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IT WASN’T LIKE ME TO sign up for yoga lessons, much less commit to six months’ worth. But apparently some busybody government agency with too much time on its hands had come up with a set of completely unrealistic physical activity guidelines and sent them to every physician in the country. Including mine. At my last checkup, Dr. Cha urged me to start getting serious about exercise and stress reduction.
As soon as Emma caught wind of my doctor’s diktat, she tried to recruit me into her paddling club. I knew better than to fall into her trap. Emma was the crew captain and extremely competitive. She was disappointed when I (once again) turned her down, but I wasn’t keen on spending my afternoons getting yelled at by my best friend about my poor form and pitiful upper body strength. That would not have helped my stress level at all. To get Emma off my case, I bought a package deal from Laughing Lotus Yoga, which occupied the storefront left vacant when Tatsuya’s Moderne Beauty closed.
Traffic had been smoother than I had expected, so I arrived a little early. I pulled in and parked in one of the strip mall’s many vacant parking spots. The studio was flanked by an open-by-appointment dress shop, which never seemed to be open, and a new check-cashing store.
I signed in at the reception area and walked through to the main studio, planning to use the extra time to get myself “centered.” This was real progress for me. A few months ago, I would have gone crazy thinking of all the ways I could have put that extra five minutes to better use. Unfortunately, I happened to walk in on a tense discussion between Sharon and Sharla, the studio’s co-owners. The sisters were recent transplants to Mahina, and had brought along both their New England business savvy and their Boston bluntness. I tried to make myself invisible as I smoothed my yoga mat onto the sweat-pungent wooden floor.
“Molly, what do you think?” This was Sharon, whose deeply tanned, fat-free physique reminded me of those roasted chickens from Safeway. Her Southie accent flattened the vowels in my name to “Mah-ly.”
“Shouldn’t I be able to leave the money box out without worrying about someone stealing the cash?” Sharon demanded.
I looked around at the few other women in the space, rolling out their yoga mats, stretching, drinking water from stainless steel bottles. Why pick on me?
“I’m not sure I’m really the one who would—” I began.
“You’re the business professor, right?” Sharon accused. “Don’t you think you have to show your customers you trust them?”
“Someone did steal the money,” Sharon’s sister and business partner, Sharla, interrupted. Sharla had the same sun-worshipper’s leathery complexion as her sister, but a plumper shape. While skinny Sharon sported form-fitting yoga pants, Sharla’s modest batik skirt reached almost to the blurry dolphin tattoo on her deeply tanned ankle.
Fortunately, the sisters seemed to forget about me, and launched into a battle of truly impressive swearing. If that’s what it’s really like to have a sister, I thought, maybe I should call my parents and tell them how grateful I am to be an only child.
As more students filtered in, I carefully laid out my yoga mat, paying particular attention to keeping its edges parallel to the studio walls.
Sharla—who had been scolding her sister for leaving the cash box unattended—finally stormed out. She couldn’t slam the door, because it was a beaded curtain, but she left a furious clacking in her wake.
The instructor came in through the swaying beads. She wore snug yoga pants, an abbreviated tank top, and an amethyst crystal suspended from a black leather choker. She was still young enough to sport a tan without looking weatherbeaten.
“Crystal.” Sharla pointedly checked her watch. “Good. You made it. You got a full class, hon. Better get started.”
Crystal led us through a number of moves that ranged from easy to impossible, gently encouraging us the whole time. I followed along to the best of my ability, even though to me the typical yoga class felt like this: Bend over and touch your fingertips to the ground. Now, put your right hand behind your back, leaving the fingertips of your left hand in contact with the earth. Now lift both your legs off the ground. The class was challenging, but when it was finally over I felt so calm I packed up my things in slow motion.
Crystal caught my eye. Suddenly I felt a little less relaxed. I had nothing against her personally, but conversations with strangers were always stressful. Unfortunately, it was too late to roll up my yoga mat and dash. We’d already established eye contact.