CHAPTER FOUR
Lennox
The first week of the new job went by in a flash.
I wasn’t one to brag, but I felt like I’d really connected with the students, and since it was a small school, by Friday I think I knew nearly everyone’s names.
And there were some weird names. One kid proudly introduced himself to me as Barnacle. He even went so far as to tell me that his parents got angry at anyone who tried to call him Barney. That Barnacles were tough, resilient, and strong. So he should be honored to carry such a name.
Not my kid, not my cross to bear when he was older and opted to change his name to Mike or Chad when he was eighteen.
Then again, I was sure some people wrinkled their noses at my kid’s name. And while Mabel wasn’t exactly a common name, it also wasn’t a kind of mollusk. It had significant meaning, and if she wanted to change her name later, or go by her middle name, Dawn, then I was fine with it.
In addition to running, shooting hoops in the driveway, and lifting weights, I also made sure to integrate yoga into my workout routine.
It was something my high school basketball coach actually insisted we all do at least once a week to not only work on our breathing, center ourselves, and “calm the fuck down”, but it also helped with our flexibility and mobility.
Every Friday morning before we had a game, we had to meet for sunrise vinyasa at the local yoga studio, where we meditated for thirty minutes, then greeted the sun and got all bendy for an hour.
At first, my teammates and I thought it was a load of shit and we griped about it, but when we found ourselves calmer and more focused on the court, as well as with increased core strength and mobility, we stopped complaining and looked forward to getting our namaste on once a week.
And even though I no longer played basketball, I still needed that big of Zen in my life and tried to practice at least once a week.
I was pleased to see that San Camanez offered a yoga studio, and that they had quite a few classes.
The Yoga Yurt was only a ten-minute drive from the house. So after a breakfast of overnight oats, a black coffee, and a quick kiss on the top of my daughter’s head, I left my ornithologist-in-the-making in the backyard with her binoculars and climbed into my truck.
The parking lot was packed.
I recognized a few parents from Sunday night’s meet and greet, climbing out of their cars and making their way toward the door.
After grabbing my water bottle, towel, and forest-green mat from the passenger side of my truck, I made my way up the grassy footpath along with the rest.
Besides me, it didn’t look like there were any other newbies. They ditched their shoes onto the shoe rack and chatted quietly with each other before heading into the studio space through the big double doors.
“Hello and welcome,” came the soft, breathy voice of a pretty blonde woman with a colorful sleeve of tattoos, a septum piercing, and a single dreadlock braid with beads running from the left side of her forehead into one of the double braids that fell over her shoulders.
“I’m Lotus. Is this your first time here? ”
I approached the wicker front desk where a small diffuser pumped out a spicy, earthy blend of essential oils. “Yes. I believe I registered online and filled out the waiver. Lennox Paul.”
She tapped her nails on the keyboard of the laptop, then glanced up at me with her bright-blue eyes, smiling. “Here you are.”
“Anything special I need to know?”
“You’ve practiced yoga before?”
“For many years now. I’m just new to the island.”
“Well, welcome. Bathrooms are universal and right through that door. There are showers as well. You sign up here at the desk for a shower. We ask people to limit themselves to five minutes so that everyone has a chance. No strong fragrances. Please be mindful of your body and space, and stagger with your neighbor when necessary so nobody has a foot in their face or gets hit during a wide sweeping of the arms. You are allowed water in a metal or plastic water bottle. But we ask that you not bring glass into the studio.” She smiled when she spied my navy-blue metal water bottle with all the dents.
“You’re free to leave the practice space for a breath of air or to use the washroom, but we ask that unless it’s an emergency, that you don’t leave the yurt until class is over.
I will be locking the door once all attendees are inside. ”
I nodded. “Makes sense.”
“And lastly, no phones in the studio space. And while you can talk with others before class starts, we do ask that you keep your voice low to respect others who may have decided to enter their savasana early.”
I nodded again. “Absolutely. I’m usually one of those people. So I won’t be saying much.”
She swept her arm out toward the double doors. “Please enjoy your class and feel free to reach out if you have any questions or concerns.”
I took a couple of steps toward the double doors, but then paused. “What’s the youngest someone can be to attend?” I asked.
“Fourteen.” She waved at someone who had just entered.
“Awesome. Thanks.” Then I headed into the big, circular space with the peaked, raftered roof. Mirrors took up one side of the wall, and a single mat was tucked lengthwise next to it. I assumed that it was the instructor’s mat.
I grabbed a couple of foam blocks and a bolster, then scanned the room in search of a spot.
Since it was the weekend, it made sense that it was busy.
Regulars probably had their preferred spots, so I didn’t want to step on anybody’s toes and steal a spot.
I ended up tucking myself near the back, and the emergency exit door.
I peeled my shirt over my head, folded it neatly, and tucked it next to my water bottle.
Then I did a few cat-cow stretches before sliding down onto my back with my legs out long and my arms by my side.
I focused on my breathing, closed my eyes, and let the murmurs of conversation and the sporadic opening and closing of the double doors fade away into nothing but white noise.
I knew someone came rushing in and set up their mat next to me, but I didn’t bother opening my eyes to see who. This was my time. Sixty minutes just for me.
“All right, everyone,” Lotus said, entering the space.
Even with my eyes closed, I could tell she’d dimmed the lights.
“If you haven’t already found your way to your back, please do so now.
Find a position that is comfortable for you.
Legs out long, or bent at the knee. Arms by your sides, or out into cactus.
This is your practice, so do what works for you.
If you are working with injuries, please modify accordingly.
I will provide modifications, but if something specific just isn’t feeling right, put your hand up and I can come and guide you into a posture that doesn’t exacerbate your discomfort. ”
I had to hand it to her; the woman definitely had the calm, pleasant voice for teaching yoga. Over the years, I’d had a lot of different instructors, and while most had a great delivery, there were a few who felt more like drill sergeants than purveyors of calm.
We ran through a few stretches and postures on our backs, so I kept my eyes closed. But eventually, we all found our way to standing, arms by our sides, in mountain pose.
I opened my eyes and focused on the mirror at the front of the room, and that’s when I saw the cute mom, Naomi, from Sunday night, was right beside me.
She caught my eye in the mirror, and her cheeks filled with color.
I smiled and glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “Hi.”
Her smirk was small, and her cheeks just turned an even deeper shade of red. “Hi.”
“Arms sweep out to the sides—”
Thwack!
Naomi, in her stretchy enthusiasm, hadn’t staggered and smacked me on the side of the face.
It hurt, but not that much.
Her gasp was loud enough to make more than half the class turn around.
She covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wild with horror. Then she stepped off her mat and toward me, her hand immediately going to my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Thank goodness she wasn’t one of those women with the long, clawlike fake nails. Otherwise, I’d probably be dripping precious O negative all over the teak floor.
Chuckling, I removed my hand from my face. “Is there blood?” I whispered, my face hurting from smiling so wide.
She shook her head. “No, but it’s red.”
“Is everything okay?” Lotus asked from the front.
Before I could say that it was, Naomi grabbed me by the hand and hauled me across the studio and through the big double doors.
“I couldn’t tell how red it was in the muted light,” she said, still clearly ashamed of what she’d done. “I am so sorry. I’d offer to pay for … the damage, but it’s not like I rear-ended your car.”
That just made me start laughing again. “It’s okay. Seriously. I will survive. Not the first time I’ve been slapped.”
Her brows narrowed. “Why have you been slapped before?”
“When I played basketball, I got an elbow, fist, knees, hand, even a butt cheek in the face. And I survived them all. I will live to tell the tale of getting smacked by my students’ mom in yoga.”
She groaned. “Please don’t tell that tale. News on the island travels fast.”
All I did was grin. “My lips are sealed. But I can’t speak for the twenty other people in there.”
She glanced toward the doors and groaned again. “Ugh.” Then she spied the mini fridge behind the desk and went to open it, returning a second later with a small gel-filled ice pack. She grabbed a rolled up tea towel from the basket and wrapped it around the ice pack. “Here. To stop the swelling.”
“I’m okay,” I said again.
But she wouldn’t take my reassurance as enough of an answer and pressed the cool compress against my stinging cheek. Admittedly, it felt good.
We were quite close, and I could smell her minty breath as well as count the faint freckles that scattered across her nose. She blinked up at me. “I hear you’re quite the Hacky Sacker.”