Georgia, meet Rick. Rick, meet Georgia.

Georgia, meet Rick.  Rick, meet Georgia.

 The character of Rick comes to play an important part in the life of  Georgia.  I introduced him years ago.  I have recently re-worked the story.  As I mentioned, some of my stories have been lost but I'm really glad I found this one again.  And again I marvel at how much I needed to change in the story!  Seems we are always growing and improving.

Georgia is a little bit lost.

“Excuse me,” she says to a dreadlocked Caucasian man, “I’m a little bit lost.  Do you know where the Charles J. Gunter Family Centre is?  It’s supposed to be around here but I can’t find it and I’m – "

“Huh?” says the man.

“The Charles J. Gunter Family Centre.”

“No idea.”

“Okay, well.” Georgia walks on, picking up her pace.  It is raining quite hard and she slips and almost falls. Startled, she leans against a building that has suddenly popped up.

“Thank god that building suddenly popped up,” she says.  She looks at it and wonders if it is open and if it has a public washroom since she really, really needs to pee.  Above the doors is a sign.  Georgia reads it – “The Charles J. Gunter amily Centre.”  The F has been spray painted over.

Georgia thinks for a minute and then, “thank God I am here.”  She runs through the doors and spots a restroom.  After relieving herself for a rather long time, she feels better and slightly calmer.   
She checks her registration receipt – “Second floor, beginner Iyangar Yoga.  Thursdays for 12 weeks 7:15- 9pm.”

Her doctor had suggested yoga as a way for her to learn to relax.  Georgia was worried that she might be too old for it, too out of shape, but the brochure assured her that anyone of any age could participate.  The class was within walking distance of her basement suite, and what with the heavy rain and mild flooding in her kitchen of the last few weeks, she was happy to get out for a while.

After a trudge up the stairs, Georgia sees another sign, “Iyangar Yoga, come on in!”   Georgia is generally not a fan of the exclamation point.

She takes a breath, goes in and is immediately greeted by a thin muscular woman in her fifties wearing tights and a tank top.

"Come in, come in.  Welcome.  Sit at any mat that’s free.”

Ten or so people are already milling about, some sitting, some standing, and a few lying down with their eyes closed.  Georgia takes off her jacket and hangs it up. She chooses a mat at the back of the room.

“Remember to take off your shoes,” says the muscular instructor woman.

“Oh, right, right,” says Georgia, “Of course, I’m sorry.  Sorry.”   
She pulls off her boots and then her black socks, walks to the front and puts them with her coat.  “Do my feet smell more than usual,” she wonders.   
She returns to her mat and lies down.

“Nope, not comfortable,” she thinks and sits up.  She sniffs the air but doesn’t smell anything other than the faint hint of maple bacon popcorn. 
 “Yum,” thinks Georgia.

“We’ll get started now,” says the instructor.

“We’re going to go slowly, so don’t worry,” says the instructor.  “If something feels uncomfortable to you then stop and sit or lie down.  This isn’t a competition.  It’s all about relaxing, breathing and learning to know your body.”

Georgia wonders if she does know her body.  She seems to know the flabby bits quite well and how her eyes see much less than they used to, causing her to squint much more.  She wonders how intimately she wants to know it.

“So we’re going to start,” says the instructor, with a little breathing from your belly.”

Ten minutes into the practice, Georgia and the other students are standing with their hands stretched above their heads.

“Stretch, stretch,” intones the instructor.

“Ow, ow,” thinks Georgia. 

“You can look up at your hands or if that is not comfortable, feel free to look down at your feet.”

Georgia decides to look around and soon finds herself transfixed by a man with one leg.  His eyes are closed and he looks so peaceful, thinks Georgia.  He has a nice prosthetic she notes, not too artificial looking.  Well, it is of course somewhat artificial looking but –

The one-legged man opens his eyes and turns to look at Georgia.

“Um,” thinks Georgia.  She smiles. 

He is smiling.

There is a lot of smiling suddenly.

 “Your first time?” he mouths.

“Yes,” she says back.

“Everyone just breathing and being quiet now,” says the instructor.

“Oh,” thinks Georgia.

A few minutes later, after the instructor has gotten the students into a seated forward fold, she excuses herself to go to the washroom.

Georgia looks at the one-legged man.

“Glad to see you here,” he whispers to her, “This is a great class.  A lot of people take it a few times.  This is my third.  I think you’ll like it.”

His third time, Georgia thinks.   Of course, with only one leg it must be harder. Well, one leg and a fake leg, but still.

“Yes, it should be good I hope,” whispers Georgia.  “I’m hoping mainly to learn relax and get in touch with my body.”

Did I say to touch my body or get in touch with my body, thinks Georgia.  Why am I so nervous? 

“So,” begins Georgia.

Two young women at the front turn around and shush.

“Oops, sorry,” she says.

“Shush,” they say again, in unison.

 A chorus of shush.

The sound of the toilet flushing is quickly followed by the instructor’s return.    “Good,” says she says as she moves around the room gently re-positioning people.

When she gets to Georgia, she touches her stomach.

“Huh?” thinks Georgia.

“Breathe from here,” says Claudia, “From deep inside your belly.”

“Okay,” says Georgia, who begins to breathe more rapidly from her chest.

Soon they are practicing downward dog. Georgia wants to do well in the dog position so she doesn’t break the pose even though her back hurts, her arms are almost numb and she feels faint.  She allows herself to groan and finally, on the third dog, to say ouch.    Next she breaks wind.  Loudly.

For a millisecond she feels that all dog movement stops.  She moves quickly to sit back down and plunks her bottom onto her mat.

She looks at the one-legged man who is also sitting.

“I always fart in yoga,” he mouths to her.

“Oh!” says Georgia.

“No talking please,” says the instructor.

Finally, the group is in the final pose, “’Corpse pose,’ it is often called,” says the instructor.

Death, thinks Georgia.

“Breathe and close your eyes and be at peace.”

Georgia feels tense, sweat dripping from her brow.  She breathes from her chest.

A few minutes later the class ends and Georgia feels dizzy and is a bit scared to sit up lest she pass out.

She looks around.

“Are you okay?” asks the one-legged man. “You look a bit pale.”

“Oh, I’m okay, just thought I’d lie here for a few more minutes.”

“Perfect.  You know, I love this class.  It is so so peaceful.  Gentle.  I’m a surgeon so I’m on my feet all day and this is a great way to-“

Georgia sits up quickly.  A surgeon!  The word is dancing in her brain, the letters flitting here and there – u – g – o –s - e - q, wait there is no q, she thinks.

Before the room really gets spinning, Georgia asks what kind of surgery.

“Plastic,” he says, “Restorative.  Cleft palates, burn victims, that kind of thing.”

“Wow,” says Georgia.

“Um, I’m feeling a bit woozy and vertigo like,” mumbles Georgia.

“Oh,” says the one-legged surgeon.  “Why don’t you lie back down.”

“Oh god,” she says.   “Yes, I just need to lie down.”

“You probably just sat up too fast.  It happens.”

“Stay where you are,” says the instructor, also near her now.

“You can go if you need to, Rick,” the instructor says to the one-legged surgeon.

Georgia, in her haze, hears a slightly different name.

“No, no problem.  I’m happy to make sure she is alright.”

“Oh, I’m feeling better already.  The room isn’t moving now and the feeling of faint and impending doom has generally faded.”

“Good,” says the instructor, “I’ll go get you some water.”

“Do you have a ride home?” asks the one-legged surgeon.

“No, no I only live across the park.”

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh okay.  Thanks, thanks Prick.”

“Ha, no, my name is Rick.  Common mistake especially amongst the recently anesthetized.”

“Right,” says Georgia, “Sorry, I’m not quite myself.  I’m Georgia, like the state, the state of Georgia.”

“Nice to meet you, state of Georgia.”

“Nice to be met.”