I don’t want, but I hate turning him down. I get this twisted up feeling inside like my guts are made of pipe cleaners and they’re being wrapped around a toilet plunger.
“That’s…nice.” I step closer to Studio B where I’ll be teaching. Jill, one of the teachers who has been here forever, has a beginner class going on right now in A, but B is just waiting for me.
Drake gestures at his tea. “Would you like to join me for a cup?” He lifts his wide brow. “My treat.”
I swallow. “No thanks, Drake. I need to set up for short form.”
He nods, grinning like he’s in on a secret. “Looking forward to it.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “What about having dinner with me tonight?”
Shit.
There goes that pipe cleaner feeling. The other two times he’s asked me out, I’ve been able to tell him honestly that I was teaching that night. But tonight I’m free. Unfortunately.
“I…” I stretch out the word and then catch my lip between my teeth and gnaw it nervously.Stall. Stall and think of an excuse,I tell myself. “I need to check on something. I’ll let you know after class.”
Drake’s face brightens. I’ve never seen a face look so happy and so wicked at the same time. “Great,” he croons.
I suppress a groan. “I have to get set up,” I say in a rush, crossing the tea room. “See you in class.” I open the squeaky door and shut it firmly behind me. The rattle echoes across the wood floors. In another life, Studio B was someone’s back porch. The house that is now The Yoga Garden is at least eighty years old. The doors rattle in their frames, the floor creaks, it’s drafty year round, and I absolutely love it.
Studio B, now a sunroom, has picture windows on two sides. Flooded with natural light and facing the back yard, it’s easy to forget that this place sits on one of the busiest streets in Lafayette.
I move across the room, drop my bag and mat on the floor, and breathe a sigh of relief. What the hell am I going to tell Drake?
Karma is absolutely real, and honesty is one of my values. Lying to him isn’t an option for me. But I really don’t want to hurt his feelings with the truth. I’m not attracted to Drake. Like at all. I feel like I need a shower after just talking to him. The way he looks at me… it’s like his eyes have hands and they touch me without permission.
But he’s a person. A being that carries the same divine spark we all possess. And he’s a yogi, which means, in some way, he’s trying to evolve. I have to respect that. And I have to honor it.
So I need to find another truth to tell him.
I unroll my mat and reach into my bag for my singing bowl, mallet, and bowl cushion. Making myself slow down and focus, I place these near my mat, arrange myself into a comfortable lotus sit, and on a deep inhale, strike the mallet against the bowl.
The soft chime washes through the room, and I close my eyes. I center my attention on my breath. I feel cool air on the edges of my nostrils and in the back of my throat. For a couple of breaths, I manage to stay with that sensation, but then my mind drifts back to Drake again, and I feel my stomach tense.
Okay, so don’t fight it,I tell myself.Focus on the feeling.
I inhale again, but instead of sensing the rush of air into my lungs, my awareness moves to the tightness in my middle.There’s a churning tension just below my diaphram, a nagging burn of unease. It’s rare, but sometimes when I sit in meditation and allow myself to just listen to the sensations in my body, an insight will open itself up to me, and something I didn’t understand before will become clear.
Watching the feeling, I note its size and shape, the way the muscles in the wall of my abdomen twitch and tense as if they have a mind of their own, as if they are trying to tell mePay attention to us. Don’t ignore what we’re trying to tell you.
I begin to think about how the gut really is a second brain, full of neurons that are in constant communication with the brain that sits in my skull. And then I catch myself thinking instead of feeling. I take another mindful breath and try to settle in again.
Thirty minutes pass, minutes in which I am thoughts and feelings, breath and heartbeat, muscle, nerves and bone. And life. I open my eyes, at ease, centered, and with one goal in mind: to offer my students what they need from me. Moving slowly and with awareness, I rise to begin preparing the studio. I connect my phone to the bluetooth speakers and start my playlist. The soft notes of harp and flute fill the space, and I open the door to welcome my students.
Class won’t begin for another ten minutes, but a handful of yogis have already arrived. We greet each other with smiles and quiet words, as is our routine, and they move through the room, unrolling their mats and setting out their towels. Ashtanga yoga is intense, and in short order, we’ll all be sweating.
Drake is among them, and I am aware of his eyes on me, but I remind myself of my purpose, my intention for the day.
Of course, it doesn’t help that he positions his mat at the front of the class as close to me as possible.
At noon, I stand at the front of my mat, and close my eyes, feel all four corners of my feet pressing into the mat. I bring my hands to prayer pose, open with chanting mantras, and begin the short form series.
I take the class through the sun salutations, leading from the front of the studio for the first round before moving through the room, subtly adjusting students as I pass. A palm on the back, a whispered suggestion, or an encouraging word. I do the same with the fundamental asanas, joining in only when I feel each yogi is safe on the mat.
It’s during the finishing sequence when everything falls apart.
“Aah!” A sharp, masculine cry pierces the room. Everyone is in wheel pose, including me.
This is not good.