Yoga Guy

YOGA GUY

By Denise Waldron

Copyright 2013 Denise Waldron

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Denise Waldron

Connect with Denise Waldron

Chapter 1

She’s Not That Into Me

I’ve been seeing that girl from last winter, the one you might remember from my blog post, One Night Stand Up And Cheer. We started at the physical level, which was great. But it turned out I liked her a lot. I surprised myself by asking her to do more things with me, but she wasn’t always interested. I even made a comment once about how if she lived closer to me we could see each other more, but she told me she really liked her apartment. Now she’s got this new job and I see her less than ever. So last night I’m out with my cousin, telling her about this girl, and she yells, Don’t you get it? SHE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. You know what? She’s right. So I’m just going to end it now. I know she reads my blog, so baby, I get it. You’re not that into me. I release you from the hell of dating me and back into the hell of dating. Good luck out there.

Comment 1 from Mona Lisa:

Wow. My first time being dumped on a blog! Good luck to you too, and maybe we can buy each other a drink the next time we see each other in hell.

Lisa dropped enough cash on the bar to cover the drinks and a tip and moved to a small high-top near the back. Settling onto a stool with her white wine, she pushed the vodka tonic to the other side of the table. This served two purposes, both ensuring that Jane would have a drink when she arrived, and keeping any interested men at bay. She’d already noticed two men in the bar that even yesterday would have been a promising adventure. But after today, she was beginning to doubt her whole game plan. Until this very day she’d never worried about the future of any relationship, figured whatever happened was meant to be. But she’d been dumped, not for the first time, but in the worst way possible: via blog. Blog! She’d even commented back, something lighthearted but sarcastic, to cover her shock. She’d been blindsided by it; she didn’t even know he was unhappy but he was blogging about how he wanted more commitment out of their relationship than she was willing to give, and it was time to move on.

Lisa frowned as she swirled the somewhat skimpy portion of wine in her glass. Had he ever said he’d wanted more of a commitment from her? Had she missed it? She didn’t even know, and she guessed that was the real problem. She’d treated him like all her boyfriends, lightly and gently, never asking too much of them. Wasn’t that what men wanted? They satisfied her physical needs, and she had all of her emotional needs met by her girlfriends, especially by Jane. Sliding off her stool to get another glass of wine, she wondered where her best friend was. She and Jane were very similar in their outlook on life and had spent many a night roaming the clubs, dancing, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. Neither of them would ever consider trapping a man into anything; a real woman wouldn’t have to resort to trickery. This had led to ten years of a great deal of fun which Jane seemed to thrive on, but after the blog dump, Lisa was not so sure if she was thriving. She’d called Jane for a pep talk, or at least a shoulder to cry on.

She was back at the table frowning at her partially shredded cocktail napkin when she heard, Is that for me? Jane was pointing at the vodka tonic with a grin, shrugging off her wrap and exposing a fabulous neckline set off by a gorgeous jeweled necklace, most likely real. Jane always looked like she stepped off the pages of some fashion magazine. Lisa had given up wondering why Jane spent any time with her, looking as she did like a watered-down version of a Sears catalog model. Jane said it was her sparkling personality. Certainly not tonight it wasn’t.

It’s your usual, she said, pointing to the vodka tonic. It might be a little warm.

My punishment for being late, Jane said. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t get out any earlier. You know how it is.

Lisa raised her eyebrows at Jane, and Jane laughed. Okay, you don’t know how it is. Do you want me to go into tedious detail about what kept me, or is this about you?

I’m sorry. I know how hard it is for you to get away, especially on short notice. Even though it is almost seven o’clock. I’m on my second wine already so the grouchiness should be leaving soon.

What’s up? Jane asked with a concerned look on her face, sipping the vodka tonic and settling back expectantly.

I just got dumped.

It happens occasionally, Jane shrugged. You weren’t in love with him.

By blog.

What?

He blogged about how he wanted more commitment out of a relationship than the one he currently had, and that he figured I wasn’t that into him, and that he was ending it. He knows I read the thing, so that was that.

Look, you didn’t want to be in a long-term relationship with this guy anyway, right?

No, but that’s not the point. The point is, I’m really angry.

Because? Jane asked patiently.

Because who gets dumped on a blog, for God’s sake?

Yes, but we’ve already ascertained that this man was not worthy of you. Who would want to go out with a guy who would dump someone on a blog? Shouldn’t you be glad you discovered the real him now, rather than three months from now?

Lisa gulped down the last bit of her wine and exhaled loudly, banging the empty glass on the table. Stop being so damn rational! I don’t know why I’m upset. I just am.

Jane drained her vodka tonic and stood up. I’m going to get a refill and a glass of water for you. You are going to sit here and figure out where your anger is coming from. And there are two places it comes from, remember?

Lisa nodded unhappily. Fear or sadness.

Right. Think deeply. I’ll be back. Jane walked to the bar, hips swinging, shoulders back, getting the attention of most of the men, and a few of the women, in the bar, including the bartender Lisa had had to wave her arm to attract.

Lisa sighed and played with the pieces of what used to be her cocktail napkin. Fear or sadness. Was she sad she’d been dumped? Not really. The sex had been fun but they weren’t intellectually or emotionally compatible. But she did feel a little sad anyway. Why? Because she had to go out and find another man? That wasn’t it; she’d never had a problem finding men. Men liked her; she was easygoing, flexible, and undemanding. Not lacking in commitment, that’s for sure, although she never pushed commitment on anyone. She figured if and when a man was ready to commit to her he’d say something. Not that it had ever happened; she’d had some great times but not one of those guys had ever seen her as marriage material. Now that she was in her thirties she wondered if she’d ever have that in her future, or if she’d always be alone. She glanced up as Jane arrived with a tall glass of water and another vodka tonic. She must have looked pathetic because Jane said, Oh no, I see fear AND sadness. Did you figure it out?

Yeah. I think it’s this: I’m afraid no one will ever ask me to marry him. And I’m sad because that is the most lame thing I’ve ever said.

Jane laughed. At least you still have your sense of humor.

Lisa smiled. Give me that water. I’m going to finish it and then we’re going to get some dinner, where more drinks will be consumed. If one guy looks at me funny I’ll bite his head off. And if one of them looks good to me I’ll get his number. I’m done moping.

Jane clinked her glass against Lisa’s and said, That’s more like it.

* * * *

On the night of her first yoga class Diane searched frantically through her walk-in closet for something to wear. She’d never taken yoga before but she knew it wasn’t like aerobics; comfort was probably more important than performance. She should have purchased the yoga pants she saw two weeks ago but it felt like too much of a commitment at the time. If she didn’t buy the pants, she didn’t have to go to the class. Sighing, she fingered through little black dresses, evening gowns, scores of pants, blouses, and belts, then moved on to the drawers, unearthing sweaters, lingerie, hosiery, and even some of her daughters’ baby things, tiny, hand-knitted sweaters and the caps they wore home from the hospital.

She spent too long reminiscing over these little remnants of her early motherhood, then finally flung out of her closet and onto her bed two pairs of baggy old shorts, one pair of black leggings that had gone out of style years ago, and one pair of brightly patterned bicycle shorts that she didn’t remember purchasing. She walked over to the bed and stood, arms crossed, frowning at the motley assortment of clothing she had to choose from. This was probably the first time in years that she was at a loss as to what to wear.

She ignored the fact that the bed was unmade, the pale green satin comforter wildly askew, one rosy pillow on the floor, an untamed island in her ocean of a bedroom. Her house was big, almost too big. She missed the cozy house she and Steve had lived in when the girls were first born. One story, three bedrooms, and it only took two hours to clean. She knew Steve was proud of this new house with its two high-ceilinged stories, four large bedrooms, a kitchen so large it seemed to echo, and a cavernous finished basement, as yet unfurnished. But the new house hadn’t made her any happier, their marriage was still strained, and now it took her four hours to clean. She glanced at the bedside table, badly in need of a dusting.

She turned her attention back to the clothes on the bed. She had half an hour to get ready for her first yoga class, thanks to one of the many ridiculous television shows she guiltily let her girls watch. It was so much easier to get things done when they were consumed by the television. Those articles in parenting magazines encouraging you to have your kids join in the fun of cleaning, well, she’d like to see the kids who fell for that. She could hear the television all the way down the hall and the escalating sounds of cartoon panic told her that the show was almost over. She had four minutes to put on something besides underwear, and she couldn’t believe she was still deliberating. This is absurd, she thought. I could dress for a black-tie event in half the time. She grabbed a pair of dark blue shorts with an elastic waist and pulled them on. If she liked the class she would go out and buy some of those cute yoga pants she’d seen at the mall.

She walked out of her bedroom and down the long carpeted hallway to peek in at the girls. Nina and Lucy were leaning against each other slouched against the back of the couch, giggling at the television screen. The humor on this animated show was no worse than the crap she’d absorbed as a kid, she had to admit. Padding into the kitchen she assessed the damage from dinner. The dishes were by the sink, at least, and there was only one spot where she’d missed wiping the table. Luckily Steve was out of town; she didn’t care as much as he did whether there was a mess or not. If she didn’t load the dishwasher tonight she could always do it after breakfast tomorrow, although she really ought to rinse them off or the dishwasher wouldn’t do a very good job.

She was drying her hands when the doorbell rang, and she knew it would be the babysitter Jenny at the front door. She heard the telltale thump of the girls leaping off the couch, knocking into each other in the hallway, and crashing into the front door, each one fighting to open it first. Watching them, Diane remembered that the parenting books said to let them work it out themselves, but after a few impatient seconds Diane exhaled and strode to the door, pulling them both away and saying firmly, I’ll get it. She opened the door to a chorus of No fair! No fair! and smiled wryly at Jenny.

Come on in. The girls are very excited that you’re here.

Jenny, at twelve, was already taller than Diane, very shy and unaware of her beauty. Her waist-length black hair swished along her slender back as she shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and held it by one strap before she let it fall to the floor. Stepping out of her sandals she knelt down, opened her arms, and smiled through her braces, Hi girls!

The girls threw themselves against Jenny, toppling her onto the floor, and she tickled them both as she struggled, pretending they had her pinned down for the night. It was a ritual they never failed to observe. Diane adored Jenny for her tender maturity, her awkwardness, and most of all for her daughters’ absolute love for the girl. After giving Jenny brief babysitting instructions, she kissed her daughters goodnight, three times each, and got into her car, where her feeling of well-being rapidly left her. She grabbed her cell phone and called her sister-in-law.

Deb, tell me again why I’m going to a yoga class.

Because you need to get the hell out of the house.

And why aren’t you going with me?

Because I’m not miserable.

Diane didn’t say anything.

Deb continued, softer this time, Look, you know as well as I do that if you don’t find something besides your husband to amuse yourself, you’re going to end up divorced or having an affair. Isn’t yoga a better choice?

Diane heaved a big sigh, mostly for effect, and said, Yes. Thanks. I’m going now.

Say an ‘om’ for me.

Glancing around as she entered the classroom, Diane saw that images had been painted in soft pastel colors on the white walls, birds, trees, people, intertwined with positive words like allow and release. She would tell her girls; they would love the idea of someone painting directly onto a wall, although on second thought she probably shouldn’t mention it to them. The room itself was spare, with beige wall-to-wall carpeting and little piles of rectangular blocks, pillows, and straps. She wouldn’t mind using a pillow but she wasn’t at all sure about the other items.

There were oblong mats placed at regular intervals on the floor, and she noticed a number of people sitting on one side of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves. It seemed like they all knew each other fairly well and she was uncertain whether to interrupt them or not. On the other side of the room was an empty mat next to a man who was sitting stretched forward over his legs; on his other side was a woman. They looked like a couple, sitting together companionably, and she decided to sit with them. If they were friendly she could chat a little, but if they were in their own little couple world, she could really focus on the yoga.

* * * *

Greg heard the sound of someone imitating a chicken and turned to see his sister, Annie, smirking at him. What’s the matter, she asked, afraid to go in?

People said Greg and Annie resembled each other, but men found Annie attractive whereas Greg always got the Nice Guy label from women. If his track record so far was any indication, Nice Guys finished last.

I’m out here waiting for you because I’m a gentleman. A Nice Guy. And according to you, Nice Guys can find dates in yoga classes. You’d better be right about this.

The last class I took was full of single women, and even the instructor was a hottie. Besides, even if you can’t find a date, it wouldn’t kill you to get in shape.

Greg straightened himself to his full six-foot-two and sucked in his gut. I don’t have an easy job like yours where I can find the time to exercise every day. I work twenty-four-seven.

My job isn’t easy. I support the most important guy at the university. But I work to live, unlike you.

I don’t want to get into this argument again. There’s a management position coming up in a few months, and if I get that I’ll be making other programmers work hard instead of me.

All the more reason why you need a stress-reducer. Annie reached up and punched him lightly on the arm. Let’s go in.

Greg looked at the dignified white house with its broad front porch, heavy door complete with knocker, and opaque glass windowpanes. The idea of a hippie yoga class made him want to run away, but Annie said this would get him back into a dating mood whether he met anyone or not.

I don’t know if I’m ready for this, he said.

You’ll be fine. It’s a beginner class. That’s the beauty of yoga – anyone can do it. Besides, why are we really here? Remind me?

Greg rolled his eyes. Because I said it was impossible to meet women, and you said your yoga class would be the perfect place. But what if they’re all thin, and flexible, and, um, beautiful?

Yeah, that would be really awful. You in a room full of beautiful women. The horror.

Come on, you know how I am with women, Greg pleaded. And if they’re knockouts it’s even worse.

Should we take in some paper bags and ask all the women to put them on?

Greg didn’t say anything. He knew he sounded as confident as a twelve-year-old at his first school dance, but after his last disaster he didn’t have the stomach for a relationship. He would never forget the morning he’d discovered his fiancée cheating on him. He’d wanted to surprise her with an early return from a business trip and had taken the red eye, stopping at their favorite breakfast shop on the way home to pick up coffee and bagels. She was there with another man, who seemed to be enjoying Greg’s fiancée’s ear along with his morning coffee.

The humiliation wasn’t the worst part; it was the fact that he’d completely misread the whole relationship. How could he have been ready to marry someone who clearly didn’t feel the same way? He didn’t know if he could avoid that situation again, not after he had messed up so badly the first time. That’s why he was thirty-five and still not married. That and the fact that he worked eighty hours a week, had no time to socialize, and liked to eat pizza every night for dinner. It was a good thing he was tall or he’d be the shape of a beach ball.

Are you seriously thinking about putting paper bags on all the women’s heads? Or are you reliving the bagel episode again? Annie asked, interrupting his thoughts.

The latter. He took a deep breath. Let’s go.

The late summer sun angled through a gap in the branches of a giant beech tree as they climbed the stairs. Greg pushed the solid front door open, held it for Annie, and they both stepped into a carpeted foyer. A wide stairway along the wall on the right took a turn and