New York Love Story (Guess How Much I Love You!) - Episode 3

“My skin has been getting rough lately.”

“Are you taking vitamins?”

“I take supplements every day, but they’re not working. I think maybe my metabolism isn’t that good.”

“You lead an irregular lifestyle, don’t you? What about alcohol?”

“I try not to drink too much. If I drink alcohol when my metabolism isn’t good, it will give me bad results on the body fat scale.”

　Both of the people talking are men. The days when only women had to worry about beauty are long gone.

　Animals choose healthy and beautiful mates to leave a superior species for posterity. It’s only natural that many men have been grooming their eyebrows, removing dead skin from their skin, and throwing away their cowboy hats in recent years, and while there may be some trends, being attracted to beautiful things is nothing more than a primitive feeling that has existed since ancient times. If you insist that a greasy face and dirty toenails are proof of a man, that’s fine. However, the reality is that it’s becoming doubtful whether such men will be chosen by women who are trying to “preserve the species.”

“I hate being bald,” “I hate being fat,” “I hate being too skinny,” “A smaller butt is better.”

　Women are raising their expectations of men, overturning the history of misogyny. Even if the opinion that “Why isn’t my boyfriend Brad Pitt?” is a bit extreme, I can sympathize with the idea that a man should be beautiful.

“If you don’t take concrete action soon, you’ll end up regretting it in the summer.”

　Here is a man who has dedicated himself to beauty without the goal of “preserving the species.”

“The season for hiding your body in your favorite Givenchy is coming to an end.”

　My lovely friend Roman Destiny is insulting my pretty coat.

“You drink and smoke, so you have to work twice as hard. You go to the gym, don’t you?” he says, stirring a bowl of bean salad.

　The reserved dinner table is at my house. Roman is the chef, and I’m his assistant (mainly in charge of washing dishes and peeling). The wonderful menu is macrobiotic. It’s the perfect course to talk about beauty.

“I’ve been slacking off a bit lately. Work has been busy. I don’t have the energy to row on the rowing machine after work… Is this enough garlic?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Rowing isn’t the only form of exercise after all.”

“What about you? Any sports?”

“A little s3x.”

“s3x is not a sport!”

“Don’t you know? s3x is great for your mental and physical health.”

“A gym, a pool, a jacuzzi, and a s3x room… Which sports club is that? I think I should join.”

“Oh, you have a boyfriend, don’t you? Maybe you haven’t had s3x yet?”

　Roman’s eyes sparkle, and s3x is his favorite topic.

“s3x is not a sport to me. Stop prying and give me some advice.”

　Roman’s title is “Beauty Advisor.” As the name suggests, it is a job that advises on how to stay beautiful. He used to work at the same beauty salon as Paul, but now he is independent. He does this job as a freelancer. His job involves writing columns for women’s magazines and giving lectures to wealthy ladies, but according to him, the job of a beauty advisor is more like a “mission” than a “job.”

“My role is to help people to be beautiful. I guess you could say I’m the Mother Teresa of beauty.”

　Roman not only advises on beauty, but also gives life advice. The range of beauty he is in charge of is very wide, and for him, “being beautiful” is the same as “living”.

　As she pours the boiled carrots into a colander, Mother Teresa of Beauty continues her advice.

“Well… apart from s*x, I also go to the gym. That’s the basic thing. I’ve been into tai chi lately. I have a great Chinese teacher. Just watching him move makes the time fly.”

　Students with ulterior motives stare at his movements. A Tai Chi master must have the mental strength to withstand even the most violent sexual harassment. Probably.

“I did yoga before that,” Roman said. “Hey, what about yoga? I recommend it for people who are like, ‘I don’t have the energy to get on a rowing machine.'”

“Yoga, huh…?”

“It balances yin and yang and regulates your heart rate. If you do it properly, it has remarkable effects. If you’re interested, I can write you a letter of introduction to a class.”

“Letter of introduction? Do you need something like that?”

“The number of members is limited so as not to compromise on quality. Most of the customers are upper class.”

“I guess it’s not just upper-class gays.”

“You idiot. This is my customer service classroom.”

“So they’re housewives from upper-class families.”

“It’s not just housewives. If you don’t like that, I can introduce you to a male-only class run by my ex-boyfriend,” she said, putting the carrots in the food processor. A shrill noise interrupted our conversation.

　All-male classes aside, I know I need to do something about it: I’m not ready to give up the booze or the cigarettes, and the season for hiding behind Givenchy coats is coming to an end.

　While she is pondering the future, Paul comes home. He peers at the colorful bean salad and says with a smile, “It looks delicious.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Paul asks, looking at Roman.

“Thanks, but I’m almost done. All that’s left is to open the wine.”

“What’s with macrobiotics and alcohol?”

“Well, it’s not okay. I was worried that if I banned alcohol as well, your boyfriend would get violent.”

　”Your boyfriend.” Of course, that was me. Paul and I were once friends. It was only recently that we became lovers.

“You think Prohibition will make me go crazy? Well, I’ll tell you the story for now: ‘There’s booze on the table because of Dean.’ I’ll take the redemption for myself… I’m as merciful as Jesus.”

　As I looked up pitifully at the sky, Paul chuckled and said, “I’m going to get changed,” gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and disappeared into his room.

　My beloved lover. I don’t want to disappoint him by becoming ugly and fat, and I don’t want him to kiss my rough cheeks. I trim my eyebrows, shave, and throw away my cowboy hat in the trash. All of these actions are the result of my search for a position where I can be comfortable, but for me right now, that’s not all. Fortunately, the purpose of living a happy life with my lover is also included in this.

　The yoga studio was located in the middle of Uptown. Well, technically, it’s Central Park that’s “smack in the middle,” and the studio is right next door, on Central Park West. Well, it’s pretty much “smack in the middle.”

　”For Roman’s customers.” I knew it was uptown, but I didn’t expect it to be so “upper” to be honest. I arrived at the address, which was a huge pre-war building. I entered the spacious entrance from the entrance framed with geometric patterns. I was greeted by a chandelier in the shape of an upside-down lily, and the hall windows had linear stained glass. When I heard that it was a lesson room, I imagined a small room in a multi-tenant building, but the word “small” doesn’t apply to this place at all. The modern Art Deco style has a presence that would not be surprising if Yoko Ono were included in the options.

　I got into an elevator that seemed to have been in operation since before the war and took out the envelope with the letter of introduction that Roman had written from my bag. The number of members is limited. The building is Art Deco. And the introducer is Roman Destiny. If it were just the first two keywords, there would be nothing strange about it, but with this name attached to the end, I can’t help but feel like the nuance changes somehow.

　Roman wants to make me a “genuine gay man.” There’s no guarantee that the contents of this blank envelope are a letter of introduction.

　Yes, for example, something like this:

　─── Power of Attorney: I’m giving you this man as collateral for my debt. You can eat him boiled or roasted, whatever you like. From Roman ───　

　Art Deco makes me feel uneasy, and if the room is full of guys wearing skintight tights, I’ll turn around and leave.

　I saw the word “YOGA” written on a gold plate and went through the automatic doors. It was an ordinary small room. There was a gray carpet and a simple desk. The lighting was a dull fluorescent light. The only thing that gave off a yoga vibe was a framed Hindu character, but if they had told me, “This is an accounting firm,” I would have believed them.

　A round-windowed door is visible in the distance. It seems this is the anteroom, and beyond that is the classroom. An Asian woman who appears to be in her twenties appears to greet me. She introduces herself as Ariel (fortunately, she seems to have legs), and before I can hand her the envelope, she confirms who I am, saying, “You must be Kelly,” and smiles, “I’ve heard about this from Roman.”

I resist the urge to ask, “What’s the story about?” and reply with a smile, “Thank you.” Ariel reminds me of a trembling fawn. No matter how you look at her, she doesn’t look like a member of the gay community. But that doesn’t mean I can let my guard down just yet. The soundproof double doors. The problem lies behind them.

“Would you like to take a look around first?” asked Ariel.

“Yes, by all means.”

“If it were all guys wearing tights, I would have hesitated to join,” he began, but then stopped. If that were true, it would be no joke.

“Well, please. This way.”

　I followed him and found the room to be more spacious than I had imagined. There was a bar on the mirrored wall, and in front of it, a female instructor was giving a lecture on poses with one leg raised high. A dozen or so students were sitting and listening to her. They all had their backs to me, but there was no need to check their faces in the mirror. The population of the room was 100% female (except for about one person, me).

　Gazing at the crowd of colorful leotards and T-shirts, I ask Ariel, “Is it only women here?”

“There are men, too. Not many, though.”

“That’s nice,” I began to say, but then stopped myself. It would not be a good thing for this Little Mermaid to raise unnecessary suspicions.

　Ariel offered me a folding chair and said, “Please look around for a while,” before disappearing into the anteroom. Five minutes later, I was signing the membership application. It wasn’t necessary to take that long, but saying “Pleased to meet you” as soon as I entered the classroom could come across as having ulterior motives.

　I don’t think I need to say it, but I have no ulterior motives, just a desire to become healthy. The environment is very important for becoming healthy, and I just decided that this class was suitable for that. At the very least, I don’t have the constitution to be healthy surrounded by “guys in tights”, so Roman must have considered that. What you need is a good friend. I couldn’t help but suspect that he would use it to pay off my debts. A sincere gratitude and apology. It’s rare to feel that way towards him. It was effective even though I hadn’t even sat in meditation yet. Yoga is not to be underestimated.

　As I checked my watch several times and hurriedly tried to finish my work, my colleague asked me, “Are you going on a date tonight?” I corrected her misunderstanding and told her that I was going to a yoga class, and then I saw a man typing away nearby with a smile on his face. I’m sure he thought, “A guy doing yoga? Ha ha!”

　Okay, go ahead and laugh if you want. I have something more important to me than overtime pay. An empty office. You sneakily connect to a suspicious website during your overtime and think, “Oh, I want to get out of here and go to another world, surrounded by half-naked women like in a Budweiser commercial…”

　Most men don’t believe that such dreams can come true. Dreams are just dreams. Until recently, I thought the same.

“Yoga for men?” Those who have such a stereotype can never enter this secret door. I go inside. I take off my tie like in the Budweiser commercial and give myself over to Art Deco. The desire to get healthy is great. Don’t you think the smile on my face as I head to class is proof of that?

　The first thing I was asked to do when I arrived was to choose my “color.”

“Please choose your favorite color from this list.”

　The yoga mats spread out on Ariel’s desk are red, blue, and yellow. Orange, green, navy, purple… They are all vivid primary colors. The colors themselves are not bad, but when I think of doing zazen on them, I feel that a more subdued color scheme would be better. When I asked if they had any colors like black or brown, I got a curt reply, “No.” As I looked at the yoga mats with a reluctant look, Ariel added a few words to follow up.

“Colors play an important role in enhancing energy. Each of these colors has a meaning, and they represent the colors of the chakras. Black and brown are not very suitable for the human aura, so we don’t use them here.”

　I think I just heard some unfamiliar words, but I’ll ignore them for now and don’t ask again. I’m sure I’ll be able to hear these mysterious spells easily after attending the class a few times.

　Ariel looked at the mat I had chosen and smiled, as if she was satisfied.

“Indigo blue. This is the color that is connected to spirituality. In terms of chakras, it corresponds to the area between the eyebrows.”

　For me, navy blue means that dirt is less noticeable than other colors. That’s not a bad reason to choose it.

“Kelly, are you wearing any fragrance?”

　When I answered yes, Ariel looked apologetic and told me that perfumes of any kind are prohibited here.

“Some people can’t stand certain smells, and we also have practical classes here that involve touching people. Those who use aromatherapy are an exception, though… I should have told you this last week. I’m sorry.”

　I don’t know what aromatherapy is, but I don’t think I do it. No perfume and no dark shirts. I’ll keep that in mind.

　Holding a yoga mat under my arm, I step into the spacious studio. Feeling the warmth of the flooring on my bare feet (I later learned that this “warmth” is not an emotional sensation, but the effect of underfloor heating), I take a spot near the window. The view is the deep green of Central Park. Stepping out into the corridor on the other side, I can see the sunset over the Hudson River. This is truly upper air* (note: *upper air = upper atmosphere). It’s no wonder that they charge such a ridiculously high membership fee.

　The instructor was Charlie. He had a male name but was female. With his hair in a ball on top of his head, he looked more like a ballet dancer than a yoga teacher. I have had an aversion to tights ever since I was forced to do ballet as a child. If wearing them here was mandatory, I would have had to give up on this class, even if Madonna was the instructor. Luckily, the class allowed a dress code, so I took a place between the other T-shirts and sweatpants (the same as I would wear at the gym) and started doing some stretching. After moving my body for a while, a woman laid a mat next to me.

“Hai,” she greeted. “Hai,” I replied. This woman had light-blond hair tied in a ponytail. She looked to be in her early twenties, or maybe her late teens. She must have parents who were upper class, since they could afford to pay the membership fee. “It’s not just housewives,” Roman said, and judging by the number of young women here and there, that certainly seemed to be the case.

　She stretched both legs and slowly bent her torso forward. She pressed her chest against her knees, then spread her legs and placed her chest on the floor. It was like a model of stretching. What a flexible body (of course, this refers to the joints. You can’t tell the skin just by looking).

　As for me, I just moved my body next to him. I felt the urge to move, but I consoled myself by saying, “I can last longer on the rowing machine than you!”

“Are you the new student?”

　I turned around at the words that had come down from above, and saw a slender woman with brown hair tied back standing there. She looked down at me with her eyes wide open. An exclamation of “Wow!” was etched on her face.

“Men are rare, aren’t they, Tanya?”

　Ignoring the “unusual man,” the slender woman spoke to the person next to me. The stretching model looked up, replied “That’s right,” and smiled in my direction.

“I’m Tanya. Nice to meet you.”

　When she introduced herself, the woman who was standing sat down and said, “I’m Margaret.”

I greeted him.

“I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

　Smiles and greetings are exchanged. Classes are a great place to make new friends.

“I’m glad we have a man in the class,” said the slender Margaret. “There aren’t many men in the classes here, are there? Male energy is needed to balance yin and yang. I think you’ve helped to revitalize the energy in the room. Thank you.”

　I was thanked by a woman just for being in the room. It’s not something that happens often. I’m glad I turned down the overtime.

“Yoga is still not very popular in America,” Margaret says. “Even in these classes, very few men can stick with it.”

“Any other male students?”

“Alone.”

　One? Only one? I’m sure Ariel said “There are men here too. Not many, though” last week… Did “not many” mean “about one”? She was vague about the information, probably because she thought I would withdraw my membership if I found out the truth. I appreciate the consideration, but my “will to get healthy” won’t die from something like that. If anything, it’s only invigorated it.

“Well, I guess that can’t be helped,” Tanya says. “Men like more intense sports, don’t they?”

　“Right?” So, you’re asking me a question?

“That’s true. There may be a tendency for that to happen,” I replied, speaking for all men. “You have to sweat and hurt your body… otherwise it doesn’t feel like you’re exercising.”

“It’s macho,” Margaret said, frowning. “Why do men like vigorous exercise? It’s because they want to release their energy. Most of the fights on the streets of Manhattan are between men. It’s the same thing. I think it doesn’t matter what the reason is for a fight. As long as it lets out all the repressed feelings, it can be anything. Women are in a position socially to be able to say what they want, but that’s often not the case for men, isn’t it? I sympathize with that, but I don’t think it’s right to express that through violence. Do you know why the war never ends in the world? It’s the most obvious form. It’s the result of various forms of repression changing shape and expelling like compressed gas. All politicians should do yoga. If they knew they had peace inside them, they’d realize they couldn’t fight in war.”

　Many wars are caused by men’s frustration. Is she not familiar with ideological conflicts, national independence, or economic issues? However, if she were to pretend to be Michael Clare and argue here, she would be perceived as a macho man. (Michael Clare, military commentator) Margaret is socially conscious. She doesn’t seem to be very aware that the person in front of her is the “male species” she just criticized.

　”I think peaceful times are equally important for both men and women,” I replied coolly, as if I’d forgotten that just the other day I’d been frantically rowing on a rowing machine. “Leaving aside the energy aspect, I think it’s ideal to balance it with a sense of calm within yourself. Whether you consciously seek it out is another matter, but for me, the answer is ‘yes, it’s necessary.'”

“Yes, that’s true,” Margaret said, her brown eyes wide. “I wish there were more honest men like you in the world.” A smile spread across her freckled face, and she rose to her feet. She seemed impressed by this from a frustrated man under social oppression.

　Before I knew it, Tanya had stopped stretching and was looking at me with a smile. Margaret’s mat was purple and Tanya’s was red. The meaning of those colors is unclear. It’s not like one of them is looking for a partner and the other is gay or anything like that. I should have listened carefully to Ariel’s explanation.

　Charlie rang the bell. The students gathered, drawn by the gentle signal to start. The master was a woman. The students were also women. Today’s ratio of yin to yang was determined to be “99 percent yin.”

　So that Margaret wouldn’t hear, I whispered to Tanya the real reason why I came here.

“It’s a peaceful time… and if it helps reduce body fat, that’s great.”

　Tanya let out a chuckle, her face facing forward.

　Whether you’re a man or a woman, peaceful times are equally necessary. If you want world peace, you’d better put yourself in a happy state first. Excessive fat and rough skin are not what I want for happiness. A full head of hair and shiny skin. When it comes to me, those are definitely — “Yes, I need them (I do!)”.

　Regardless of gender, everyone needs peaceful times.

　This is especially important for those who are exhausted from work and don’t have the energy to row a boat. That’s what I thought, but the kind of peace I found here was quite different from what I expected and wanted. After the lesson, the students started tea time. As I was staring blankly at the students who spread a sheet on the studio floor and started to spread out tea and sweets, Camilla beckoned me.

“Dean, take a seat here. Today is your welcoming party.”

　A gorgeous lady reminiscent of the French Revolution. I couldn’t refuse a “welcome party” from her. As I was thinking about the relationship between picnics and hatha yoga, enjoying her herbal tea and unsweetened pumpkin cookies, Tanya came and sat next to me.

“Today’s cookies are oatmeal,” she said, as she began to unfold the paper napkin, “but it was my first time making them, so they didn’t come out very well.” She leaned forward, and the turquoise at the tip of the pendant swayed heavily.

“You can have some too, Dean, if you want.”

　I took a cookie with a simple color and put it in my mouth. It was a little hard, but it tasted good. When I told her that, she looked happy and said, “That’s good.”

　While chewing the cookie, I spoke to Tanya. “I have one question.”

“What?”

“You just used the word ‘inner child,’ right? What does that mean?”

“Well… how should I put it…” Tanya looked thoughtful after being asked the question. The blue turquoise was falling between her br3asts.

“Simply put, it’s about ‘unfulfilled feelings during childhood.'” It wasn’t Tanya who answered, but Margaret, who was standing behind us, looking down on us.

“May I explain it to you instead?” asked Margaret. When Tanya nodded slightly, she squatted down in the same position and began to speak.

“Everyone has an inner child, and it resides deep within our psyches as a child. It may say things like, ‘I wish I were loved more,’ or, ‘I’m sad that I wasn’t understood.’ It’s a term that refers to the part of the child within us that hasn’t healed. We need to listen carefully to what that child wants.”

“Why is that?” I asked as soon as Margaret took a sip of mineral water.

“The anxiety our inner child has plays a major role in how we construct our lives. If we leave these feelings of anxiety, which we don’t normally notice, unattended, they will eventually turn into fear, sadness, or delusions. You may start to control your partner or your children, and eventually become mentally ill. Some people try to substitute material things for them – luxury cars, luxury watches, villas by the sea… There’s no end to this because it will continue until the underlying problem is solved. That’s why we need to have a conversation with our inner child, if we don’t want to live a meaningless life,” Margaret explained, and a smile of satisfaction appeared on her face.

　I know “a hollow life” isn’t the term I use to describe myself, but somehow I’m starting to feel uncomfortable sitting here.

“People are so scared of being seen as small,” Margaret says, “that if they have designer items, they feel a little better. Most people who live in Manhattan have this condition.”

　Margaret cuts off most of humanity. According to her theory, luxury items are a sign of unfulfilled desires from childhood. What would she say if she saw my Bulgari watch in the locker room? Here, gold, silver, and treasures are nothing but symbols of sin and anxiety. Jesus said, “It is harder for a rich man to be happy than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.” However, it seems that none of the members here are “poor”.

“Working with your inner child also involves becoming your true self,” says Tanya. “It may seem difficult in theory, but it’s not that hard in practice. We use yoga to move our bodies in a fun way, allowing these things to be released naturally. Knowing yourself isn’t a chore. At least for me, this method works, and it’s a lot of fun.”

　Tanya smiled. I had felt like I had been indirectly attacked, but her comment and smile put me back into my seat.

“Dean, would you like another cup of tea?” Camilla handed him the pot. A huge jewel was shining on her fingers as she held the thermos. Perhaps this had nothing to do with “a manifestation of unfulfilled childhood desires.”

　”Dean, can I ask you something?” Camilla asked while pouring chamomile tea into a cup.

“What is it?”

“Are you married?”

　A sudden change of topic from the meaning of life and self-liberation. I was a little taken aback by the sudden mundane question, but I answered.

“No, not yet. I’m living with a friend for now.”

“Her?” Camila’s eyes lit up.

“No, he’s…”

“That’s right.”

　Before I could finish my sentence, he said, “Really?” Just saying “he” was enough information. He didn’t use the word “boyfriend,” but everyone must have interpreted it that way. If he wrote “I go to a yoga class with only girls” in the profile section, it’s not surprising that the word “gay” would be derived from that, so maybe the other male student (who wasn’t there today) is gay too.

　Encouraged by the fact that asking about marriage was not taboo, I asked Tanya about her occupation: “What do you do?”

“I’m a student. I’m studying architecture at a school in Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn… maybe Pratt?”

“That’s right. You got it, didn’t you?”

“I heard about architecture in Brooklyn because a friend of mine went there. I was at SVA.”

“Really? My friend is an SVA too. Her name is Susie Hana. Have you heard of her?”

“It was a long time ago that I was a student.”

“I see. I see. What do you do? An artist?”

“I’m still involved in art, but I’m no longer painting, I’m on the selling side.”

“You’re selling paintings? I see… At first glance, I thought you were a model or something.”

“A model? For a painting?”

“No, it’s more like fashion.”

“Ah”

“There are a lot of models here. Look, that girl over there… Jen is a model.”

　When I looked in the direction Tanya pointed, I saw a black woman there, not joining the picnic, but silently stretching. She was slim and muscular. She had long, slender limbs. Her chest was flat. She would look good in a Yohji Yamamoto jacket.

“Hey, isn’t she cool?” Tanya said.

“I agree.”

　I nodded in agreement, but for my taste, I would prefer something a little more Renaissance-like. Soft, elastic skin that bounces back when pressed. Like the woman sitting next to me… I turned my gaze back to Tanya, who, still staring at Jen, sighed and said, “I’m overweight. I envy you.”

“You’re too fat?”

“Yeah, that’s why I go to yoga.”

“Overweight… but it doesn’t look like it.”

“Dean says that because he hasn’t seen me naked.”

　”Dean hasn’t seen me naked.” Although I was a little taken aback by that statement, I tried to remain calm and continued the conversation.

“Well… I read in a book that when they took data on the ‘ideal female body type,’ it turned out that the image of the average American man was far more voluminous than what women think of as the ‘ideal body type.’ Most women idealize a thin figure, which may stem from the misconception that ‘men prefer thin women.’ However, this is a biased way of looking at things and lacks overall objectivity. The gap in image between men and women is the source of misunderstandings in their relationships… that’s what the author was sounding the alarm about.”

“Really? But I don’t think there are that many men who want to date a fat girl.”

“Well, that’s a misconception. You’re not a ‘fat guy’. I’m just an average American man. I’m warning you about your ‘overweight’ comment.”

　While I’m not sure whether a man with a boyfriend counts as the “average American man,” I was a womanizer until recently (and still am), so that doesn’t mean I’m unqualified to take part in a survey about women’s body image theory.

　We talked about body shapes, spiritual topics, the question “Are you married?”, and herbal tea. All of these things, including yoga, have never existed in my life before. It feels strange, but I don’t feel bad about it. There is no conflict or pride here, just hot tea and conversation. I heard that the beauty seminars that Roman holds are like this, so maybe this is quite gay? Or very girly? What do you think about this? Before I could ask for his opinion, Paul asked, as if he had been waiting for me, “How was the yoga?”

“Great. I got a recipe for healthy chili beans.”

　He looks at the recipe note I hand him and tilts his head.

“Chili beans? What, so the majority of the people are housewives?”

“There were some young students, but the majority were around my age or older. I’m the only male here today. We’re having a picnic in the flower garden of Chakra and Inner Child.”

“Inner Child…that’s a pretty deep meeting.”

　Paul knew the word “inner child.” He has a deep knowledge of various genres.

“I was also taught a mantra: ‘Shanti, shanti, shanti, Om…’ Om is the sound of the beginning and end of all things, and Shanti means peace in Hindu. I know a girl named Shanti, and this is the first time I’ve heard that it means that.”

“How is it? Do you think you can continue?”

“Ah”

“I see, that’s good.”

　Even though I had said it was okay for Paul to eat first, he waited without eating. Arugula salad and beet stew. Grilled chicken with plenty of herbs. All of these were things that had once been living. Charlie had used the word “regenerate” several times during the work. You could say that eating is a part of regeneration. The life that once existed. By entering my stomach, they were transformed into a completely different energy. As Elton John sang in The Lion King, this is one part of the circle of life, and I am taking steps to regenerate while I am still alive.

　The cells that make up the body are replaced every moment, the stomach lining takes three days, the skin takes a month to be replaced with new tissue, and even hard bones take two and a half years to be overhauled. If that’s the case, then the person three years from now will be made up of completely different cells than they are now.

　The old dies and transforms into something completely different. For me, today is a day of small rebirth. Dean, who is sweating on the rowing machine, has died, and the resurrected Hatha Yoga apostle Dean Kelly (the key point is the hyphen).

　If death is a system that is built into everything, then I want to enjoy life as much as I can until X-day. Dinner was made by my lover. Happiness in feasting on it. Everything is at the mercy of the Circle of Life. I pray that the chicken on my plate will rise to chicken heaven.

　Housewife, model, photographer, food coordinator, dance teacher, architecture student… Whatever your title, you are treated equally here, and even gender differences are considered equal. The rich and the have-nots. I think it’s the same here, but after listening to Margaret’s explanation on the first day, I can’t help but take off my Bulgari before I get on the elevator.

　Hindu yoga governs timelessness. You don’t need a watch to practice it. All you need is a yoga mat, good quality mineral water, and a strong will to learn. There’s nothing else you need.

“Hi Dean.”

　Tanya greets me amiably and spreads out her mat next to me. It seems that she has made this her regular spot ever since I started attending the class two weeks ago.

“Today, we’re going to do something a little different. It’s my favorite activity.”

“Oh, what’s that like?”

“I won’t tell you. That’s for later. It’ll be a shame if I tell you, right?”

　She smiles mischievously. If I had a younger sister, would she be like this?

　Tanya’s favorite practice is called “Juggernaut,” which means “awakening” in Hindi. The method is very simple. Students pair up with a partner, and one of the pair is blindfolded. The person without the blindfold is the one guiding, and their role is to “let the partner experience.”

　Charlie explains: “Our eyes, after being used for so long, can sometimes become clouded by filters of preconceptions and doubts. Here, you can simply experience the sense of touch, and surrender yourself to a whole new experience, a whole new sensation.”

　What do you think? It’s a great internship, isn’t it?

“Now, each of you, please choose a partner.”

　My partner is Camilla. You thought I’d choose Tanya? Of course, that wasn’t impossible. It probably would have been the case if Camilla hadn’t grabbed my hand during that moment when we exchanged silent glances.

　Each partner sits facing the other. I’m the first to put on the eye mask. When your vision is blocked, your other senses become more acute. I know this because I’ve done something similar before. A few years ago, I dated Charlotte-Ann. Although her name was old-fashioned, she was a very innovative and promiscuous woman. We spent a lot of time in bed – and sometimes outside of it – trying out various ideas and dedicating ourselves to the mysteries of life. This “blindfold game” was one of those ideas. It was a classic joke, but when we tried it, it was so wonderful (after all, classics are classics for a reason) that it became one of our “favorite menus” for a long time.

“We’re not going to use any words,” Charlie says. “We’re going to communicate silently. Try to be sensitive to your partner’s feelings. Pay close attention to whether they’re happy or not.”

　Camilla gently placed something like a coin in my hand.

　What is this? Five cents? Ten cents? Is this even a cent coin?

　Charlie calmly guides the young children, who are anxious about losing their sight.

“Don’t be afraid of your sensations. Just feel like a child. Maybe you’re busy thinking, ‘What do I have in my hand?’ It’s not that important. Turn off your brain and just enjoy the pure touch. Let your inner child play.”

　I see. This isn’t a game of guessing whether it’s a nickel or a dime. I let go of that thought and just felt the weight of the coin, felt its texture in my fingers.

　After the coins came a soft bird feather. A hairy kiwi fruit. A hard, smooth stone. A dry, dried leaf… I’m sure I’ve never touched any of these before, but each item was full of fresh surprises. When I was able to place a mysterious slime-like object in my palm, I instinctively pulled my hand away, but as I enjoyed the feel of it, I began to think that it was quite interesting – or even desirable.

　At the same time that something that looked like fur was placed on my palm, I felt Camilla grabbing my wrist. The soft, moist touch. Just feeling it, she continued to hold it and slowly moved her hand towards the base of my arm. Ariel said that there was also practice in touching people here, but was this it? When you are touched like this, it’s hard to “just feel it like a child”. Charlie said, “Be sensitive to your partner, but be attentive to their feelings.” Is Camilla paying attention to her partner’s feelings? At the very least, there’s no doubt that I’m becoming more sensitive to them.

　Her hands slipped under the sleeves of my T-shirt, and just as they were about a few inches away from reaching my armpits, Charlie said, “Now, take off your eye mask.” If he’d been a little later, Camila and I would have rolled around on the floor, embracing each other, communicating silently.

　When I regained my sight, the first thing I saw was Camilla’s br3asts pressed down by her leotard. They were much bigger than my mom’s (inner child! Sit down!). This experience made me realize that the world is more fun if you have vision.

　Now it’s Camilla’s turn to be blindfolded. Next, we’ll use our sense of smell. Ariel starts handing out several ziplock bags to everyone. Inside are rose flowers, coffee beans, sliced ​​bananas, fresh pine needles, sandalwood, oily animal skins, and more. The partners without eye masks randomly choose an item they like and silently place it under their partner’s nose. Camilla looks enchanted by the vanilla beans and frowns at the match she struck. Just as I was about to offer her the cinnamon stick, it happened. Without warning, my partner collapses onto my shoulder. She buries her face in my neck and takes a deep breath. For a moment, I didn’t know what was happening, but it seemed this was also part of the training. Seeing as Charlie doesn’t warn us, this play doesn’t seem to have reached a level where we need to be careful. Tanya, next to me, is blindfolded. For some reason, I feel relieved by that.

“Just trust your instincts and let them guide you.”

　Following Charlie’s instructions, my inner child blew a trumpet and started to parade… No, that’s not it. “Innocent like a child.” That is the main premise of this place. If the sheep knew that a bad wolf had infiltrated their peaceful pasture, they would surely scream. I recited Shanti’s mantra in my mind and tried not to “feel” Camilla’s skin.

“You smell so good.”

　That was the first thing she said after taking off her eye mask.

“But no scents allowed here, except for those practicing aromatherapy.”

　The clothes in the closet all had a slight scent of perfume. I explained that and asked Camila if it smelled that bad, and she told me that it was only noticeable if you got close. It’s rare for people in this class to get that close to each other. I decided not to worry about the smell for now.

“I feel like there’s a better energy flow when I’m with you,” Camila says. “I think we’re a good match.”

　Camilla reminds me of 70’s soft porn – the kind with shy teenagers and female governesses. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy when she told me we were a good match. I don’t understand what energy circulation is, but I feel like my bl00d is circulating better. My cheeks are flushed, and my heart is beating faster. A natural urge that a shy teenager feels. Is this a kind of inner child? After class, the usual tea party began. Today’s tea is rooibos. Margaret explained that some tribes in Africa drink it as an elixir of eternal youth.

“How was today’s training? I liked it,” said Tanya.

“Oh, it’s very interesting. It’s the first time I’ve ever touched a stone like that, and it’s also the first time I’ve ever felt affection for a slime.”

“You’re paired with Camilla. I was looking forward to becoming a pair.”

“I see, sorry.”

“Fine. Let’s try this another time, just the two of us.”

　Just the two of you? Does “another chance” refer to the next internship? Or does it mean something different?

　As I was pondering how to respond to Tanya’s words, the true meaning of which I couldn’t understand, a burst of laughter erupted from the group diagonally in front of me.

“No! That’s a lie!”

“Really! It’s just like them!”

　My thoughts were interrupted by a cheerful voice. The three housewives burst out in laughter. Donna, her black hair hanging down her shoulders, was happily patting Camilla and Liz on the shoulders. Noticing my gaze, Donna looked my way and began to speak, “Hey, Dean.”

“Ever since I first saw you, I thought you looked like something, and it’s been bothering me ever since. And then… I just realized, you look just like our Harry,” Donna said, and Camilla and Liz started laughing again.

　Harry? Who? Her son? That was the first thing that came to mind, but he had to be a gentleman and… “Your brother?”

　Hearing this, the women burst out laughing.

“Wait a minute,” Donna said as she stood up, and when she came back, she was holding a photo in her hand.

“My Harry.”

　The photo he handed me showed a large husky dog.

　My eyes widened, and I was slightly at a loss for words.

“See? They look similar, right?”

　I don’t know how to respond to that question. The eye color is similar, but… well, tell me if I’m wrong───this is a dog!

“Do you know the picture book ‘Harry the Dirt?’ That’s where I got my name from. When I was a puppy, I loved playing in the mud.”

“I see. I like watching muddy wrestling.” Of course, this is not a good answer. All he could come up with was the safe answer, “He looks smart.” He added, “I’m the hairiest guy,” and handed the photo back.

“Next time, please take a picture with Harry.”

“Why don’t you just become a dog show handler?”

“Oh, that’s good. Maybe I’ll get extra points on my gait assessment.”

“It’ll be tough if there’s a swimsuit competition.”

“Camilla! No way could happen!”

“Don’t talk like a dirty old lady!”

　They push each other, hit each other, and laugh happily. I also felt that they looked like something, and now I understand that they look just like the TV show “Desperate Housewives”… Of course, that’s taboo. I would never say that they remind me of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy”. Well, what can I say, this is what women are like – plural, “women”. When they are alone, they are quiet and cute. But as soon as there are more than three of them, women change into a different creature from the one we men know. It’s an evolutionary theory that would even surprise Pokémon.

　Thinking back, I hadn’t paid much attention to “trusting my senses” at that time. My eyes widened, and I was speechless. It was an experience similar to “astonishment” or “stunned” – yet I completely ignored that physical sensation. It was much later that I realized that I had been wrong.

“How’s your yoga class going?”

　It was Roman who called with that opening line.

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m grateful that you introduced me to a good class.”

“I’m going to Los Angeles the day after tomorrow.”

　Ignoring my unusual words of thanks, Roman briefly explained his plans.

“Okay, be careful on the road. When will you be back?”

“About two weeks. I’ll be away during that time… but if anything happens, please don’t come crying to me.”

“What?”

“Well, what is it? I don’t know what it is, so it must be ‘something’.”

“What’s that? Is that kind of conversation popular in LA?”

“What time is 7 am East Coast time on the West Coast?”

“The time difference is three hours. It’s four in the morning in Los Angeles.”

“Y-You’re right. So even if you want to hear my voice before you go to work, please don’t. Well, good night.”

“You don’t have to switch to Paul.”

“Yes, please give my best regards to him. See you then.”

　The phone call was cut off. Roman has always been strange, but his previous comment was strange. “Don’t come crying to me if something happens.”? Is this a keyword that suggests something? Is something going to happen between me and Paul?

　I put down the phone and shook my head to clear away the unpleasant thoughts.

“Shanti, Shanti, Ohm…”

　Mantra on your lips, peace in your heart. Don’t listen to the devil. That’s the first step to enlightenment. I’m so cool now.

　Initially, the image I had of this class was of a man like Roman. In other words, he was flashy and handsome. With that preconceived notion in mind, when I first saw him, I was so surprised that I forgot to close the door to the changing room, and was even told to close the door.

　The young man, who introduced himself as Kenneth, said he had been attending the class for the past two years. He had thick eyebrows and was short. His beard was neatly shaven, with stubble covering a wide area of ​​half his face. I had assumed that the only people who attended New Age yoga classes were men who were constantly facing their inner femininity, but judging from the towel with the Heineken logo around his neck, this did not seem to be the case.

　As I was changing into a T-shirt and sweatpants, I noticed Kenneth’s gaze. He was looking at me, trying not to look. He seemed to have already finished getting ready, but he didn’t leave.

　As I closed the locker door, Kenneth called out, “Um, can I ask you something?” A thoughtful look appeared on his face.

“Um, well… are you gay?”

　I reply, “No.”

　This isn’t necessarily wrong. Although I have had male lovers, I have never considered myself gay.

“I see. Me too. Sorry for asking such a strange question.” With that, Kenneth quickly left the locker room.

　What was with him? “Gay or not?” Was he worried that I would attack him in the shower? At first, I was wary of the sight of a man in tights in the classroom, but… wasn’t that attitude a bit rude?

　During tea time after yoga, a man carrying a thermos and a paper bag asked, “Is it okay if I sit here?” and came and sat between me and Tanya.

“I baked it this morning,” Kenneth said, spreading out pumpernickel (roughly ground rye bread) in front of everyone. The women all praised his accomplishment, saying things like, “That’s amazing,” and “It looks delicious.”

“You too, Dean. If you don’t mind,” Kenneth said, smiling kindly. Suddenly, I could picture him in a floral apron, standing happily in the kitchen. (Stop it, Dean. Don’t think of stupid things.)

　Pouring tea into the lid of the thermos, Kenneth began to speak, saying, “I had a wonderful experience the other day.”

“Before going to sleep, I was meditating in my bedroom as usual. Then, all of a sudden, I felt like the temperature in the room had risen a little… and the next moment, my grandmother was standing there.”

　Grandma in his grandson’s bedroom? I asked him about it, and he told me that the grandma died when Kenneth was still young. In other words, the one who appeared in his bedroom was a see-through grandma, like Obi-Wan Kenobi from Star Wars. In his words, she “came from the astral world to heal her grandson,” and while he was receiving a gentle hug, Kenneth’s body disappeared (I’d like to think it was some kind of metaphor), and he felt that all his hidden fears melted into the light (sic).

“Kenneth, you are loved,” Liz said, narrowing her eyes.

“Thank you for sharing that wonderful story,” Margaret said, bowing politely.

　If I said something like this outside, I would go to the hospital. But this is different. This is an eternal world ruled by mantras. If I were healed from anything, it’s okay. I guess my grandma brought me the pumpernickel recipe. Probably.

“Well, Kenneth, it’s been a long time since you last came here. It’s been a whole month since you last came here.”

　When Margaret, who remembers the students’ schedules well, said this, he shrugged and said, “The company’s busy.” “The truth is, I wanted to come,” Kenneth said, in a tone that sounded like he couldn’t help but regret the loss of the past month. “I wanted to see you all… so much,” he said, pausing before saying “so much.” He may look like this, but he’s an actor.

“A male student came in while you were away,” Margaret said.

“You’re Dean, right? I met you in the locker room earlier,” he said, giving me a friendly smile.

“I’ll come back every week from now on,” Kenneth said, looking me straight in the face. He’s not gay. So… aha. I see. There was a reason why Kenneth had been rude to me in the locker room earlier. A man is standing in front of the oven early in the morning on a busy day. Kenneth had returned to try to get his harem back.

　He invited me to go home with him, and on the way to the subway, Tanya said, “He’s Teddy.” Since we were just talking about the “mystical experience of meditation with my grandmother,” I understood that “he = Teddy” was a word that referred to Kenneth. However, I didn’t understand why it was “Teddy.”

“Teddy?”

“Teddy is the teddy bear. It’s a secret nickname. That’s what we call Kenneth.”

　Teddy bears are small, round, and completely furry.

“There was another guy like that before. A male student called Rupert, who was a graphic designer. His nickname was ‘Fisheye’ because he had these really big glasses. Oh, that’s a fisheye lens.”

　Tanya explains her secret nickname. She looks younger than her actual age.

“Charlie, who hadn’t come for three months, was called ‘Breaking Breath’. He was extremely skinny and always tired. When he was doing the standing tree pose, everyone was worried he would collapse. The Italians named Luigi are called ‘Mario’ because that’s the more famous name.”

　Luigi and Mario. That’s too cool. I can’t believe they gave him a nickname like that. I know it’s bad, but I can’t help but laugh. Girls are good at laughing when they hear a boy’s nickname. It seems that my inner femininity is steadily growing.

“Do I have one too?”

“Huh?”

“So, all the guys in this class have a ‘secret nickname’…” he said, pointing to his chest. Tanya smiled and said, “Yes, they do.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“I swore to everyone I wouldn’t tell anyone. If I were found out, I’d be sent to the guillotine.”

“Is it that bad? I guess so, you guys seem to be experts on nicknames.”

“No matter what you say, I can’t tell you.”

“I see. Well then, I’ll conspire with Kenneth and come up with some nicknames for you two.”

“Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

“What would be good…?”

“You can pretty much guess what nicknames boys will have. They’ll probably end up being something like ‘Fatty,'” Tanya said as she passed through the subway ticket barrier. My card got stuck and I couldn’t get through the gate.

“Ah, see. I got what I deserved,” Tanya said happily.

“You haven’t said anything yet,” I replied, laughing. “There’s no such thing as ‘fat’ anyway. I told you before that you’re not fat.”

　Just as I was about to move to the next gate, she grabbed my arm from the other side of the ticket barrier. I was blocked and stuck at the ticket barrier.

“How can you tell I’m not fat?”

“Tanya?”

　Tanya tightened her grip on his hand and muttered, looking up.

“…you’ve never seen me naked.”

　Then he quickly let go, turned on his heels, and walked down the stairs toward Brooklyn.

　— I’m stunned. I’m not stunned because I was left behind. The look on her face. And the way she said it. There was a hidden meaning in that comment. To be honest, I don’t really want to think about what the hidden meaning was. The jump rope song is playing in my head. “Who does cute Tanya like? A-b-c-d-D-Dean Kelly!” (Shut up, inner child!)

　I moved to the next ticket gate and went through the gate again. This time it went smoothly. This is fine. This is normal. It’s strange to be having a meaningful conversation in front of a gate that won’t open.

　By the way… Have you noticed that many men – Fisheye, Blue Breath, Mario – have attended this class, but none of them have continued? I was too busy getting on the subway to pay any attention to it. Busy going through the ticket gate. Busy trying to get the jump rope song out of my head. Too many things to do to worry about the small details. The train pulls into the platform. I get on and breathe a sigh of relief. A stranger thrusts an empty can at me and says, “Give me some change.” Yes, this is normal. I put some change into the Pepsi can. All is well.

　There were more practice sessions where we were paired up than I expected. It was a long time ago that I thought that was something to be happy about. Pairing up with Tanya, who reminds me of a soft marshmallow, there was nothing to be happy about but to worry about───that thought is now long gone. Right now, I’m in a more unbearable state than a difficult yoga pose. It all started before the practice. It all started when Margaret gave a lecture on the subject of “male n1pples.”

“Have you heard that in the future, even men will be able to produce br3ast milk?”

　When Margaret said that, Tanya and I both burst out laughing at the same time.

“That’s impossible!” Tanya laughed, but Margaret continued her explanation with an extremely serious face.

“Women’s n1pples are for babies, but the purpose of men’s n1pples has yet to be discovered. One scientist has a theory that in the future, men may be able to breastfeed. Our bodies are still in the process of evolving. Right now, men’s n1pples are completely useless, but in the future, men will be able to contribute to child-rearing more concretely. One day, when humanity has evolved further, this ascension will occur. I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

　Margaret is serious. It seems that this is no laughing matter. No matter what magazine this amazing theory was published in, I don’t think it’s “wonderful” at all. Can you imagine Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt breastfeeding a baby? Doesn’t it seem strange? Well, what about your boss or your teacher? What if it were not Mary but her father, Joseph, holding the baby Jesus? If that were the case, would Christianity have been able to flourish to this day? Would Michelangelo have carved “Pieta” with Joseph as the motif? Listening to Margaret’s story, I’m starting to fall into the illusion that being a man is some kind of sin.

“So, does that mean that today’s men’s bodies are imperfect?” Tanya asks, stretching. She looks more charming than anyone else in the room.

“If we take the previous theory into account, you could say that’s true in a sense.”

　Margaret seems to hate men. If she were to shorten her name to “Maggie,” what kind of punishment would await her?

“Well, what about the female cl!toris? We still don’t know what it’s used for. Could it grow into a p3nis in the future?”

“Maybe. Once men can breastfeed, it wouldn’t be surprising if ascension were to occur in women as well.”

“So far, the only thing we know about those two is that they function as erogenous zones.”

　Tanya and Margaret talk about the mysteries and possibilities of the human body. These topics may be progressive and useful, but to me, like the previous theory, they just make me feel uncomfortable. You might call them conservative, but I want them to think that they have the patience to stay in their seats.

“I like men’s n1pples. They’re so delicate and pretty,” Tanya says as she raises her arms and stretches the muscles under her arms. Her gaze is fixed on my chest. Is this a new way to flirt? Quoting from an article in Science magazine, these risky words somehow sound intelligent…but that was 30 minutes ago. I’m sitting on the floor, in the middle of attempting a series of yoga poses. From a split to a split forward bend. Tanya, my partner in this exercise, places her hands on my back and gently pushes me.

“The person assisting should not push too hard. The person being supported should never hold their breath… be conscious of pranayama. Deep breathing will naturally relax the body. This will make it easier to perform the asana.”

　Pranayama is breathing. Asana is a yoga pose. I was now able to easily understand the technical terms Charlie was reciting, but the challenge I was faced with here was something completely different from yoga. Rather than being “threatened,” I should say I was “pushed” into it. Currently pressed against my back was my partner’s ample chest. She was helping me bend forward, but her support was leading my breathing in an unnatural direction. I could feel her pranayama in my ears.

“If you can’t do it, don’t bend any further. Just be aware of your body.”

　”Being conscious of my body”—The more I try to do this, the more my consciousness seems to drift in a sinful direction. I was thinking about what to do in this situation when Charlie gave me instructions.

“Now let’s change positions. We’ll move on to Halasana.”

　Halasana is a pose that does not require assistance. I felt relieved that Tanya had left me, and I lay on my back on the floor. I raised both legs vertically, lifted my hips off the floor, and placed my toes on the floor just above my head. This is called the “plow pose” because it looks like a plow used to plow a field.

　Slowly bend your body, feel your back muscles stretch, and when you’re in a comfortable plow position, “move into Sarvāngasana from there,” says Charlie. “Stay in that position for ten breaths. If you’re not used to it, get a partner to help you.”

　Sarvāngāsana is a pose where you stand on your shoulders like you’re standing upright. I’m not used to it yet. Tanya gently supports me while I sit on the floor. Her hands are on my chest. Why doesn’t she support my legs? I soon get the answer. Her hands are on my chest, her fingertips touching my n1pples. It’s intentional. I don’t know why she does that. She’s facing the other way. But there is a clear intention of sexual harassment here. “I like men’s n1pples.” I never thought that the remark was a foreshadowing that would lead to this. Now that it’s like this, it’s true. You can see that men’s n1pples aren’t just there for no reason. They function quite well as erogenous zones. I casually resent Margaret for bringing up such an unnecessary topic. Anyway, this is bad. Now I’m sensitive to my senses. It seems that my body is changing against my will. What should I do from here? Should I try to get a sudden stomach ache? No, no, I’m not going to give up. Now is the time to test the concentration that yoga has given you. Close your eyes and regulate your breathing. Shanti. Deen, don’t forget Shanti…

　Seeing me fighting bravely, Charlie kindly asked me, “Are you okay?”

“Yes…” I replied, exhaling.

“I don’t think this pose is that difficult.”

　Well, it’s not that hard, but it’s getting harder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be supported. Relax and don’t worry,” the instructor advises, before leaving.

　Wait a minute! There’s a problem with that “support”! …I can’t say that.

　Tanya smiled a wicked smile. She leaned down and put her face close to my cheek. She whispered those words in my ear. Instantly, I collapsed, letting out a strange scream the like of which I had never heard before, and rolled off the yoga mat.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

　Everyone’s eyes were on her. Tanya looked calm. I couldn’t look her in the eye.

“No, well… can I just get a drink of water?”

“Of course. Are you okay?” Charlie looked at me worriedly.

“Yeah”

　I left the classroom and retreated to a private bathroom stall. “Can I get some water?” was not the right thing to say. I had a bottle of water in front of me. I was so upset earlier that I didn’t think about it. Anyway, I was so focused on getting away from Tanya────. What did she say? Want to know? It’s something I can’t write here!!!

　After the practical training, we returned to the room. We listened to the lecture, and the class ended without any problems. We didn’t participate in the usual picnic. Kenneth smiled happily and said, “That’s a pity.”

　I got ready to go home without even taking a shower. The Bulgari on my wrist felt heavy. Is this because I’ve become more sensitive to my senses? …No. I’m just tired.

　Paul hasn’t come home yet. If I’m not at a tea party, I’ll be home earlier than him. I turn on the TV almost unconsciously. I don’t usually do this. Leaving the TV on for no particular reason is not a habit I usually have. A round-faced blonde actress appears on the screen. It’s a romance drama that’s been rebroadcast so many times that you can tell the name of the show just by looking at her face. The female lawyer protagonist keeps shouting crazy things at Jon Bon Jovi, who plays her lover. Bon Jovi doesn’t argue with her, just keeps smiling. Just like a hard rocker. He’s a patient man who’s been able to keep the same hairstyle for over ten years.

　Handsome and sexy. A big heart that accepts my selfishness. Is this the ideal boyfriend that women want? If so, it’s depressing. I can’t be that patient. The lesson I can learn from this show is that it’s not a good idea to have a girlfriend who is a female lawyer in a miniskirt. Just as I turned off the informative TV, my cell phone rang. It was Tanya calling.

“I’m sorry. I know I upset you…”

　That voice was weak. Even a captured rabbit wouldn’t speak in such a pitiful way (whether rabbits can talk or not is another matter).

“Dean, I’m sorry…” Tanya apologized again.

　Damn. Men are weak to this. What on earth can you say to a woman who apologizes so graciously? A woman’s “I’m sorry” has the power to make it impossible for anything to be unforgivable.

　I’m sorry for being selfish.

　I’m sorry I spilled soy sauce on your new suit.

　Sorry, I checked your call history.

　I’m sorry for cheating on you.

　Sorry for dropping a meteorite on your head.

　I’m sorry I couldn’t say I’m sorry.

　To that, the man was only allowed one response.

“It’s okay, Tanya. I don’t mind.”

　I don’t mind being selfish.

　I don’t care if someone spills soy sauce on my new suit.

　I don’t care if someone checks my call history.

　I don’t care if he cheats on me.

　I wouldn’t care if a meteorite fell on my head.

　I don’t care if you’re not sorry.

　Of course not, but there is no other way to say it. If you respond to a woman’s apology with “Yes, you’re wrong,” not only will you waste a lot of time arguing, but you might find yourself standing in line to buy a handbag. (Is that an exaggeration? If you think so, try this out with your girlfriend, write a report on the results, and submit it to me!)

“Will you really forgive me?” asked Tanya.

“Yeah, of course.” (“Yeah, of course” is an important line that follows “It’s okay, I don’t care.” Make a note of it.)

“Thank goodness! I thought you’d never come to class again!”

　Ugh! I was hit with a nail on the head. I was going to say, “Work will be busy from next week, so I won’t be able to go to class for a while,” but this won’t work. If I don’t show up next time, she’ll take it as “my fault.” Of course, that’s true, but it’s not good to make her realize that. Work will be really busy from next week… but now that this has happened, I have to go to class, even if I’m exhausted from working overtime — at least for next week.

“Well, see you next week. See you in class.” Tanya regained her energy in the tone of his voice. She also said cheerfully, “See you later,” and hung up the phone.

　I went to a yoga class for relaxation purposes, but it unexpectedly turned into a place of spiritual training. I am now like a young man who was forced into the military. I am truly grateful to Roman for giving me such a variety of experiences in one place.

　But, I’ve learned a lot from this experience. She’s the type who enjoys making that kind of approach to men. Now that I know that, all I have to do is be strong from now on. I don’t have to pair up with Tanya from next week. That’s it. There’s no need to be scared of a younger Russian girl and quit the class. The mantra of peace I’m used to saying now. Shanti, shanti, shanti, om… What I learned in class is useful.

　I found some ingredients in the fridge that were barely surviving (I buried anything that seemed dead in the garbage bin), fried them in olive oil, and mixed them with short pasta. For soup, I just opened a can. Even though it was such a simple dinner, Paul was happy.

“Oh, that’s right. Today, a friend from your class came to our shop,” he said, as if remembering, as he gathered the chili peppers in the corner of his plate.

“My class? Yoga class?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Who is that? Could it be Tar…”

“Someone called Camilla”

　Camilla – I see, Camilla. I realized I was glad to have that name.

　Paul continued speaking, his eyes still on the plate.

“I forgot to tell you, but two people came last week, too. Donna and Alicia. Is this a wife school?”

“You two were there? Are you old customers?”

“Well, he said it was Dean’s introduction.”

“I didn’t introduce you, though…”

“Really? But since they both chose me, it must be your introduction after all.”

　Now safe from the chillies, Paul stuffs his penne into his mouth. The conversation turns to mutual friends, and the yoga class is never mentioned again.

　After the meal, while I put the dishes in the dishwasher, I thought about Camilla, Donna, and Alicia. How much did I tell them about Paul? His roommate is a hairdresser, and the salon is two blocks from Trump Tower. I remember saying that much, but I don’t think I gave any specific details, such as the name of the salon. I didn’t brag about being a good hairdresser, so why did they choose Paul? Why didn’t they tell me about it in the first place? I’m the center of the story, but I don’t know what’s going on. This situation doesn’t make me feel very good. Next time I see them, I’ll ask them what’s going on.

　As I squatted on the floor and stared blankly at the plates and cups being hit by the jets, I heard a giggling voice come down from above my head and ask, “Are you having fun?”

　”Yeah,” I replied, gazing out the small window into the dishwasher. “It’s more fun than TV.”

Do you like washing machines?

“That’s nice, but… the best thing is the car washer. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved watching my car being washed with those giant brushes.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Is something simmering?”

“Me?” I raised my head and looked up at Paul.

“Yeah”

“I wonder…” I return to the dishwasher, which looks like a rainstorm inside.

“You sit down too.”

“Me too?”

“Ah”

　I moved a little to the right to give him some space, and Paul sat down.

“More fun than TV?” Paul says, laughing.

“For me… the rinsing process has just begun. This is where the fun begins.”

　We sat side by side on the kitchen floor, silently watching the dishwasher do its job. His right hand found my left. Our hands clasped each other and stayed that way. We kissed twice before the dishes were done. I never once thought of a mantra. Despite this, I felt a great sense of peace.

　Donna and Camila are good friends. Donna is usually with Camila, and Camila is usually with Donna. If you want to talk to both of them, it’s easy. You can probably do it all at once.

　A friendly pair of girls are chatting in front of Ariel’s desk. I found them before going to the locker room, and after a short chat, I casually brought up the main topic, saying, “Paul told me.” Contrary to my expectations that she might just walk away, Camila replied with a smile, “Yeah, I stopped by the store yesterday.”

“Your boyfriend is so handsome, isn’t he? And his technique was amazing.”

“But, I don’t remember saying Paul’s name…”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked,” Donna interjected crisply.

“Did you hear?”

“‘Who’s Dean Kelly’s boyfriend?’ The girl at the counter answered right away.”

　What? Wait a second, why would you bother to do that?! I ask, gently translating the comment I’d shouted in my mind.

“Why?”

“Because I was curious,” Donna said.

“interest”

“Yeah. I wonder what your boyfriend is like.”

“Why?”

“Why…” Donna looked up at me with an expression that said, “I don’t know why you asked me that.” Camilla helped her friend, who was at a loss for words.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t mean anything. I was just wondering what kind of person you are. We were all having a great time the other day. I just wanted to see your face.”

　Did we all get excited? About my girlfriend? About someone else’s boyfriend? Who is “everyone”?

“I apologize if I offended you,” Camila said. “But seriously, I don’t mean it that way. So, how long have you two been dating?”

　There was no ulterior motive. I see. There wasn’t. There was no way. What on earth was an “ulterior motive” anyway? A third party spoke the words in my place, at a loss for words.

“Dean’s not gay.”

　When I turned around, Tanya was standing there. She was staring at Donna and Camilla with a stern expression. It looked as if she was angry, and the atmosphere in the room changed completely.

“Um, Tanya… why do you think that?”

　It was Donna who broke the tense atmosphere. Tanya didn’t reply to her menacing words. Without replying, without saying a word, and without even a glance in my direction, she disappeared into the studio.

“What’s with that attitude? ‘Dean’s not gay.'”

“Hey, I wonder how you can say that with such confidence?”

“Oh, that’s true…”

　Donna and Camilla looked at each other and laughed. I think the madams here have a vulgar misunderstanding. How easy it would be to say, “I have a girlfriend. I’m not doing it with Tanya at all.” But there’s no way I’d say, “I’m not doing it with Tanya” without even being asked. Their lustful gazes pierce me. The knot of misunderstanding is tight and doesn’t seem like it will be undone so easily. And they probably don’t even want to untie it. My s3x life brings joy to Donna and Camilla (and probably others, too) just like the magazines next to the supermarket cash register. How many times has my name come up in their conversations at the cafe on Sunday afternoons? I feel like I want to copyright my name.

　What kind of conspiracy is it that causes situations to arise where I am actively forced to interact with people just when I don’t feel like it?

　Charlie told me that today’s program was, “Find a partner to help each other with your poses, and support each other.” It was a little hard for me to accept at the moment, and as I stood there, unenthusiastic, a potential partner appeared and asked, “Would you like to partner with me?” It was Camilla who offered with a smile. One day, she grabbed my arm firmly and silently. I wonder if her timid words were a reflection of her earlier rudeness. To be honest, I don’t want to partner with her. I’m not broad-minded enough to say “I’d be happy to” after such an exchange. As I was searching for a polite way to refuse, another voice called my name.

“Dean, team up with me today.”

　Alicia. One of the curious members who went to Paul’s shop. Another member I wanted to turn down.

“Sorry, but I…”

“No? You’re teaming up with Tanya, right?”

“Tanya?”

“You don’t pair up with the same person too many times. By pairing up with different people and experiencing the differences, you can have a deeper experience.”

　Camila nodded in agreement with Alicia’s reasonable opinion. “That’s right. That’s why I always end up paired with Tanya.”

　What do you mean, “always”? Tanya and I haven’t been paired up that many times. If you say it like that, it sounds like we were intentionally paired up and “always” were paired up.

“Camilla, you often team up with Dean, don’t you?”

“Because when I team up with him, the energy flows well.”

“What? That’s not fair.”

　Cheat? What’s cheating about that? Camilla snuggled up next to me. She looked up at me and blinked. Her heavy eyelashes seemed to make a flapping noise. (At least that’s what it sounded like to me.)

“Dean, who would you choose, me or Alicia?”

　Is it one or the other? Are those the only two options?

“Yes, Dean. You have the right to choose.”

　”Dean” “Dean” “Dean”… It costs one cent per call.

“Hey, you guys, are you bothering a fine young lady?” Donna says happily from afar. I just realized I hate the color of her lipstick.

“Oh, that’s not true,” said Camila.

“Yeah, you’re annoying me. Right, Dean?”

　”Hey Dean?” — Correction. It’s now $1 per visit, or $5. Alicia’s perfume smells strong. Perfume? Isn’t that prohibited here?

“When I’m paired with you, my energy is invigorated.”

　That comment brought back memories of something Margaret had said on the first day.

“I think you’ll liven up the energy in the room.”

“I’m glad a guy came.”

“Very few men can continue in this class.”

　Damn, I see. That’s it. I thought I was trying not to become a wolf in this flock of sheep. But I was completely wrong.

　───I am the sheep! A sheep among wolves. That is me. It’s not that “men can’t keep up with yoga.” The problem is with this place. The only people who are motivated are guys with ulterior motives like Kenneth, and if you’re a normal guy, you can’t stay here!

　I shook off Camila and Alicia, went over to Kenneth, who had already found a partner, and forced him to break up with her, and succeeded in becoming his partner. I felt bad for him, as he didn’t seem to be having any fun with a guy, but I had found the only person in this space who seemed safe, and I was able to do my asanas with peace of mind. I never thought I would be so happy to have a man in this class. His presence even felt like a blessing from God. Of course, that only lasted until I left the room.

　After class, I thanked my wonderful partner, quickly changed clothes, and jumped into the elevator. See you, bye-bye, next time. Just as I was escaping the gazes that were catching my attention, the strongest eyes finally caught me. Tanya was waiting for me in the Art Deco entrance lobby. Her expression was very stern, and not the least bit like, “How about we have dinner together?” Could it be that she was angry that I didn’t choose her as my partner today…?

　Tanya looks at me, stops there, and walks up to me. An ominous aura emanates from her small body, and I sense a strange power in her, which makes me stop walking. She stands in front of me as if to block my path, looks up at me, and says, “You’re not gay, right?” I remain silent at her sudden words, and she continues.

“Is it okay to leave everyone with such a misunderstanding?”

　Make no mistake. She is angry. Not at “everyone,” but at me.

“You’re not gay. Come over to my house today so I can believe it. I can prove it to you.”

　She spoke clearly. What an obvious invitation. It was like her, and I liked it. But I couldn’t accept the offer. I didn’t want to. Tanya was looking straight at me. Her cheeks were flushed, and her face was filled with anger. A year ago—no, a few months ago, I would have accepted the invitation. But now, I had a real lover. A lovable boyfriend who I didn’t want to disappoint by being ugly and fat, and who I didn’t want to kiss my rough cheeks. That was my motivation for attending the class in the first place. I wanted to make myself and him comfortable. To live a happy life with my lover. Luckily, I have that now.

“Tanya, I haven’t had a chance to tell you this until now, but… I have a girlfriend.”

　Tanya has a look on her face that says, “So what?” You’re right. She’s not the type to worry about such things.

“I’m… gay.”

　It was a shocking confession – and yet Tanya’s “so what?” doesn’t seem to waver in the slightest.

“Um… I have a male lover.”

　”So what?” Amazing. To think that you could remain calm even after being told all of this. Yoga is truly a wonderful sport.

“Liar,” Tanya glares and says briefly. “Why would you lie like that?”

“I’m not lying. I am…”

“Then why? You didn’t react when I touched you. That’s not possible if you’re gay, is it?”

“That’s because… I only recently became gay…”

　She stares at me, not trying to hide her obvious distrust. Of course. Even when I say it myself, it sounds like a perfect excuse. I’m telling the truth, but it sounds like a lame excuse. “Truth is stranger than fiction.” It’s so strange that it’s hard to believe it. The truth is strange.

“Why did you lie like that? If you don’t like me, just say so.”

　I don’t dislike her. If I had met Tanya before I dated Paul, I might have chosen her as my girlfriend.

“I have a boyfriend.”

　Tanya gave me a look of deep disappointment, and her jaw dropped. That was the moment she let go of me completely.

　She turns on her heel and starts walking. Her footsteps echo off the lily chandelier.

“Hey… can I ask you one last question?”

　Tanya turns around after hearing my words. (Did she hear the word “finally”?)

“What’s my nickname?”

“Nickname?”

“You all secretly called me that, didn’t you? What was my secret nickname after all? Harry?”

“Oh, that’s… no, not Harry.”

“Then what?”

“…………”Bvlgari”

“Bvlgari”

“You were wearing them on the first day, right? A watch and perfume. Those are your secret nicknames…” She fades out at the end of the sentence and lowers her eyes.

　It’s a lie. She’s lying. Tanya is convinced that I’m lying to her. The lie I’m telling her is probably her way of resisting, saying, “If that’s the case, then I’m not going to tell the truth either.” Unfortunately, it came to this. It’s unfortunate, but whatever. I’m exhausted. I’m so exhausted, I don’t even have the energy to reflect on myself and think that I should have told the truth from the beginning. I’ll go home quickly. I’ll go to the sauna and tell my girlfriend that I love her. There’s nothing else I want to do. I don’t care about a hidden nickname.

　When I got home, dinner was ready for me.

“It’s just finished baking. Maybe you were waiting at the door?” Paul said with a mischievous grin as he took the casserole out of the oven.

　The cheese on top was lightly browned, and the cream was melting and steaming. I stuck my fork into the bubbling cake and muttered, “I feel most at ease when I’m with you.”

“What happened all of a sudden?”

“I’m happy.”

“Maybe yoga opened your chakras and awakened you to happiness?”

“Yes, that’s right. Yoga is the answer.”

“That’s amazing.”

　I woke up to happiness thanks to yoga. The meaning is different, but the result is the same. I was able to commit myself to my relationship with Paul more because of “going to yoga class”…or rather, I’m afraid of women. But even if I did, no one would be bothered. Paul would feel relieved, and Roman would be overjoyed that I had joined his team. Maybe he predicted this and introduced me to that yoga class. Roman had said, “Don’t come crying to me if something happens.” I can’t deny the possibility that I fell right into his trap. Oh my God. If so, that’s a terrifying move.

“What shall we do today? Watch the dishwasher again?” asked Paul.

“Oh, never mind that. Want to see a movie? That Adam Sandler one you mentioned the other day?”

“Great. I’ll get some coffee ready.”

　Chocolate chip cookies with lots of peanut butter, washed down with strong coffee. I don’t want to see herbal tea and whole wheat bread for a while.

　Whether you’re a man or a woman, we all need peaceful times. It’s fine to wish for world peace, but you should first make yourself happy.

　We were once friends, but now we have become lovers. Even the cells that make up our bodies are replaced every moment. Nothing remains the same, it changes into something completely different.

　The kiss after the movie was brief, but it was the best thing in the world.

　Chocolate chip cookies, coffee, kisses.

　I was a shanty idiot and just beginning to understand what I wanted in life.