“This woman is on the pot. There is no other explanation.” Fat sits on the carpet where the coffee table normally lives, staring at the television screen. A scrawny blonde chick in a teal unitard folds herself in half and I try to reconcile my body into a similar shape. Fat’s head turns and her matter-of-fact tone burrows into my ear, “You’re doing it wrong. That aligned spine you’re so proud of is getting wrenched into the shape of an ampersand because of this shit.”
I shake my head until my frizzy hair parts and I follow the movement on the screen with a time delay that’s two steps shy of disabled. As my hands swoop above my head and I unhinge at the hip, I respond to the feline — the ship sailed on proper breathing technique within the first fifteen seconds. “Am I unaware that I’ve been bragging about my straight spine?”
“You’re either proud of your spine or you’ve quite the stick up your ass. What say you?” Fat’s back arches in an almost impossible curve and then she flops on her side.
My legs shake as I try to focus on keeping my knee directly over my foot as I bend. Hamstrings burning, I gamble with maintaining balance and steal a glance at Fat. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you don’t just say what’s on your mind.”
Fat and I pause while the blonde yogi’s airy voice tells us to take the tension built up through the day, push it out of the body and compost it.
“Compost tension? Terrible idea for fertilizer. Stay away from that garden.” Fat notices that I’m still waiting on an explanation. “This whole yoga thing,” Fat rolls over so she occupies the space that I’m trying to extend into, “it worries me.”
I nudge her aside with my foot, bend my knees and do my best to hold steady, “Go on.”
“First this, then you’ll be in lululemons meeting some bitches for cappuccinos in West Vancouver to talk about fashion. After that, you’ll have an extravagant engagement, over-the-top wedding, dramatic divorce, a second wedding, second divorce, then a third.”
“That’s not going to happen, Fat.” My body can’t sustain the pose, and I collapse on the floor beside her.
“Yoga is a gateway activity into a lifestyle that you’re not meant for.”
In the background, the yogi imparts more wisdom in the form of a voice over.
“Face it, boss. You’re not zen enough to make a go of this. You’re more of a bloody-knuckles-solve-problems kind of gal. Just yesterday you were talking about wanting to junk-punch some dude in Nevada.”
I reach for the remote and turn the television off. “Action gets results,” I shrug as if extreme measures are the social norm.
“Thank you. This hippy nonsense, it’s not for you.” Fat’s face leans toward my calf and I feel her wet nose briefly touch my leg. “Just keep being your normal asshole self and stop freaking me out, okay?”
At some point, I zone out when Fat speaks and I hone in on a desire that’s overtaking my ability to think straight. “I need chinese food.”
Fat smiles. “That’s my girl.”