Sixteen #2
“Lift your left hand up and twist slightly.” Her voice sounds closer now. I see two bare feet out of my peripheral vision, and I resist the urge to stand upright.
Elle comes in front of me, and reaches a hand out towards my body.
Okay? she mouths. I nod.
And then, Elle is touching me.
Her touch is like a feather, gently grazing my arm.
Her hand is warm, but it feels electric against my skin.
She takes hold of my wrist and guides my left hand into the air.
Her hand traces a line down my arm and she gently cups my hip, guiding it towards her.
Her touch is so light, goosebumps rise on my skin.
“Imagine yourself as one long line, from the crown of your head to your hip,” she instructs to the group. I feel Elle move towards my head, and I wonder if she realizes what this is doing to me.
“Let this feel good,” she says, trailing her finger down my neck to my shoulder.
I turn my head slightly so I can see her. Surprisingly, she’s not smiling at my torture. Her face is focused, her lips barely parted, and she meets my gaze with such intensity that I feel like I could melt down onto this floor from the weight of it.
I let out a stifled groan when she places a hand on my lower back.
She jumps at the sound and immediately pulls her hand away, and I see heat flush to her face.
She doesn’t make eye contact with me as she struts back to the front of the room.
My gaze follows her backside, and my pretzel/Twister shape crumbles to the floor, earning me gasps from around the room. And one very loud laugh.
Elle repeats her flow again and again, moving quicker each time.
I give up trying to keep up with her, and start skipping whole moves so I can look like I’m on the same step as the rest of the class.
I slip and slide across my mat, and my neighbor glares at me as I rearrange it for the twentieth time.
As the class winds down, Elle brings everyone back to a downward-facing dog and instructs them to “ripple like a wave” into a plank. At this point, I’m so frustrated, I’d like to tell her where she can take her rippled wave and shove it.
I move myself into a plank position and am brought face to face with the edge of the mat. The left corner is closer to me than the right again, making it misaligned with the line of the hardwood floor.
This. Fucking. Mat.
I’m really trying to stay focused. Elle is saying more words, something about folding your legs under you and finding a seat, but my gaze is glued to the mat.
A few moments pass and I feel a hand on my arm.
My instinct makes me grab it, and warm, soft flesh meets my grasp.
I open my eyes to see Elle’s big brown ones staring at me, but my mind is racing so furiously that at that moment, I can’t understand the words coming out of her mouth.
She is still wearing her headset, still teaching, which means everyone’s eyes are probably on me.
But I can’t move. I can’t fast forward this slow-motion freeze frame in which our eyes are locked and her hands are on mine.
She lowers me to the floor and I sit back on my butt. A quick look in my periphery tells me that in fact, no one is looking at me but her. Everyone else is sitting on the floor, their eyes closed.
I reach out with my other hand to straighten the mat to line up with the floor again, but Elle stops me. Her hand reaches for my outstretched arm first, and then she gently cups her palm around my chin, guiding me to look at her.
“Left hand heart, right hand belly,” I hear Elle’s voice murmur through my foggy trance. Once my eyes are locked on hers again, she takes each of my hands in one of hers.
And I let her.
I’m too far gone into my spiral to be embarrassed about what is happening.
I’m too far gone to think about the way she’ll mercilessly roast me for losing it in her yoga class.
She’ll probably make me buy her a donut or eat another bowl of bugs after this, just to prove that she was right, that yoga was fucking hard.
She presses her palm to the backside of my hand, entwining our fingers, and presses our joint hands against my chest. “Inhale,” she commands, but the tone of her voice is comforting, like it could envelop me in a hug.
I look into her eyes again, and she inhales with exaggeration. That’s when I realize I’m still holding my breath.
And the mat is still crooked.
She must notice my gaze briefly dart to the corner, because she presses firmly on the hand on my chest.
“Exhale all the air out.” I listen, feeling the tension slowly release from my muscles. “Again. Take a long, smooth breath inwards.” She exaggerates her breath again, squeezing the fingers on the hand against my chest.
I find myself closing my eyes as I sharply inhale.
“Picture the air filling your lungs, your belly.”
Usually, I would be laughing right now. How am I supposed to picture breath? It’s invisible. But then I feel Elle tug on my shirt, trying to instruct me to move my shoulders. “Feel the inhale, feel the air fill your body.”
I lift my shoulders, tensing my grip on my chest as my mind snaps back to the mat, and Elle tightens her grasp on me as well.
“There is nothing but this moment. Right here. You and your breath. Exhale all the air out.” Elle makes a loud, long exhale, and I sense the faint smell of mint on her breath. That’s how close we are. “Fall into rhythm with your own breath. Find that ujjayi breath. Make it intentional.”
I know what she’s trying to do. The fight or flight part of me is telling me to resist it. Resist the hold she’s trying to have on me. Resist the path she’s taking my mind down. Resist.
She squeezes my hand, and I feel centered. Calm.
She’s grounding me.
And it’s fucking working.
“Focus the mind, find comfort in your body. You are safe in your own space. Your home.” She pauses.
I resist the urge to look at her and let myself be transfixed by the sound of her voice instead.
“As you inhale, say silently to yourself, I am calm in this moment.” She pauses again, letting her hands move in rhythm with my breath.
“As you exhale, I can find peace in this moment.”
I feel the pressure of her hand lighten on my chest as she says, “Bring your hands to prayer and bow your head.” I don’t listen to her.
I gently open my eyes and observe her. A bead of sweat falls from behind her ear, but she doesn’t move to catch it.
I steady my hand to stop myself from reaching for it.
She is sitting so close to me that our heads would touch if I bowed mine like hers.
She touches her forehead to her hands and says, “Be grateful for showing up today. Gently flutter your eyes open, and sense the world around you again.”
She opens her eyes, directly into mine, and smiles.