Authors: Kate Bishop
Louise had given me six weeks to find a place to live. At the last possible minute, I leased a studio in the Mission District. It was ten blocks from The Yoga Garden.
The morning I was to move out, I woke up feeling like a guest in somebody else’s house. Not only was I detached—our decor now seemed so impersonal and oversized—but I also sensed the presence of another person, quietly waiting for me to stir. I rolled over and looked at the clock. 10am. It felt good to sleep in; I was exhausted.
The day before, Louise had called and announced she was stopping by to “pick up some things,” probably so I wouldn’t take off with anything. Not wanting to cross paths, I quickly scheduled a session with Giovanni, grabbed Billy and high-tailed it out of there as fast as I could. I didn’t even pack a lunch or sweater; I’d just have to buy both in the City. Avoiding Louise was more important than my imminent bankruptcy; yoga was doing a number on my bank account, but it was all I had. Besides, I prayed to the yoga gods, whoever they were, and always set my “intention” to find a job. Eventually.
I lingered so late in the city that I could barely remember falling into bed. I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights when I came in. Now, morning light was pushing through the blinds, and I realized I was still in my yoga clothes. I stretched and tried not to think of Tripp lying next to me in this huge, soft bed. Instead, I forced myself to try Giovanni’s meditation technique. I closed my eyes and repeated his mantra six times:
I am healthy. I am whole. I am full of peace.
Next, I attempted to “watch my breath.” This one was trickier. How could you watch something if your eyes were closed? I’d tried to engage Giovanni in this philosophical quandary, but he’d just thrown his hands in the air and said, “Alex, you are so distracted!” Now, facedown in the fluff, I could at least feel the heat of my breath. Inhale.
Exhale.
I could always use my vet school savings.
Inhale.
I should just quit the privates with Giovanni.
Exhale.
But my dancer’s pose is getting so good.
Inhale.
I could borrow money from Mom and Dad.
Exhale.
I am mediating. I am meditating.
Inhale.
Does Tripp meditate with Lauren?
Exhale
. Does Tripp’s nasal whistling bug her?
Inhale.
Does he think about me when he’s meditat—Oh, forget it!
I leapt out of bed.
As soon as my feet hit the floor, I knew something was up. Where there should have been a hand-tufted rug, there now was just bare cherry wood. I looked around and saw that each shelf and table had been cleared. Not a frame, lamp, or book was left in Louise’s fantasy of a proper bedroom. Then I noticed the stickers. One large, red dot had been placed on nearly every object that remained. The bedside tables, desk, and floor lamp all had one. I ran to the bathroom, also swept clear of once-shared items. She’d even taken the bath mat. Heart in my throat, I ran to the study, threw open the door, and stood there, gasping.
She had taken the painting.
The beautiful painting of my favorite racehorse, Delphino, was gone.
I stood there staring at the empty space on the wall above the leather couch. Tripp knew how much I loved that painting. Something about Delphino’s eyes reminded me of Winger. They were clear, fierce, and vulnerable. Whenever I felt lonely or adrift, I’d make a cup of tea and sit in front of that painting. I’d pretend I was at home with my folks, sitting at the kitchen table with the kettle steaming and Winger just a walk away.
She took the painting
.
The worst part was that no one in Tripp’s family even cared about it. Delphino had been “a disappointment.” He’d ranked third in the 2010 Del Mar Handicap, an embarrassment. To me, he was the most majestic of all their horses. There was a wildness about him, an unknowable potential, like he could win every title if he wanted to. If it mattered. If any of it mattered. Tripp would tease me for refusing to ride any other horse.
“Don’t you want a champion?” he’d ask. When I refused, he would say, “My Alex with her love of the underdog,” and pull down Delphino’s saddle for me.
I stood there for several minutes, then wiped my tears and began again:
I am healthy.
I am whole.
I am full of peace . . .
I felt like I was flat-out lying. I returned to the bathroom.
Did she bother to leave me a roll of toilet paper?
Only my clothes and neatly shelved shoes remained in the custom-built walk-in. I stood there, opening and closing the many drawers that once housed Tripp’s ties, socks, underwear, and t-shirts. I couldn’t believe that a grown man would have his mother do this.
And those stickers.
I wandered through the office, the den, and the living room. A rash of red dots flared everywhere I looked. In the kitchen, even appliances were tagged. Did she really think I was going to try and make off with a Sub-zero refrigerator? I reached for the phone to call Jenny.
“You’re not gonna believe this.” I could barely speak.
“What?”
“Can you come over now?” I tried staring at the floor to calm myself down, since my meditation techniques were clearly failing me.
“I thought we were starting at noon?”
“The sooner I can get out of here, the better. Just come over whenever you can. And don’t forget Tucker’s truck.”
“Okay. Give me ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Jenny.”
I excavated an old pair of cutoffs from the bottom dresser drawer (
dot
), put my hair in a ponytail, and slipped on some running shoes to go wait for Jenny on the front porch. I pulled open the front door and just about jumped out of my skin.
“Whoa! Luz, you scared me. How long have you been standing here?”
“Ms. Louise drop me off at eight o’clock. I not want to wake you.” She shook her head apologetically.
“What are you doing here?”
“Ms. Louise want me to come. Want me to . . . to . . . help with—”
“Let me guess: she wants you to make sure I don’t take anything with a red sticker on it?” I demanded.
Luz nodded sorrowfully, and immediately I regretted snapping at her. At five-foot-five, I
towered
over her. She’d spent the better part of her adult life taking crap from the Edwards kids and their friends. That was the last thing I wanted to be a part of. I changed my tone.
“When did she do this? Did she come last night?” I asked.
“Last night, she come with her boys. ‘To get started,’ she say. They bring home lots of things and put many boxes in the garage.”
I looked down at my shoes.
“Which boys?” I didn’t really want to know, but asked anyway.
“She bring Teddy. And Tripp. She say because he have the key.” She looked at me. We both knew that Louise had a key to this house.
So he
had
come. I felt a pain in my chest so intense I thought I might collapse. I underestimated him. I imagined him coldly pointing out the items he wanted with Louise scurrying behind him, gleefully putting stickers on everything, tossing the precious oil painting in the back of her Mercedes. And Teddy. I could just hear his jokes and comments, not to mention the way he’d turn it into a situation comedy for the family’s entertainment later on. I covered my face with my hands. Luz reached up and put her hands on my shoulders.
“Tripp is sad, Alejandra. Yesterday, I come too. And I see he feels bad.”
“Really?” It didn’t change anything, but I felt a little better knowing Tripp may have had a shred of remorse.
“I think yesterday he want to say goodbye,” Luz said.
Goodbye.
Reality was closing in on me: the clock had struck twelve, and I stood in tattered rags, abandoned and unloved. The edges of my vision were going black, and it was getting harder to breathe.
“Luz, will you excuse me for a minute? Come in, stay out, whatever. I just have to do something.”
Hyperventilating and half-running, I went straight to the laundry room, grabbed my mat, and threw open the back door. I stumbled down the back steps and clumsily unrolled it before diving into the most hardcore child’s pose ever taken.
Breathe, Alex. Breathe. In and out. In and out.
“
This
is home,” I said to my mat, clinging to yoga like some sort of born-again. But there was no denying that it helped. When it seemed the threat of fainting had passed, I sat up. But the word “goodbye” echoed in my head, so I pushed up into a wobbly headstand to distract myself; the pressure on my head was soothing. I could see Luz and Billy, upside down, watching me from the back door.
Who needs Prince Charming when you can do this! Ha!
See? My sessions with Giovanni were actually starting to pay off. I felt the beginnings of a smile. I was going to be okay. And revenge didn’t seem so far off. I imagined Galen and me running into Tripp and Lauren, then Galen stroking my hair while telling
Yoga Journal
about my blinding inner light and kick-ass half-crow. I heard Jenny pull up in the truck. Soon she was standing with Luz and Billy.
“Good call doing an inversion, Alex,” she called encouragingly. “It counteracts stress and reverses the aging process,” she explained to Luz, who looked perplexed.
I clunked down onto my toes then rolled up slowly, “one vertebrae at a time.” I felt better—light-headed, but better.
Moments later, I found Jenny, in a sundress, talking to Luz in the kitchen. She was taking in the red dots and shaking her head.
“Ms. Louise say she come tomorrow. You girls have all day. She not disturb you.”
Jenny sighed. “I really don’t think it’s going to take us that long, Luz.”
“Can you believe it? I think the only things they left un-stickered were my dad’s paintings and the old guest bed. Good thing I only have to furnish five hundred square feet.”
Luz looked at me.
“Won’t be needing any domestic help, will I?” We all laughed painfully. There was an awkward pause before I said, “Luz, you can go. Really. You know me. I won’t take anything. Go ahead and enjoy the day. At least grab a magazine and relax on the front porch. You’ll be able to watch us load the truck.”
She hesitated then said, “Okay,
mija
. I sit. But I help you if you need me.” I walked over and gave her a hug. She had always been so nice to me. In fact, she was the only Edwards ‘family member’ that I’d ever felt comfortable around. We had spent time in the kitchen together, at Thanksgiving, Christmas, the Fourth of July in Tahoe. And now here we were, in the kitchen again, but under very different circumstances. She hugged me back, and I really felt the substance of her. We pulled apart and looked at each other, both outsiders now. Her smile reassured me that it was a much friendlier place out here.
“So what do you want to take?” Jenny asked. “It sucks that you have to leave all this behind.” She draped her body on the dining room table. A red sticker glared two inches from her chin. We stared at it.
“
Only when we divest ourselves of earthly possessions can we understand the boundlessness of our true wealth
,” I explained. Jenny looked at me. “I found it on Enlightenment.com.”
“I guess so,” she said. “Is this custom from Milano’s?”
“Yep. The chairs, too.”
We sighed and began boxing. About twenty minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was Nancy asking if she could come over and help. “Sure, that’d be great. Oh, could you bring four? Louise’s housekeeper is here. I know. Okay, bye.” A couple of minutes later, Nancy was swinging her way up the front steps with two bottles in each hand, looking like a middle-aged St. Pauli girl. She greeted Luz with a big, “Hola!”
We each took a bottle from her outstretched hands, cracked them open, and took a sip. A forceful spray blew from Luz’s lips. She looked horrified.
“What—what is—?”
“Kombucha,” Nancy replied. “Has yours gone off?”
Luz was visibly appalled, but collected herself and shook her head politely. “No, no. I think maybe no. Thank you. I drink it later. Now, I just sit. Thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Nancy asked. “I can go get you another one.”
“No, no,” she shook her head more adamantly now. “I fine. Thank you.”
“Well, okay. It’s nice to meet you,” Nancy trailed off, following Jenny inside. I turned around to catch Luz’s eye.
“Que
nasty
!” she whispered.
“It’s pro-biotic,” I said.
Luz just shook her head.
***
Thank God Nancy
and
Luz were there, because it took all four of us to get the old guest bed out the door and onto the truck. We must have been quite a sight: Nancy in sexy yoga clothes, Jenny in a fancy frock, Luz in her white housecoat, and me in my college dorm uniform. We yanked and shoved ’til a wheel on the cheap metal frame gouged the floor, right in the middle of the foyer. We all paused.
“Oops,” said Jenny.
“Oh well,” sighed Luz.
“Carry on,” declared Nancy.
We slid it down the flagstone steps, and it landed with a crash at the bottom. I was definitely feeling better now. At that moment, two guys dressed like Lance Armstrong rode by, presumably on their way to the coffee shop, per Mill Valley dress code.
“Yoo hoo, fellas! Over here!” Nancy waved from the porch. “Say, could you give us a hand?”
In a flash, they were off their bikes: knights-in-shining-Lycra. They lifted and tethered our load to the roof, tap-tap-tapping around the truck in their hard clip-in bike shoes. We offered them Kombucha and stood with them while they sipped. It was quiet for a while until Jenny broke the silence.
“So are you guys
really
going for a ride, or is this just your standard weekend getup?” she asked. Luz covered her mouth, Nancy laughed, and I gasped. This day was liberating us all.
“Why do people always make that joke?” asked cyclist number one.
“Yeah, why would we dress like this if we weren’t going for a ride?” asked cyclist number two. They chugged the last of their tea, mounted their bikes, and pedaled off in a hurry, shaved legs glistening.