Practiced Dog Poser

I rolled a mat off a pancake pile of rugs from the corner of the room next to a table with paper cups and a glass jug of water with lemon slices floating in it. Kepah's living room held eight people; as we came in, she told us, "Before you start, refresh yourselves." There was a new person in the class. She asked me what to do, and I told her to grab a mat. I began to stretch. She had her toy dog in tow. I wondered how she would do yoga with the miniature pinscher dog, who appeared to be on cocaine. I summoned my higher power to help me not judge - I would say to each her own, and I would mind my business, thank you very much.
"Hello everyone, I'm Jean," This woman was standing in the middle of the room, announcing herself as if she had just one a peace prize.
"Kepha, I called you. It took me a while to find it here. It is off the path. I told my husband. This is my second husband. In these small towns, these small neighborhoods are very frustrating to drive," she said. Her little black and brown dog ran in circles, tail between its legs. I watched the dog while she spoke, wanting them both to tire soon.
I gave Kepha the universal sign for help by lifting my eyebrows to my hairline. She was Indian and perhaps did not understand the sign because she did not react with anything more intense than a show of teeth.
"Welcome, Jean. We are all happy here to meet you." Kepha had a way of telling us how to feel, which I found reassuring because I didn't know how to feel most days. She smiled and sanitized her hands. I envied her. She had a forcefield of peace that could not be penetrated. In contrast, this nervous traveling circus act breached my aura and tested my nerves.
I rubbed my temples as Kepha told us we needed a detox regimen. She started hawking her handmade sachets of herbs for fifteen euros. If I could cleanse, that was the answer to start again, to have a hard reset every day. I took my little pouch and thanked her before the yoga class started. Kepha's large living room, with its expensive supplements and herbs, gave me a new lease on life. I tucked the little pouch away and started to practice. I felt grateful for Kepha and her guidance and determined to make the most of this opportunity. As I breathed in and out, I knew I was ready for a fresh start.
This woman towered over me she was a large woman with big honey-brown hair. She looked Italian.
"Are you American?"
"Yes, I am," I said and smiled, deflecting her energy by turning my back to her. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn she lifted weights and could bench press me. Kepha called out a complicated move that took two people. No one stood nearer to me than she was, still; I turned away and prayed. She was standing as I knelt, and she grabbed my calves. Her calves bulged like Cottonwoods. Kepha called out the connect pose. With our partners, we all linked hands to ankles like a daisy chain; our heads stretched out on our mats. After the pose, we returned to a breathing pose to pay attention to our breathing.
The dog seemed to know what to do; it knelt beside her as if moving into a prayer pose.


"I lived in Chicago for three years with my husband. I'm from France. I've never been in such a small town before, she said, then leaned in, "it's freaking me out; by the way, my name is Jean, Marelle."
I knew her name because Kepha had emailed us all about the new person in the class of eight. She told us her number one concern was the safety of the group. She wanted all of us to feel safe. I appreciated being coddled and reminded that I was in a group that had a circle of trust. Kepah's yoga studio was in her house, she had a large living room. There was a fountain in it. A ball rolling in water that was in an electrical socket made a gargling noise, and the music was heavy on the harp-sounding voice of one yogi or another. You could see the field pasture with sheep grazing and their bells added to the music.
"I can feel my muscles relaxing," Jean said as we slid into the downward dog pose. Besides being overly animated, she gave a running commentary on her every thought. Okay, she's broke. She told me her first husband had filed for bankruptcy, leaving her forty thousand in debt. I didn't know how to turn her off.
"I live on Willesee Street. I've been there for two months, and this is the first time I've met my neighbors.
It was February and cold and rainy. The teapot was boiling over with prepared water.
I did the mountain pose, pulling my body into alignment, feeling an invisible string that shot out of my head and into the universe. A German woman named Barbel looked at me with heat lasers in her eyes, and without saying her name out loud, I rolled my eyes in Jean's direction. The Neckargemuend Yoga Club was a group of eight, and we came together anonymously to share the space. I only knew their names because Kepha sent a document with names and faces attached. Although I'd been coming for eight months, I stayed aloof. No one was there to make friends.
"I used not to be this flexible", Jean said. We were standing.
"Have you ever done a desert retreat for yoga It is amazing. I was in the Gran Canarian Islands. I should have gone to India to study, but many great yoga teachers live there in Gran Canarias."
"A yogi?" I asked; her dog had retreated to the basket she had bought with it, afraid of something. I looked around to see what had spooked it and imagined it was the tiny bell Kepha would sometimes chime.
No, I could have bought a retreat and a yogi," she said and didn't seem to notice how elitist that sounded. I moved my mat lengthwise. "So, you can have more room," I lied.
"My spine is slightly curved. I have to wear a back brace only at night," Jean said, then entered a squat.
Was this a dream? Was I in bed and not in the yoga room having my sanity tested?
"Concentrate on your breath," Kepha said.
I was thankful for this directive because it meant that Jean would have to keep her mouth closed. I couldn't believe Kepha wouldn't say anything, but she was talking directly in my ear and to no one else. I knew it was because I wasn't German, and so she felt a kinship with me. I was the only one in the room that she could be sure was an outsider like her and the dog. Everyone politely ignored the dog, but I found its existence needy.
"Create the bridge pose," Kepha called out, looking at us through the mirrors. Jean hanging on to a bridge. She was wearing an eighties-style workout outfit and white tennis shoes.
Kepha had mirrors around the room against the wall and plaster Indian deity figures in each corner.
It began to rain hard outside, and Kepha moved to close the window, which was now blowing in rain through the picture windows. With the window closed, I was sure Jean, and the little dog would use up all the air in the room by barking. The Germans had begun talking amongst themselves, and I began worrying there was a lynching party developing, and since Jean was talking to me, I would also be tarred and feathered out of town.
The tension broke, and a German woman named Anja confirmed with Kepha, "This class is also for meditation." The dog barked when the mail person was at the door and then peed on the floor when Kepha left the session to answer the door.


Kepha returned, and Jean had used a wet wipe to smear the dog's piddle. "Suzy. She never does that."
Once she had relieved herself, Suzy settled into the basket once more.
Someone asked Kepha if she could open a window as the dog had wee'd.


Everyone began to groan. Kepha looked at me, but I was not the one being disruptive, although my mother would have said it takes two, and someone else might have said if you're not part of the solution, then you are part of the problem. I just put my head down into my hands on my mat and tried to breathe out the stress this morning was giving me.
The breeze felt good if a little cold. Sensing freedom, Suzy exited the basket and began to chase its tail.
Jean put the dog back in the basket and told her not to get out again. Then asked me where I lived, speaking in hush tones near my ear.
"I can drive you home." It was more like insane, but I smiled and said, "No,".
I could tell she wanted this to be a Thelma and Louise moment. I wasn't German, but I did feel the need for order to be maintained. As the German people in the room looked at us with disgust, I was trying to use my eyebrows to signal, "I'm suffering for you." I pursed my lips, and surely, they could feel my pain.
Do I hate myself? She was an expat like me, looking to make a connection. No, I don't have the mental energy to be in a gang, even a gang of two. With my nagging dissatisfaction and general unhappiness with living in the tiny village of Strudelbach, I have medicated and incorporated my yoga and need to maintain control of the art of balancing.
I waited until she pulled out of the parking lot before going to my house over the train bridge and up a small hill. The walk was good for me, a natural detox.