feel unanchored. Like I’m drifting out at
sea,” and in that moment, she thought of Neal and the walks by the water and
the slippery image of herself in the ripples of Jamaica Bay. That had only been
a few days ago. It was strange how much could transpire in so short a time; one
day you were walking around Mill Basin with a monk on a leave of absence,
fighting your desire to kiss him, and the next day you were wandering the halls
of your deceased mother’s house, and fearing the time when you’d have to
dismantle the serenity and silence of that house, pack it all up and leave.
Tess laughed so that Michael let up on his grip.

 “You’re scaring me with
your mood swings. What’s so funny?”

“What’s so funny is that
I’m clearly a mess and I haven’t showered in a few days and I don’t even care
and I was just thinking about how much I like this house. It’s such a beautiful
house. I feel safe here the last few days.”

“Don’t tell me you’re
moving to Woodstock now?”

“Oh, who knows what’s
going to happen,” Tess said. She pulled away from him. “I guess I should get in
the shower. You’ll put everything away for me?”

Michael bowed. “At your
service.”

This was the strange
thing about having a grown child: when Tess sat across from Prakash, sharing a
cup of tea with him, staring into his chocolate eyes, she couldn’t believe that
at one time he had been a baby, then a toddler, then a teenager. He seemed so
grown up, so much of his own person that Tess couldn’t imagine him anyone other
than who he was here, now, today. He was more self-assured than she had been at
his age but then again, she knew that the heart and soul you bared to the world
wasn’t always a reflection of who or what you were on the inside during the
hours you were all alone.         

“Mom.”

“What’s that, Kash?”

“You realize that you
keep drifting off,” Prakash said.

“Do I?”

Prakash nodded.

“Are you tired? You must
be tired with flying and then driving here,” she said.

“I’m fine, but you seem
like you may need a nap.”

“I’ve slept more in the
past few days than I’ve probably slept in the past few months,” Tess said.

“I forgot how nice it is
to be out of the city,” Prakash said.

“It is nice,” Tess said.

“You seem good Mom.
Better than I expected you to be. You’re calm. I don’t remember the last time I
saw you sit still for more than a few minutes.”

“I miss her, Kash,” she
said, reaching across the table to take his hands in her own.

“I miss her, too.”

“I only had a few hours
with her and then it was all over. I’m afraid that when I leave this house
nothing will ever be the same,” Tess said.

“It won’t ever be the
same,” he said.

“Being up here has been really
peaceful for me. This house, this town. Suddenly it doesn’t seem like the worst
place in the world to me,” Tess said.

“I always loved it up
here,” he said.

“You did. I couldn’t wait
to leave when I was a teenager and now I’m having separation anxiety when I
consider packing this place up and selling it.”

Prakash pulled his hands
away from her. “You can’t sell this house,” he said.

Tess raised her eyebrows.
“Do you want to live in it?”

“I live and work in San
Francisco so no, I can’t live in it, but I don’t want you to sell it. Our
heritage is here in this house. You can’t just let any old family live in this
house,” he said.

“I love to see your
righteous side.”

“This conversation isn’t
over, Mom.”

“I’m getting us more tea,”
Tess said.

“Tell me you’re not going
to sell it.”

“Prakash, who is going to
take care of this house? Do you know how much upkeep it’ll need? Someone would
have to check in on it every two weeks or so year round,” Tess said.

“You have contacts, you
can find someone to do that,” he said.

“Well, I don’t have to
worry about that today, right? There’s plenty to deal with the next few days;
then I’ll figure out the house,” Tess said.

Tess scanned the audience
from the podium that the park officials had placed on the makeshift stage. Each
one of the hundred or so fold down chairs spread across the park grounds were
occupied, and what she imagined to be at least a hundred more people were
standing behind the chairs with dozens sitting on blankets in the grass in
front of the chairs. She took a deep breath, smoothing the flowing white dress
she had taken from her mother’s closet; she had seen her mother wear this very
dress to funerals she had presided over. She touched the microphone with her
forefinger and the static prickled out all around her.

“Hello,” she said, almost
stumbling when she heard her voice resonate. She looked for the volume switch
and turned it down a few notches. “Is this okay?” she said, her voice shaky,
and people in the audience nodded and some called out that they could hear her.
She took a deep breath and swallowed a sip of water. Another deep breath. This
was her mother’s funeral. Her
mother’s
funeral. The gravity of it
weighted her down. Her palms were sweaty and for a moment she felt as if she
would faint.

“Thank you all for being
here. My mother, as many of you know, was a special woman. It wasn’t until I
was an adult living on my own that I began to understand and appreciate my
mother and all that she was about. My mother was never too busy to help anyone
in need. She was gentle and sensitive; a compassionate soul who made you feel
as if you were never alone. Whether you were suffering or joyful, you always
felt like she was right there with you. She didn’t judge and when her immense
brown eyes set on you, you felt that she knew you, accepted you, and loved you
and that what you were sharing with her was the most important thing in her
life at that moment; the only thing in her life. She listened. She cared.

“My mother believed that
we were all in it together—the universal chain of being is what she called it.
Shared energy. ‘Smile so that I can smile,’ she used to say to me as a child
when I was sad, and I would smile because I loved to see her smile. She was
joyful and she was not stingy with her joy – she liked when people laughed with
her and was known to tell people that the key to a longer life was to let the
joy in. She was always clear of her mission and regardless of what she faced in
her own life, she never lost track of her mission – to help people find their
way. She spoke of dharmas and the importance of finding one’s path, but the
future never preoccupied her. She lived in the moment and whenever I would
wander into the future, asking her to help me to make decisions and to see
ahead, she would bring me back. Remind me of right now. She told me that my
life’s work was to find today, the moment I was in, and that if I was living
the moment, then the decisions I made would be inevitable. ‘Reality is not the
problem,’ she often said. Reality, with its ups and downs, twists and turns, my
mother believed, was perfect; we with our distorted minds were the problem,
trying to tamper with reality.

“She believed that
clinging and craving—attachment—led to ruin, both in ourselves and in the world
at large. I suppose that if she were here now, she would scold me for clinging
to her, for missing her, for being attached to what she would call her human
form. She was not afraid of death – she believed in the great connectivity of
life and often said that although flesh may disintegrate, the soul lived
forever, passing from one form to another. She taught me to honor the ants and
the crickets and the birds of the air just the same as any other human being.
‘They too are passing through,’ she would say. She taught me to laugh at myself
when all I wanted to do was cry and when the next phase of my life loomed hazy,
she instructed me to let go
—
of
my fears, my dreams—to just have faith. She believed that the solution was
always to breath, and that the only way to get through the tough times was to
live each moment to the fullest.

“My mother was a friend,
a trusted advisor, and as a result, she was always surrounded with love and
friendship. She didn’t preach, but rather lived her life in an honest and
straightforward way that inspired those around her. She faced health hurdles
the last few years of her life, but she never became a victim. She continued on
each day, always grateful for the gift of waking up, having a new day in front
of her. ‘There are endless possibilities when one is awake in their life,’ she
often said.

“In the days leading up
to her death, in a lucid moment, she told me ‘what you think you want is not
always what you want.’ A reminder to me to be open in my life – to accept what
comes in my path instead of always searching and pushing ahead. I wanted her to
live forever in the flesh. I knew that wasn’t possible, but I wanted it
nonetheless. I can hear her gentle voice telling me not to cling, to let go, to
accept, adapt. She often said, ‘when someone impacts our lives, they become a
part of our heart and soul, a part of our guiding force.’ I pray that my mother
lives on in all of us, guiding us always.”