Miasha - Secret Society

I put the mail to the side and finished watching my shows. I laughed at parts that weren’t even funny, trying to keep my mind off of Tina’s letter. I tried pushing it to the back of my mind. But it was impossible.

Who was she to tell me to reconcile with my mom when she lived with her grandmom for I don’t know how many years without even saying hi and good-bye? She was the one who told me to hell with my mom when I cried for three days straight after she told me she didn’t have a son anymore. And she said she forgave her grandmom. For what? Her grandmom didn’t do anything except let her do anything she wanted to.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get Tina’s letter off my mind. It was tripping me out and I wanted bad to call her, but I knew I wouldn’t have had the heart to say to her any of what I was thinking. So fuck it, I thought. Fuck the letter and fuck how she felt. Fuck her being a new person. I wasn’t about to have food taken out of my mouth because she found her conscience. And when did the wizard start giving out consciences, anyway? Shit, she should have gotten a brain, because she must be real stupid if she thought I was getting out the game.

It took about a week for me to completely get over the message I got from Tina, and I had to take yoga classes to do it. I just took the letter for what it was worth. In the meantime, I developed a love for yoga. It not only took my mind off of things, but it also occupied my time, which I had a lot of since I was without a man.

“Now breathe,” Debbie, the yoga instructor, said softly.

I was stretched across the floor surrounded by about seven women and two men. We were all in tights and T-shirts. I wore my T-shirt to the middle of my thighs, unlike the other women, who wore baby Ts or sports bras.

“Now pull…Now release.”

The room was completely silent except for the deep breaths. Everyone was concentrating and in their own worlds. It was calming.

“Okay, class, that’s our time,” Debbie said as she slid from her lying position to her knees.

“I’ll see some of you Friday and the rest of you next week.”

After class we all gathered our belongings and scattered. As I left, one of the women, someone new to the class, approached me.

“Great class, I can always go for yoga.”

“Yeah, it definitely does your body good,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, forget about milk, right?” the pale-skinned lady said, winking a big green eye. “I’m Sue Ellen.” She freed her hand from her gym bag to give me a shake.

“Celess,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

“So how long have you been taking this class? Is the instructor any good?” Sue Ellen asked with a smile. She seemed happier than any average person on any average day.

“For about two weeks now, and yeah, she’s pretty good.”

“Well, uh, listen, I’m headed to Reading Terminal for lunch, you wanna join me?”

I was hungry, so even though Sue Ellen struck me as one of those types who could get on your nerves with all of her talking, I accepted the invitation. I figured a little lunch couldn’t hurt.

Sue Ellen and I walked a few short blocks to Reading Terminal. Center City’s streets were crowded and busy, since it was lunch hour. Inside Reading Terminal, which looked like a mall food court, we got our orders, then grabbed seats at one of the few tables available.

I was happily putting a dent into my cheeseburger and paused when I realized Sue Ellen was looking at me the entire time.

“Here I am eating a cucumber salad and looking like a house and you’re chomping down on a cheeseburger with the works looking like a model. How is that?”

I smiled and said, “Genetics,” and continued chewing.

Sue Ellen kept her eye on me throughout lunch. I thought maybe that’s what white people do and overlooked it. Occasionally I would look up at her and smile. Then I decided to stir up a conversation about class.

“So what gave you the urge to try yoga?” I asked, sipping my root beer.

“I was in a bad car accident a little while back and my doctor recommended it, you know, for therapeutic reasons,” Sue Ellen explained between chewing a fork-full of cucumbers.

“Oh, well, I hope it helps,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. God knows I need to get rid of my back spasms. What about you? Why did you decide to take the class?”

“Honestly, it was a mix of being bored and needing to get my mind off of things,” I responded.

I kept the conversation going to avoid the awkward silences and stares by Sue Ellen. Then, as we were parting ways that afternoon, I found out what her stares were all about.

“It was a pleasure, Sue Ellen,” I said, ending our lunch.

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine,” she said.

I was taken aback by her enthusiasm.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you again in class,” I said as I stood up from the table.

“Or maybe we can see each other tonight for dinner. I’m great in the kitchen and”-Sue Ellen giggled-“in bed.”

First I was speechless. Then I was motionless.

“Excuse me?” I asked as if I hadn’t heard her.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up. “You know,” she said as she licked her tongue out at me in a seductive manner.

“Oh, my, um, Sue Ellen, I’m sorry, but you have me mistaken. I don’t date women at all,” I said firmly.

“No kidding? Well, I am sorry. It’s just that you’re so masculine, I thought…”

I’d like to have slapped the hell out of Sue Ellen, but I just laughed it off. It must have been the overgrown T-shirt and the clunky track sneakers I was wearing. Whatever, the incident with Sue Ellen reminded me that I needed a man.

“Hi, I’m responding to an ad in the paper, SBM looking for SBF-” I said reluctantly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” the deep voice cut me off.

“Hi, how are you? My name is Celess,” I said, trying not to laugh.

I was all giggly inside, like a girl being introduced to her first crush.

“Hey, Celess, I’m Michael. I’m surprised someone responded,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m surprised I was that someone.”

There was a pause.

“So, Michael…what do you do for a living?” I asked. Apparently I was going to have to initiate the conversation.

“I’m an architect. I get contracts for universities, hospitals, and things like that. What about yourself?” he asked, sounding professional.

“I’m a…yoga instructor,” came sliding off my tongue.

He caught me off guard. No man had ever asked me that who I was interested in enough to lie to.

“Um, that sounds interesting,” Michael said.

“But my ultimate goal is to open my own hair salon,” I quickly added to throw him off.

“Hmm, a yoga instructor and a hairstylist? Sounds like you’re pretty well rounded,” Michael said.

“I guess you can say that,” I said before changing the subject. “What part of the city are you from?” I asked.

I was trying to gather some background information on Michael. It was easy and probably very likely to be deceived when hooking up with people who placed ads in search of companionship.

“Well, actually I’m from Boston. But I live in South Philly on Columbus Boulevard. I’ve been here for two years now,” he answered.

“How is it living on that strip? It must get loud on the weekends with all those nightclubs.”

“Actually, it doesn’t. For starters, I’m on the twenty-fourth floor, so-”

I cut him off and said, “Oh, you’re in those lofts down there on the water. You must have an amazing view.”

“I do, yes. I see the Delaware River from my living room and the skyline from my bedroom. It’s something to see at night.