Page 134 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

THEO

Have fun.

Have fun.

Why was everyone telling me to have fun?

Fun sucked.

Yoga was fun? Holy fuck, yoga was hell. Bending and reaching and holding poses and breathing and… FUCK.

“Breathe in, forward fold. Breathe out, halfway lift. Breathe in, forward fold. Breathe out, step back, plank.”

Aspen’s melodic–and evil–voice cued our moves. Since I had no idea what most of what she said meant, I kept one eye on Mallory. And because watching her bend and move was hot as fuck. But I was too miserable to appreciate how flexible she was.

Plank I could do. I held myself at the top of a push up.

“Go through your flow and meet in downward dog.”

I lost count of how many times she said that, and I still didn’t have it. Watching Mallory again, I lowered myself into a low pushup, then up in a weird stretchy sphinx pose, then shifted back, ass up and into downward dog.

From the thirty other times or so we’d been in this position, I knew Aspen would hold us here for at least a few seconds. I took those few moments to turn my head and gaze, upside down, at Mallory, only to discover she was looking at me.

And smiling. Grinning, really. Then she gave me that same funny face when I’d told the first graders at the assembly about communicable diseases.

I couldn’t help but grin back.

“Doing okay?” she asked.

“This is fucking hard,” I replied, shifting my palms on the mat.

“It’s fun,” she replied. Her long hair was up in a sloppy bun on top of her head and her cheeks were flushed from exertion.

I was sweating like a pig.

“Is it extra hot in here?”

“Yeah, it’s not quite hot yoga, but the heat’s turned up.”

Who the hell turned the heat up for a workout? “Why?”

“To make you sweat,” she said, but probably wanted to add on Duh.

“Right leg up and back,” Aspen cued.

Mallory stuck her right leg up and out behind her. I followed.

“Bring it up, curl knee to nose.”

I brought my knee up underneath me but there was no way in hell it was getting anywhere near my nose. I wasn’t that flexible, and I felt my core quiver at the attempt. I grunted and Mallory laughed.

I got frustrated and growled.

Mallory kept right on laughing.

“Plant your foot, Warrior Two.”

I looked to Mallory and followed. She came up into a stance with her front leg bent, back leg straight out behind, arms up and out at shoulder height, moving almost effortlessly.

I was lightheaded and sweat dripped down my temples. I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and wiped my face.

“Peaceful Warrior.”

Mallory leaned back, stuck her right arm straight up.

I grunted at the flex in my back when I mimicked her.

“Extended side angle.”

Mallory dropped her arm and leaned forward, rested her elbow on her right knee.

I copied her again. “You do this all the time?” I murmured.

Mallory grinned. “I love it. Theo, you look miserable.”

“This isn’t fun,” I said, my right thigh burning from holding the pose.

“There’s no winning in yoga,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything perfect.”

Said the woman holding a perfect pose and glistening with sweat, not melting like a snowman in July like I was.

“That’s right, Mallory,” Aspen said, picking up on Mallory’s words. “You’re here, you showed up for class. That’s yoga. If you can’t smile while doing yoga, when can you smile?”

I gave the woman–who seemed so quiet and placid but was actually a ruthless taskmaster–a doubtful look.

“Life’s not easy. Shit happens,” she added.

The others in the class hooted and called out their agreement from their extended side angle misery.

My mind immediately went to all the trauma patients I had over the years, which was pretty much a daily occurrence, then to the last one, the boy who’d died in surgery. Shit definitely happened, and when it did, I was supposed to feel something. Anger, sadness.

“This is easy,” Aspen pushed on. “Simple. Just be. There’s no competition, no winning. Just be.”

“Just be,” I muttered. “Have fun.”

“Yes, let’s have some fun,” Aspen added, seemingly taking my words to heart. “Time for Bird of Paradise pose.”

Everyone started to laugh and groan, which meant I wasn’t going to like it.

On her mat in the front of the class, Aspen moved into the pose we were all holding, then added on. I listened and watched her with growing horror.

“Bind your hands, bring your right foot back to your left, then slowly lift, lift, lift, then foot to the sky.”

“Holy fuck,” I whispered, rising up out of the pose and stared at Aspen in disbelief.

She was standing on one foot, her arm wrapped around her back and the other around her leg that was raised in the air and pointed toward the sky.

She looked like she was in Cirque du Soleil or some other contortionist show. Or a Bird of Paradise flower.

I looked on as everyone in the class started to work on the pose to varying degrees of success, talking and laughing as they tried.

One woman got her hands bound, one arm behind the back, the other through the legs to have the hands clasped together.

One got her feet together but that was it.

She looked… tangled bent over like she was.

Another was slowly lifting her leg, balancing precariously.

Then there was Mallory, who got her leg up just like Aspen, then stumbled and fell out of the pose. She laughed, then tried again. This time, she failed at bringing her legs together, stumbled, then stood and laughed some more.

I couldn’t help but smile at her efforts, the way she tried, failed, and just… had fun.

I shook my head, amused.

She turned to me, eyes rolling. “You try.”

I held up my hand. “Hell no.”

“Just the bind.”

Just the bind. As if that didn’t look hard enough.

I gave her a look, but she gave me a look back.

“Fuck,” I muttered before shifting into the initial pose, but couldn’t figure out how my arms went from there. Mallory took my left arm and bent it behind my back as she helped move my right to reach beneath my thigh and then behind.

“Good!” she praised as I struggled to reach the tips of my fingers together, then curled in and clung. Barely.

My breathing was ragged from exertion, the sweat falling non-stop.

“Now bring your legs together,” she added. The soft feel of her hand on my hip had me attempting. I felt like I’d been hogtied while trying to stand upright at the same time. An inch, then another. Then–I lost my balance and tipped, but I let go of my hold and stopped my fall.

I stood, caught my breath and found myself… smiling.

Everyone clapped for me, and Aspen came over and squeezed my arm. I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Mallory gave me a spontaneous hug, then pulled back, laughing. “See? Fun!”

I shook my head at her glee. At the class’s praise at my sad efforts.

I’d failed, all my faults and weaknesses on display, but nothing happened. No one yelled. No one shamed me. No one died.

I’d been applauded and… hugged because it was just yoga.

As Aspen settled everyone down onto their mats for the winding down of class, which, from what I could tell, was to lie on your back and take a nap, I realized I took shit way too seriously.

I just tried to turn myself into a fucking pretzel and was pissed that I failed.

Of course I failed. I never imagined even trying. Ever.

But I did, at Mallory’s prodding. And I’d felt serious, then ridiculously silly, then… amused.

Once settled on my mat, eyes closed, Mallory’s hand found mine and held it. And didn’t let go.