The Last Resort by Marissa Stapley

Author:Marissa Stapley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Graydon House Books
Published: 2019-04-01T16:33:47+00:00

Johanna dove down, pushed the crown of her head forward and up, stretched her body, first curving upward and then into downward dog, a position she had never liked the name of particularly, not even when a Buddhist friend of hers from home had once explained it had just as much to do with letting go of pride than anything else. She knew enough about letting go of her pride; she didn’t need to call herself a dog in order to do so.

She rose and twisted, dove down again, repeated the sequence. She turned her attention to her mat, and then to the front of the room and the yoga instructor, who said, “Remember to breathe.”

Dyke bitch. That voice was everywhere and she couldn’t tell whose voice it was anymore. Talking to Grace had helped but only when Grace had been there with her. Now she felt scared. Grace hadn’t said anything. Grace had just listened. What was Johanna going to say to her when she saw her next? What would Grace do if Johanna kept going, if she finished the story? Because that had just been the beginning, the very beginning of a long story. There was still Cleo. There was still the real truth, darker and worse. She had vowed not to tell—and now she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to stop herself.

The teacher instructed them to move into warrior two. Johanna liked the warrior poses best of all; they were the chief reason she did yoga, to feel that momentary strength and forward-moving purpose. But she didn’t feel it this time.

At the end of class, the instructor said, “There isn’t another class after this so if you would all like to stay in savasana for a while, please feel free.” But Johanna never did savasana at all, so she got up and left the room because she knew that in the silence, the voices would come, first one, then the other, telling her the truth about herself.

She entered the changing room to pick up her sweatshirt and yoga mat bag. She stopped. A woman crouched in the corner startled her. The woman had a haunted look in her eyes. At first, with her hair pulled back and up, as if she, too, had been about to do a yoga class, Johanna didn’t recognize her. Then she realized it was the shiny-haired woman from the first night, Shell Williams.

Johanna approached. Shell stared ahead, unseeing. She was trembling and there were tears on her cheeks. Instinctively Johanna looked her over for marks and for bruises. She crouched down and looked into her eyes. Small pupils, a bit glossy.

“Shell?” The woman didn’t move. “Are you all right?”

Shell’s eyes came into focus. “Oh,” she said, looking around the dim changing room. “I’m fine,” she said, touching her cheeks, as if surprised to find them wet.

“You’re not,” Johanna said. “Can I help you to the bench?”

Shell let Johanna guide her to sit. She sat with her shoulders slumped. She didn’t speak.

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