There was a tiny Yoga studio called Nirvana, just down the street from their apartment, and they had classes on Wednesday night at 7pm, which worked perfectly for her.
The only problem with the class was that she’d been ambitious and signed up for an intermediate session. The main reason she’d chosen this particular class was that it fit her work schedule best. And then she’d assumed that having done a bit of Yoga with friends in college (and considering herself to be young and somewhat fit), she wouldn’t have too much trouble adjusting to the intermediate poses.
She’d been very, very wrong.
From the start of the class, Nicole had known she was in for it. The instructor was this tiny little woman with a severe expression on her face and the attitude of a drill sergeant. Her name was Lilly and she yelled a lot for a Yoga teacher.
“Marianne, straighten your left leg. No straighten it. Okay, I’ll come over and do it for you!”
This was a typical rejoinder. Lilly would adjust arms and legs and make comments the whole time, usually about how lazy or bad everyone was at doing the positions.
Nicole was sweating and shaking from the first asana. By the time they’d gotten to downward dog, she thought she might not make it through the first fifteen minutes. Her legs were shaking. Her arms were shaking.
“Come on, Nicole,” Lilly said, stalking towards her as she spoke. “Elbows straight. Straight. Butt up. Pretend a string is pulling your posterior to the sky.” She walked behind Nicole and pulled her hips skyward. The relief on Nicole’s straining forearms was immediate and she wished Lilly would stay there.
But the teacher quickly moved on to the next sad sack.
Why am I doing this? She asked herself. It had seemed a good idea when she signed up a week ago, a way to take her mind off the empty space in her life. But straining and sweating and shaking, just minutes after getting off the train from a long day’s work—now she thought it was one of the stupidest decisions she’d made.
“And, let’s move into Salamba Sarvangasana, otherwise known as shoulder stand,” Lilly called out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nicole muttered, as everyone else instantly rolled into near perfect shoulder stands.
She was sitting there, debating whether or not to just get up and walk out, when she saw him at the door. First he was just a shadow, but even before she saw his face—Nicole knew. She knew Red had come to find her.
He strode purposefully into the studio of women with their toes pointed in the air, and the little strident instructor turned to stare at him. “Excuse me sir, we’ve a class going on.”
Red ignored the instructor.
He was dressed in jeans and a white and blue Armani shirt that managed to show off his incredibly broad shoulders and chest. His dark hair and dark eyes were darker and more intensely beautiful than ever, she thought.
“Nicole, we need to talk,” he said.
The instructor shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir—I really must ask you to leave. Now.”
“Nicole.” Red stared at her unwaveringly.
The women had dropped out of their shoulder stands and were watching the scene now.
Nicole tried to breathe. Tried to think.
Did she want to have this conversation right now? What was he going to tell her?
“She doesn’t have to go with you,” the teacher said, protectively.
Nicole had to give the lady credit, she was a real spitfire. “It’s okay,” Nicole told Lilly, standing up and grabbing her Yoga mat. “I should have signed up for the beginner’s class anyhow.” Smiling with some embarrassment, but mostly relief, Nicole followed Red out to the street.
Outside, it was pleasantly cool, and the sweat began drying on her sore body.
Red looked at her, his eyes pained. “Why?” was all he asked.
She knew what he meant without further explanation. “Because,” she said, “I didn’t think it was right for me to keep your ring. And it wasn’t healthy for me to hold on.”
Red broke off from looking into her eyes, instead choosing to look at the ground. “When I came home and found the envelope with your address on it—for a minute I thought you’d written me a letter and my heart sang.”
“I wasn’t trying to mislead you or upset you,” she told him. She’d never seen Red look this way. Even when he was throwing dishes and glasses, he’d looked frightening. But now he was just…drained. Almost like a fighter who’d been beaten, staggering around the ring with nothing left to give.
“I know you weren’t trying to hurt me,” Red said softly. Now he looked at her again, and when their eyes met, the old shock hit her full blast—the feeling of being known and knowing someone totally.
“I didn’t want us to end like this,” she told him. She was holding her Yoga mat like she was grabbing onto a life raft, like it would somehow save her from this ocean of pain and despair she felt.
“Opening the envelope and seeing the engagement ring sitting there, wrapped in paper, and nothing with it. Not even a note. I’d rather you threw it down a sewer.”