Aloft 1.3 Too Far
The steam in the shower puffed around me like clouds. I don’t know what it was about cold days like this, but when you hit it at just the right time with the right heat level, my shower would transform.
I stood there, letting the water pummel me. Half the to-do list was done. I would do the rest in the morning. By the time Holden got home, I would be the picture of domestic perfection. No need to worry about mom. Another hurdle crossed; another week saved.
I bent my head forward and let the jets beat into my shoulder muscles. What were those the trapezius? I grinned. All those little things Holden loved to teach me. Hours of my life talking about muscle groups. I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for anything. The mind-numbing details of proper technique and muscle group work. The intense look that came over him, his little drawings on napkins at the dinner table, not one second of it a waste of time. Those simple moments, the beauty of motherhood, where you deeply care about something you care so little about.
The water beat against me, but I felt close to nothing. My shoulders had frozen into lumps of flesh covered cement, no longer pliable. Images of yoga mats and sand popped to mind. It had been so long since I had actually unrolled my mat. Half of me wanted to commit today but the other already felt tired and my brain flicked to a new subject, but I snagged her back.
I committed to meditation, maybe restorative yoga. That was about as far we were venturing today. But we would venture.
***
The sun was gone. A clump of grey clouds threatening chilly rain had choked it out. The weather station near the side entrance to the patio confirmed rain, and I put Noelle in motion towards the door. She was less than thrilled. I grabbed a few more logs and left the door standing open while I settled them.
She crawled back into her bed while I stoked up the fire and I could have sworn she rolled her eyes at me as I clanged the metal fireplace tools against the wood rack.
When I returned with my mat and cushion, she gave me a heavy sigh and moved from her dog bed to the couch. It was a real sacrifice on her part.
Holden had uploaded my workout app to the TV in the living room. It was months ago, and I grimaced, expecting to lose another ten minutes trying to log in, but it popped open with little effort and shame set in. So many excuses. I found the instructor I liked and settled into deep breathing. Yoga first.
My lungs expanded. A ripple ran down my back. How long since I had fully inflated these beasts? I took in another long breath and felt lightheaded. Ridiculous. She was asking us to shift into pigeon. I did, but had to grab a cushion from the couch to lean my forearms into. It took a few minutes before I could manage both the stretch and continuing to breathe, but after a few chuckles at myself, I worked my way through it.
We flipped to the other side just as my phone started pinging. I propped it on the pillow, attempting to read it without my glasses. It didn’t work, and I had to abandon the workout to fetch them from the kitchen.
NHC: Crutches
NHC: Ortho on Monday
Mom: You okay? Yuck, you got the time and address?
NHC: Yeah, I’m fine. Dad is pissed.
Mom: Not pissed, worried. Don’t say pissed.
NHC: Fine… mad then. Real mad.
Mom: Does it hurt?
NHC: It’s fine.
Mom: I am sorry.
NHC: Me too, but I’m fine. Dad is freaking out about football. 6 months from now.
Mom: He’s just worried about injuries, he’s not really mad.
NHC: I want to come home. Katie is having a dinner party tonight.
Mom: Dinner party sounds fun.
NHC: I hate her friends.
Mom: Don’t.
NHC: They are a bunch of backstabbing liars.
Mom: They are just people.
NHC: People without loyalty.
Mom: They are loyal to your father. They are his friends, Holden.
NHC: Uncle Jeff can fuck himself and his fat wife too.
Mom: Don’t say fuck. Don’t call people fat. Let it go, Holden. It’s time.
NHC: I won’t trust them.
Mom: Okay, but stop being mad. You’re only hurting yourself.
NHC: They lied.
Mom: Who doesn’t? Besides, I enjoy living with just you. Kinda worked out.
Mom: Noelle says hi.
NHC: Hi, Noelle.
Mom: Get some water and chill out.
NHC: What are you doing?
Mom: Yoga.
NHC: WHAT? Are you using the app?
Mom: Yes. All day cleaning and now some yoga. I am quite a human.
NHC: Nice. I told you. Knew you would like it. Don’t go in my room.
Mom: Never do.
NHC: I mean it. I’ll clean it.
Mom: I have no interest in your room.
He started to type and stopped.
NHC: I love you.
NHC: My ankle really hurts.
Mom: I love you more than all the stars, elevate, ice, Tylenol, rest. Smile.
Mom: DO NOT CURSE in front of your father or his friends.
NHC: Not a fucking problem.
I slid back into the session, catching up right as they were coming out of a hip opener, but lucky me, there was a deeper, more challenging one right behind it. I fell in and did the best I could. My body was like an overwound watch waiting for just the right pressure to pop, spilling all the gears and springs onto hardwood.
Feeling inspired, and embarrassed that all I had on the board for a 30-day window was one 30-minute restorative yoga, I clicked on a meditation session, and it fired up. I grinned. It felt good to do something for a change.
The soft voice of the instructor asked me to relax. I tried. Today was forgiveness and letting go. I laughed. Why is it always the ones that get hurt that do all the letting go? Did they have a stop being a dick meditation where you thought about how selfish you were, or why you lied? I shook my head, trying to focus on her words.
She wanted us to build a place in our heart, a place of safety. I don’t know why, but tears spilled out. I wiped them away with the neck of my shirt.
Damn hip openers did it every time.
“I want you to build this place, fill it with things that give you a sense of security, or maybe it is a place that you have been.” Her voice went dreamy, soft.
My lip quivered.
We had this place when we first moved in together. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars a month. One bedroom. Two AC units. A pink kitchen with peeling paint and a bathroom that still had the cast iron wall unit for heat. 10-foot ceilings and hardwood floors. 5 units in the building. Our perfect little world.
That’s where I went. That’s where I went every time.
I had put honeysuckle in the filter of the AC unit. The smell filled the entire apartment. I was on my mat, sweat still clinging to my skin, every cell of my body alive. My eyes were closed, but I could feel him enter the room. That shift of energy that comes with someone’s sudden presence. I smiled but didn’t open my eyes, hinting to him that I was still busy. He knelt anyway, pressing his forehead against mine.
The memory returned with such clarity it was hard to reconcile it against reality. Every sense woke. I could feel the pressure of him on the mat before me. How was that possible? But I ached to feel more of it. But much like the shower mist, it wouldn’t be forced into a solid form. So, I settled for feeling as much of it as I could.
He traced his finger down my cheek that day and I fluttered my eyes open to look at him. His eyes had been soft, reading mine, reading my face. I took him in, lingering over every hair that rippled down around his face and over his shoulders, the hue of his eyes, the texture of his skin. He had showered but didn’t shave and his stubble was heavy, a dusky blue black under the skin. He smelled of soap and grocery store shampoo.
That day he only lingered a little while before we moved on but, in my memory, I went back there and held him almost infinitely. Revisiting that moment, stretching it out, slowing down time.
I let my heart or soul or whatever label you need to give it reach out for him. He was so near, eighteen inches maybe, but just out of my reach. The smell of him rushed back stronger. My mind drifted further, deeper. I wondered if when I died that gap would close and I would actually touch him again. Would that be the moment when my soul left my body? Is that all that held us apart, this body, my cage? Could I step out of it, just for a moment?
My eyes snapped open.
I was alone.
Too far.