A Grip of Time by Lauren Kessler

Author:Lauren Kessler
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781684350797
Publisher: Red Lightning Books
Published: 2018-11-27T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

WHEN I ARRIVE ON THE ACTIVITIES FLOOR THIS AFTERNOON, I see Wil leading his yoga class, seventeen guys on mats doing down dogs and cat cows. They are set up on the left side of the cavernous multipurpose room in front of the cages that house the prisons’ clubs. I walk as close to the class as I can without being obvious and listen for a moment as Wil instructs—military style, not the “open your heart and breath into that space” kind of cueing you expect from your yoga instructor. I watch the men, gray-haired, balding, in their baggy prison jeans and blue T-shirts, hold forearm planks.

I make my way over to our room, stopping at the threshold to check out who’s there. Lee, Don, Kaz, Michael, James, and Dez are sitting around the big built-in-the-prison conference table. I do not see Shawn, the spread-legged, tattooed-neck guy who joined in the last session and said he’d be back. I don’t realize I am holding my breath until I hear myself exhale, apparently with some force. Don turns his head, gets up, walks over to ask me if I’m okay. “Very okay,” I say. Later when I ask Steven about Shawn joining the group, he smiles, shaking his head. “That just ain’t gonna happen,” he responds.

Wil finishes leading his class and comes in a few minutes late. I ask him about the class. I knew he taught yoga, but I’d never seen it in action. He says a chronic care nurse in the infirmary asked him to lead it years ago. It’s called “medical yoga,” he says.

“You mean ‘Yoga for Old Men,’” quips Michael. Michael is sporting a new look: moustache, Vandyke beard, soul patch. His bald head gleams under the fluorescent lights. He looks like a WWF superstar gone to seed.

Wil gives him the kind of look only Wil can give: steely-eyed, taking his measure, showing no mercy. A Clint-Eastwood-tough-old-man-don’t-fuck-with-me look. He lets that look settle in for at least two beats longer than it has to. Eastwood staring into the camera. Then his eyes narrow and crinkle up at the edges. This is Wil’s version of a smile. It turns out he’s playing with Michael.

“You see,” he says, addressing us all but nodding at Michael, “I get no respect.” Deadpan sarcasm. Wil is the most respected man at the table, one of the most respected lifers. And now he’s on a roll.

“You hurt my feelings,” Wil says. He is being jocular. Deadpan jocular. I’ve known Wil for more than a year, and I’ve never seen him like this. Maybe this is what he is really like, but he wasn’t allowing me to see it? Maybe he’s high on yoga. “Yep, you hurt my feelings,” he repeats.

“Oh, we hurt both your feelings?” counters Kaz. Kaz takes his writing seriously but not himself. Kind of like Michael. In fact, I am beginning to think of Kaz as Michael’s sidekick.

There is this second of silence while everyone in the room decides if the bantering has gone too far.

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