Baby slid into the cracked black vinyl seat of the yellow cab, realizing as soon as it squealed away from the curb that she still held Avery’s sandwich in one hand.
“Where to?” The greasy-haired cabbie craned his neck through the Plexiglas partition as if he were going to yell at Baby for eating in the cab, then decided against it when he saw her Constance uniform. His face cracked into a grin. “You skipping school?”
Baby pulled the wrinkled ad from her lime green Brooklyn Industries bag and smoothed it against her thighs. “Number eight Jane Street.” She ignored the cabbie as he winked into the rearview, and slumped into the seat, watching the dorky broadcast about the wonders of New York on the cab’s tiny screen. In this segment, a white-haired lady with a British accent was going on and on about the joys of rooftop gardens. Baby clicked the volume to mute and looked down again at the advertisement. Ophelia Ravenfeather, Life Healer, the ad read in loopy purple script. It didn’t have a photograph, featuring instead an abstract illustration of a calm pond filled with smiling gold-fish.
Baby gazed out the window. The stately buildings on Fifth turned into the overwhelming skyscrapers of Midtown, then finally the cute brownstones in the West Village. The sidewalks were surprisingly busy for early afternoon, filled with people enjoying the sunny fall day.
Her heart thumped against her chest as the cabbie turned onto Jane Street, a winding, cobblestone street in the Village that looked more like a street in Barcelona than Manhattan. She felt a pang of nostalgia for Spain. Maybe she should have just stayed. People were friendly there. She could set up shop in a café and teach English to people in exchange for food. She’d spend her nights sleeping on the beach. It’d be perfect.
Until she got bored two weeks later and hopped a flight to Morocco, of course.
“Here we go,” the cabbie announced, squealing to a stop in front of a nondescript four-story brownstone.
“Thanks!” Baby squeaked. She pulled out a twenty from her wallet, which was made of duct tape; a gift her stoner ex-boyfriend in Nantucket made for her. Unlike the relationship, it was indestructible. “Keep the change,” she added.
Crossing her fingers for luck, she hurried up the uneven stairs of the building and rang buzzer number twenty-two. No answer. She rang again.
“I’m coming down,” a frantic voice called loudly into the speaker. On the sidewalk, two well-groomed guys and their tiny poodles looked over in curiosity. “Don’t go anywhere!” the voice commanded.
“Okay!” Baby yelled uncertainly back into the speaker. She shifted from one foot to the other. The town house was only a block away from Hudson River Park, and she could just make out the grayish blue water of the Hudson. She breathed deeply. Ever since she was little, the sight of water relaxed her.
Suddenly, two hands grabbed Baby’s shoulder.
“Ah!” she yelled involuntarily. She whirled around, expecting to be eye to eye with a knife, or a gun barrel, or… a gray-haired lady wearing yoga pants and a North Face red fleece jacket who came up to her chin?
Fleece can be terrifying.
“I apologize,” the woman said, placing her hands on Baby’s shoulders again as if nothing had happened. “I’m your healer.” She appraised Baby with her muddy brown eyes. She didn’t look like a healer. With her chapped lips, flyaway gray hair, and red hands, she reminded Baby of one of her mom’s friends who worked on an organic communal farm in Vermont. The triplets used to go every year and help her during apple-picking season.
“My name is Ophelia Ravenfeather, but since we’ll be working together, I think it’s important for my clients to come up with their own name for me,” she said expectantly, taking a step closer to Baby so that they were both balanced on the same narrow step.
Baby smiled uncertainly. This was actually weirder than she’d anticipated, but who was she to judge? At least it was better than being in a clinical, all-white office.
“I’m supposed to pick a name for you?” Baby repeated. Near them, a couple walked by with their golden retriever. Maybe it was a weird psychological thing, but she’d been noticing a lot of dogs lately. They always brought back memories of how much fun it had been at the very beginning of the year to walk J.P. Cashman’s puggles. That was before they’d hooked up. She sighed in frustration. Maybe she should just forget about boys and adopt a dog.
There’s one high-maintenance maltipoo who might need a new home….
“Yes. What would you like to call me? One of my clients calls me Friend, one calls me The Big H, one calls me Grandma—it just depends.” Ophelia smiled encouragingly.
“Um, I don’t know.” Baby considered, racking her brain for something that wouldn’t sound totally weird. Was this some sort of psychological test?
And what are this woman’s credentials?
“I guess just Ophelia for now?” Baby asked haltingly.
“Okay, for now. But once we get more comfortable with each other, I expect a name,” Ophelia said in a warning tone. “And I see your aura. It’s…” A dark cloud seemed to cross over her wrinkled, weather-beaten face. She shook her head. “Never mind. At least your chakras are working. Mostly.” She added cryptically.
“Um, thanks.” Baby smiled hesitantly. She pulled out the wrinkled form Mrs. McLean had given her to get signed for each hour of therapy. “So, as I mentioned, I’ve been recommended to do twenty hours of therapy. I really liked your ad and I think I’m on the same page as you, but I’d love if you could tell me a little bit about what we’ll be doing in the sessions?”
Ophelia took the form, frowned at it, then shoved it back at Baby. “We’ll deal with that later. For now, we need to get to the park. I have a lot of work to do with you,” she said ominously. With that, Ophelia ran down the steps, showing a surprising amount of energy for a senior citizen. Baby trailed behind. So, did that mean Ophelia would sign the form? And why were they going to the park?
Ophelia hurried her down the street and across the paved bike path, finally reaching the narrow grassy strip that was the Hudson River Park. It was filled with picnickers, bikers, and joggers enjoying the afternoon sunshine. On the river, boats were bobbing in the water as if expressly for the viewing pleasure of the nearby picnickers. Baby smiled. This wouldn’t be so bad.
“Okay.” Ophelia clapped her hands as she reached a spot of grass. They stood dangerously close to a young couple enjoying a Dean & Deluca picnic. “This has good energy. Now, to begin with, let’s do some downward dog.” Instantly, she placed her gnarled hands on the ground and stuck her butt in the air.
“Um, I thought we were going to talk?” Baby asked. Starting off in a yoga pose was strange, even for her. What was this?
Hippie healing 101?
“You don’t need to talk to heal,” Ophelia said mysteriously, standing up from her yoga pose, her face flushed. “Your turn,” she said to Baby, motioning with her eyes for her to follow her lead. Baby cautiously pulled her Constance skirt down so she wouldn’t flash everyone and set her hands on the ground.
“Hmm.” Ophelia appraised her. “I think we need to go someplace else. Your energy isn’t meshing well here. It’s fighting me.” She placed her thumb on her angular chin and stroked it gently. Baby could make out little coarse hairs sticking out of a mole on her face.
“I’ll tell you what, Baby.” Ophelia drew closer to her and placed her bony hand on Baby’s shoulder. “You’re going to close your eyes and walk until you find a place that feels right.”
Baby closed her eyes, feeling like she was trapped in some sort of bizarre kindergarten class gone wrong, and began to walk. She paused and took a breath. She could feel the sun through her thin white Hanes tank top, and she could smell the faint scent of leaves burning somewhere in the far distance. Maybe she did just need to tune in. She took a few tentative steps.
“Yo, watch it, bitch!!”
Suddenly, Baby’s shin made contact with something metallic and hard. Her eyes flew open in surprise. A man wearing neon-yellow bike shorts and a skintight black shirt lay sprawled on the bike path, a bright red bike on top of him. “I almost fucking hit you! What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he stood up.
Well, she can cross that spot off the positive energy location list.
“I’m so sorry!” Baby picked up the guy’s Ray-Ban sunglasses from the pavement. “Let me help you.”
“Heal yourself first!” Ophelia barked, pulling Baby away from the bike.
“Sorry!” Baby called again to the biker in desperation.
“Well, I think we learned a lesson. You obviously were drawn to him, and see what happened?”
“I was walking around with my eyes closed!” Baby briefly lost patience.
“No. You were following your heart. And your heart led you into an entanglement with a man.” Ophelia nodded sagely. “You need to tune in to yourself and stop getting tangled up with members of the opposite sex.”
Baby stiffened, a chill running up her spine despite the sunny weather. Despite the hippietastic rhetoric, it was pretty much the same conclusion Dr. Janus had made: that Baby was overly dependent on guys.
“What can I do about it?” Baby asked, searching Ophelia’s muddy brown eyes.
“First, we need to establish some rituals for you. Chanting, essential oils, a juice cleanse, things like that. We need you to learn that you can depend on yourself. So, let’s begin!” Ophelia rubbed her hands together in glee. “I’ll find a safe healing spot,” she offered gallantly.
She led them over to an area of the park that jutted out into the water, out of the way of any bikers. Toddlers were playing on the lush lawn, watched over by nannies gossiping on wooden benches flanking the grass.
“Okay, close your eyes and imagine a word,” Ophelia said. Suddenly, her mouth contorted into a grimace, as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “Actually, I don’t think you’re ready for eyes-closed work yet. Keep them open, but look down at the ground, concentrate on one blade of grass, and imagine a word.”
Baby dutifully bowed her head, but the only words she could think of were weird, SAT-style words, like perspicacious and fungible. Those words didn’t describe her at all, but no matter what, she couldn’t think of any that did.
“Can you share your word?”
Baby’s eyes flicked to the slow moving water. “Ocean?” She suggested lamely. She hoped that’d be okay. After all, wasn’t this lady’s whole deal all about finding your inner ocean?
“Wrong answer!” Ophelia barked, suddenly morphing from kindly grandmother to sadistic game show host. The nannies looked up and frowned at the noise. Baby smiled at them apologetically. “Try again. I can see the word pulsating from your aura,” Ophelia urged.
Baby closed her eyes. The word pulsate made her think of pulse, which made her think of heart, which made her think of…
“Love?” Baby asked. “Love,” she repeated firmly.
Ophelia shook her head sadly. “No, that’s not it either. I can tell that with you, we need to get beyond words. I’m going to give you a chant. Are you ready?”
Baby nodded, even though it was clear that it didn’t matter if she was ready or not. Ophelia stood up, closed her eyes and drew her hands together, as if she were praying, then balanced, flamingo style, on one foot.
I’m here to heal, Baby reminded herself grimly, wishing she could dive into the river and swim to New Jersey.
“Now, repeat after me. Ahm-ahhh-nom!” Ophelia chanted loudly, letting the m sound hang in the air.
“Um, I’ve got it,” Baby said, really hoping she wouldn’t actually have to repeat the syllables out loud. A Circle Line cruise ship passed the park. Ophelia was so loud, Baby was sure the passengers on board heard her. And what was that chant, anyway? She’d taken a few yoga classes before, and while they’d done chanting, it never sounded like the elephant-mating-with-a-hippopotamus sounds emanating from Ophelia’s mouth.
“I want you to own this word. I want you to chant it seventeen times a day, and I also want you to go on an all-green diet. What we need is for you to detox. I’ll help you with that. Together, we can heal!”
She nodded encouragingly. Baby mustered a smile. Maybe it would get better?
Oh, so much better.