Safe
Towards the beginning of my yoga class Saturday afternoon, we were all on our stomachs, looking at the floor. I forget what we were doing--probably baby cobra. Somehow whenever we do those flowing up-and-down movements, going from downward dog to plank to knees-chest-chin and sliding forward to baby cobra, I end up sliding so far forward that I'm actually off the mat in the front. So, I found myself staring at the wooden planks of the floor in front of me, not at my mat, as the teacher encouraged us to keep our gaze down somewhat so that our spines would be straight even as we lifted our chests in baby cobra. I was wearing my contacts, which is still a novelty for me. As I was looking down at the floor (while straining my upper body upward and forward), I was thinking to myself, "Wow, the floor is really close, and these contacts are for distance, but look, I guess I can see things when they're really close too." Then all of a sudden the floor sort of reared up at me and the room started spinning. My vision was so blurry that I actually thought one of the contacts had slipped off. I jumped up, which only made things worse. Since there were only four students in the room, my teacher noticed my strange behavior. "Everything okay,?" she asked. "Yes," I said, "I think it's a contact thing." I backed up, toward the wall behind me, where I had left my bag and my shoes, and started fumbling for my eye drops. The room was still spinning violently. I waved vaguely at the teacher, and said, "Just go on without me."
I thought I would go to the locker room and see if I could figure out what was happening with the contacts. Then I decided to sit down for a minute, since I felt so unsteady. I sat down, my back against the cool mirrored wall, and immediately felt more anchored. To see which one of my contacts it was that had slipped, I closed first one eye and then the other. Each eye, it turned out, could see fine on its own. Then I opened both eyes--voila, the room was back to normal.
I put down the bag, the shoes, the eye drops, and went back to my mat. "That was weird," I commented to the teacher as I joined the rest of the class in a downward-dog split.
Later, after yoga, I called my friend Music Guy, who lives in my neighborhood and is often just about ready to come out and have coffee or something to eat when I am done with yoga. We met at our usual place, a bakery that serves breakfast and lunch, but we were too late, the kitchen was closed. Music Guy wanted to sit outside, so we decided as a fallback plan to wander over to a nearby deli, get sandwiches and sit on the steps of the big church up the street. The deli was crowded and chaotic and frenzied, and we were happy to get our sandwiches and coffee and get out. It was a warm day, although gray and humid, and the streets were crowded too. There was no room to sit on the steps of the main entrance of the church, right on the avenue, so Music Guy said, "Here, we can go around to the side." We found a spot on the steps, there, and, after a woman talking on her cellphone left, it was just us.
We settled into our food and our conversation, which went, inevitably, to the vagaries of dating. Music Guy is in a relationship now, and is very happy in it, but over the years, we have shared our war stories. I was still feeling bruised over a recent encounter on the street with an ex, and we talked about that (although not too much because I know it is better not to keep talking about these things over and over, reliving the bad feelings), and Music Guy said loyal, understanding, supportive things.
As I sat there with him, I felt aware of--and slightly intoxicated by--all the street life passing in front of us and slightly below us: people doing errands, moms with kids in strollers, oh, look, isn't that your cousin walking by. Across the street, the flower stand outside the big supermarket was filled with bright colors, especially bright against the gray day (and with my contacts on). Everything seemed close and real. I leaned back against the purple wooden plank doors that cover up the real church doors when the building is closed. The wooden doors were warm against my back, as was the stone of the archway wall against my side. The steps were filthy and smelled slightly of urine, but somehow even that evidence of other human beings was comforting. In that malodorous nook, sitting next to my guy friend whom I love and trust, I felt safe and happy.
I thought I would go to the locker room and see if I could figure out what was happening with the contacts. Then I decided to sit down for a minute, since I felt so unsteady. I sat down, my back against the cool mirrored wall, and immediately felt more anchored. To see which one of my contacts it was that had slipped, I closed first one eye and then the other. Each eye, it turned out, could see fine on its own. Then I opened both eyes--voila, the room was back to normal.
I put down the bag, the shoes, the eye drops, and went back to my mat. "That was weird," I commented to the teacher as I joined the rest of the class in a downward-dog split.
Later, after yoga, I called my friend Music Guy, who lives in my neighborhood and is often just about ready to come out and have coffee or something to eat when I am done with yoga. We met at our usual place, a bakery that serves breakfast and lunch, but we were too late, the kitchen was closed. Music Guy wanted to sit outside, so we decided as a fallback plan to wander over to a nearby deli, get sandwiches and sit on the steps of the big church up the street. The deli was crowded and chaotic and frenzied, and we were happy to get our sandwiches and coffee and get out. It was a warm day, although gray and humid, and the streets were crowded too. There was no room to sit on the steps of the main entrance of the church, right on the avenue, so Music Guy said, "Here, we can go around to the side." We found a spot on the steps, there, and, after a woman talking on her cellphone left, it was just us.
We settled into our food and our conversation, which went, inevitably, to the vagaries of dating. Music Guy is in a relationship now, and is very happy in it, but over the years, we have shared our war stories. I was still feeling bruised over a recent encounter on the street with an ex, and we talked about that (although not too much because I know it is better not to keep talking about these things over and over, reliving the bad feelings), and Music Guy said loyal, understanding, supportive things.
As I sat there with him, I felt aware of--and slightly intoxicated by--all the street life passing in front of us and slightly below us: people doing errands, moms with kids in strollers, oh, look, isn't that your cousin walking by. Across the street, the flower stand outside the big supermarket was filled with bright colors, especially bright against the gray day (and with my contacts on). Everything seemed close and real. I leaned back against the purple wooden plank doors that cover up the real church doors when the building is closed. The wooden doors were warm against my back, as was the stone of the archway wall against my side. The steps were filthy and smelled slightly of urine, but somehow even that evidence of other human beings was comforting. In that malodorous nook, sitting next to my guy friend whom I love and trust, I felt safe and happy.
posted by Sarah Sometimes at 9:21 PM
1 Comments:
What a wonderful moment you've captured here.
I just returned from a conference during which I spent all kinds of time with Artist Friend -- long intimate conversations while sitting on a park bench or the steps of a building -- and I know that feeling well.
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