We moved on to poses. I copied Kurt when I didn’t know what to do. Ana walked around adjusting our bodies. In downward dog, she said, “Imagine your lungs have migrated south to the space above your pelvis. Now breathe into that southern place.” She pulled my hips back and when my spine cracked she said, “Aah.”
When Kurt’s leg touched mine by accident, she said, “If you bump into the person next to you, don’t worry about it. We’re all in this thing called life together. We’re all in the same boat, paddling through the same water.”
She spoke in a soft and confident tone. In cat/cow, she told us to move like our bodies were scraping peanut butter from the inside of a jar. She told us to glom our hands into the mat like we were glomming them into mud. She quoted Lao-tzu and Rumi. She said wise things I agreed with. I’d probably read versions of these things before, but there on the beach with the waves and the birds and the certainty of her mesmerizing voice, every word felt more powerful. She said our thoughts would create our destinies. She said letting go was the bravest thing a person could do. She said wretchedness and generosity needed each other to survive, the same way fire needed water and water needed fire, and the earth needed the sky, and all of it—the whole thing—needed wind to keep moving, to keep breathing. She reminded us to keep breathing.
As we breathed and moved and the sun rose higher in the sky, I found myself wondering about Ana. Who was this woman with the pink in her hair and the tribal bracelet tattoos around her wrists? And had she always been so confident? That’s what I really wanted to know. She carried her curves without apology. When her tank top rode up her stomach, she left it there to expose her alabaster skin. She wore no wedding ring and smelled deeply of coconut oil, and she kept telling me I was doing great. “Great, Nancy, that’s beautiful, yes.”
At the end she said, “Peace to all beings, no exceptions.” And as she bowed forward: “And that means no exceptions.”
She said we could put our ten dollars in the basket. I rolled my yoga mat up as tightly as possible and thought about how nice it was to feel so relaxed.
Getting to the basket included taking part in a small procession. Everyone had something to say to her.
“I really needed that class,” Patty said. “I think Marbles is going to die any day now.”
Ana hugged her. “Oh, Patty,” she said, “you’re suffering.”
Patty frowned and looked down at the cat on her shirt. Which—oh, this wasn’t a generic cat. This was Marbles. I could now see that MARBLES was literally written across the bottom.
“We all have our own journey,” Ana said. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, showing Patty how to breathe. “We are born alone and we die alone. That’s just how it is, Patty. There’s only one way to cure your suffering.”
Patty perked up. “What is it?”
Ana’s hand on Patty’s shoulder. “Acceptance, my friend.”
Patty’s whole body slumped.
“Here,” Ana said, “have a few Red Vines.” She held out the tub, which I knew was a Costco purchase. As Patty reached for her Red Vines, I was reminded of the boys, who used to love it when I bought these tubs—this was before they had switched to Reese’s cups—and I was also reminded of my mother for some reason. Maybe the red straws she used to drink from.
Patty took a handful, and Ana kissed her cheek. “Enjoy your life, Patty. You only get one.”
Next it was Sara Beth’s turn. “I adore you, Ana.” Sara Beth draped her skinny arms around Ana’s shoulders.
Just then Kurt turned to me, extended his hand, and said, “Kurt.” We shook. He flashed a perfect white smile, made whiter by his very tan skin. How did these people have such perfect teeth? Kurt was maybe fifty-five, and his skin was good-tan, not yam-tan. He had the beautiful, light-damaged eyes of a surfer. They were rugged and pristine like water you might want to swim in.
“You live here or visiting?”
“We just moved here,” I said.
“I moved here from Idaho seven years ago and it’s the best thing I ever did.”
I didn’t have anything to say about Idaho besides potato, so I just nodded.
“Well hey, if you’re looking for a dentist, I’m a dentist.”
“Thank you,” I said, understanding his teeth now. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Sara Beth was done with Ana, she circled back to me and said, “Come back, okay?” She gave me a thumbs-up. Her nails were painted bright green.
What was wrong with these people? They were so friendly! Sara Beth was probably too young to be a friend-friend, but then maybe I could have young friends now. Maybe I could be open to that.
Kurt thanked Ana. “Gotta shove off,” he said. “The waves are calling.”
“Take some Red Vines,” Ana offered.
“Not today.” Kurt patted his abs. “I’m on paleo.” With that smile and that body and the beach behind him, he looked like the star of an energy drink commercial.
“Don’t you just love perfectionists?” Ana asked, looking at me, and I laughed awkwardly.
Kurt kissed her cheek and then turned to say good-bye. He lifted his hand as if about to wave, but then he stopped. He looked at Ana. He looked at me. He looked back at Ana. He looked back at me. He said, “You two look like sisters.”
Ana and I looked at each other. “We do have a resemblance,” she said, and I was flattered. Because Ana was pretty—prettier than me, I thought—and also because she just seemed so wonderful.
“Aloha, ladies.” Kurt gave us the hang-loose sign and walked toward the truck with the surfboard in the back.
“Oh, Kurt!” Ana called after him. “My veneer thing!”
“Call me at the office! We’ll figure it out!”
Ana rolled her eyes. “Veneers are such a pain.”
I smiled with my mouth closed so she wouldn’t see my yellow teeth, and I put my ten dollars in the basket. “Thank you for that class. It was really nice.”
“You feel better, right?”
“So much better, it’s incredible,” I said breathlessly. I was still feeling electric. And I might have been a little nervous. I wanted her to like me.
“Thanks for dragging me out of the car,” I said.
“You weren’t hard to drag.” She smiled.
In the silence that followed, Ana took my hand. Her eyes were dark and glimmering and so alive, and I thought, This is a person who is truly living. This person gets it. This person definitely knows something you don’t know.
“Have we met before?” she asked. “For some reason I feel like we have.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You never lived in Vegas, did you?”
“Vegas? No.”
She chuckled. “I must be confusing you with someone else. It’s hard to keep track of everyone when you get old. Every new face looks like someone from the past.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well,” she said, “come back next week. Your back will love you for it.”
“I will.”
“Here”—she held out the tub—“take a Red Vine.”
I plucked one from the side.