Yoga by Dalton Russell

Yoga

by Dalton Russell

Breathe in for three seconds. Hold it for three seconds. Exhale for three seconds. Don’t breathe for three seconds. Focus on the breathing square.

Focus on your task. Don’t let your inability to finish it make you feel incompetent. Don’t let the supervisor’s un-insightful email make you feel hopeless. Don’t freak out because it’s due in an hour. Don’t mind the AC kicking in, the smell of blueberry vape coming from another cubicle, Natalya chewing with an open mouth on your right, the Sun shining directly into your forehead, the sweat building between your toes, the hair standing up on your forearms making you feel like a bug is crawling on you.

Breathe in for three seconds. Hold it for three seconds. Exhale for three seconds. Don’t breathe for three seconds. Focus on the breathing square.

Go to Target. Grab a frozen pizza. Check out the clearance. Mittens, Charleston Chews, Hot Wheels, Silly Putty, and superhero stickers. Don’t look up, but if you do, don’t notice Amelia and Tyler walking down the aisle. Don’t notice them holding hands, laughing at the faux-designer sunglasses Amelia just tried on. Don’t remember how Amelia lit up every time you kissed her as if it were the first time. Don’t remember massaging her shoulders after work, surprising her with a picnic when her depression resurfaced, or taking care of her mother when her mother got the flu and Amelia was traveling for work. Don’t remember going to yoga classes with Amelia, watching Grey’s Anatomy so you could spend time with her, or changing yourself to be the man she wanted. Don’t remember wishing, for the first time, that you could see the world with someone.

Breathe in for three seconds. Exhale for three seconds.

Don’t remember how sad Amelia still was about Tyler when she dated you. Don’t remember how weird the two of them acted when Tyler’s boss transferred him to Amelia’s office. Don’t remember how much Amelia’s mother still liked Tyler. Don’t remember how close Amelia and Tyler became despite being exes. Don’t remember the nights she came home late. Don’t remember the ring she returned to you. Don’t remember realizing she only appreciated the traits you shared with Tyler.

Breathe in.

Don’t walk up to them. Stop shaking. Stop breathing so quickly; you’re hyperventilating. Don’t speed up. Don’t try to catch them. Don’t notice everyone’s head turn to watch as you close in on them. Don’t reach out.

“Hi, can I help you with something?” the Sales Associate asks, intercepting you.

“I’m just looking for,” grab the nearest thing, you idiot, “a bra.” Fuck.

Amelia and Tyler are staring at you. She’s nervous. He’s grinning. They don’t say anything. Nothing at all.

“I don’t think you’re a D-cup, sir,” the Sales Associate says.

Tyler giggles. Amelia pulls him away. They continue shopping. You hope they blend in with everyone else and disappear in the dairy section. They don’t. Stop

looking. The Sales Associate is waiting for your response.

“Whoops,” cue the most awkward laugh of all time, “it’s my first bra.”

Don’t engage in awkward eye contact with the Sales Associate. Don’t walk away with the bra in your hand. Don’t buy it at the cash register because you’re too afraid to put it back. Get back to your car as soon as possible. Sit down, close your eyes, and breathe.

In for three seconds. Hold for three seconds. Out for three seconds.

When you open your eyes, don’t acknowledge Tyler mocking you as he and Amelia walk past. He’s miming large breasts on his chest and giving you a thumbsup as a compliment. Drive home.

Put the pizza in the oven. When you go to turn on the oven, change your mind and grab a bottle of bourbon instead. Drink directly from the bottle as you search Netflix. Delete Netflix when it suggests you finish watching Grey’s Anatomy. Cry. Finish the bottle of bourbon with the TV off, alone on your couch, in silence. Blackout. Wake up an hour before work. Do the sun salutation. Hold the warrior pose. Fall on your face. You’re still drunk.

Breathe in for three seconds. Hold it for three seconds. Panic. Stop panicking; you just forgot to exhale. Exhale.

Take off the bra. Throw on dirty clothes from your hamper. Remember to do laundry at some point. Go to work. Check your email. Breathe.