February by Lisa Moore

Author:Lisa Moore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780802170705
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 2009-06-15T08:00:00+00:00

A NEW DAY

A Lesson, November 2008

HELEN IS AT her morning yoga class and everyone is absolutely still on their separate mats, inward-searching. The first orange rays of the sun are coming through the big frosted windows, stretching in long rippled rectangles over the tiled floor. Flinching concentration. They are a class of shiny, flinching women, except for the gay high school boy, who wears a spandex headband and has dyed blue hair.

Lulu said yoga, so Helen has been doing yoga. The smell of feet and floor polish and the scrudge-squeak, now and then, of a naked foot on the royal blue gym mats that unfold with a slap and send up the smell of dust and sweat.

Sweep your arms out and turn the palms towards the sky, the instructor says, so you can receive the breath. You’re going to offer your hearts, she tells them. Helen feels the thump of her heart and tries to look like she is offering it. She glances around. There are expressions on some of the women’s faces; they seem to be sincerely offering their hearts.

And reach, reach for the sky, they are told. The instructor breathes in audibly, and then the class breathes in. The instructor exhales. They all exhale.

Consider all you have learned, the instructor says. And let’s practise gratitude while we stretch. They practice gratitude silently.

Bring your left foot in, the instructor says, when she figures they’ve been grateful enough for the moment. And come back to the centre. A muscle in Helen’s ass has clenched. It happens every time.

Turn your heart, the instructor says, towards the sky. Helen holds the pose. They are required to think philosophically about their lives while they stretch. Stretching is not enough for the yoga instructor. They are supposed to summon the wisdom they have achieved thus far. And hold. Yoga has a spiritual side, Lulu had explained to Helen. And Helen thinks: a slippery, yeasty-smelling religion having to do with church basements and community halls, ache and release.

Easy pose, with a twist, the instructor says. Look over your left shoulder. They all turn at once to the left and glance back.

This is what Helen has learned: it is possible to be so tired you cannot reach for the sky, you cannot breathe. You can’t even talk. You can’t pick up the phone. You can’t do a dish or dance or cook or do up your own zipper. The children make such a racket. They slam around. They play music on bust or they lie on the couch watching soap operas. They fight and smash things and lose their virginity or they lose their way. They need money and they need to borrow the car. One shoe is always missing. You go through the bookbags, you go through the closet; always one shoe. Gone.

Easy pose, with a twist, look in the other direction, the instructor says. Helen lets the pain invade her other thigh and it is a sonorous voice. There is a voice in her thigh full of recrimination, rising in volume.

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