SOARING WITH GEESE

“Glad to see you here,” I said as Janice, clad in sheer stirrup tights and a figure-flattering violet leotard, squatted and curled her slender body into a sitting position on the exercise mat next to me. I shouldn’t have said anything more than that, wish I’d refrained from attempting to have a conversation with Janice.

“I am not going to miss yoga class, not if I can help it,” Janice replied. She closed her chestnut brown eyes and tilted her head backward. “I feel better physically and it’s sooo relaxing. Dealing with Bobby makes stress relief necessary.” Janice’s pageboy hairstyle framed the disgusted expression on her face as she turned to me. “The guy was born in 1954. He should have thirty-four years of maturity but doesn’t, and the same can be said of my ex-husband.”

Bobby’s immaturity…that was one of many reasons for attempting to win over Janice although she was probably at least ten years older than me. Based on what Janice had been saying about Bobby and her ex, I was more levelheaded than either of them. “That’s why I’m here,” I said. “But not because your boyfriend and ex-husband are driving me crazy. I need to exercise and ease work-related stress. Doctor’s orders.”

Janice giggled in a way that, unlike a lot of people, wasn’t goofy or childlike in tone.

“It’s good to hear mirth in this place,” Eileen, our yoga instructor, said as she continued her endeavor to find soothing music in a stack of cassette tapes, approving smile under her graying hair.

Janice peered at me inquisitively. “I remember you saying your job is a nerve plucker. You work for…”

“Channel 29. I’m the de facto Assistant Program Director, which in my situation means I make sure the programs and commercials get on the air while the actual Program Director hides and relaxes in his office.”

“That’s the way much of the world is, unfortunately,” Janice remarked.

Eileen would soon be done selecting music. I wanted to make a connection with Janice, form a bond with her in the brief times before and after class. Desperate for something to say, like a comedian improvising his act in front of a nightclub audience, I mentally scrambled to come up with another conversation topic…and I did. Wish I hadn’t, but I did. “A while ago I saw somebody on a TV morning show who claimed she can do more than relax with yoga. She said the non-physical part of her—the spirit or whatever—can remove itself from her body and travel to different places.”

“I’ve heard of this but never practiced it myself,” Eileen remarked. “The term for it is ‘astral projection.’ Sorry to intrude upon your conversation.”

“Yeah, that’s what she called it,” I said.

“Astral projection…that sounds like something an astrologist would do to predict the future,” Janice mused.

“Or how a planetarium displays images of outer space,” I replied.

“That, too.”

“Sorry to interrupt again but it is time to begin class,” Eileen announced.

Janice and I, Eileen’s only two students, rose to our feet.

As usual, I waited for Janice and Eileen to change out of their exercise apparel after class so I could walk them to their cars. I put on my street clothes in the men’s restroom adjoining the second-floor landing. Twilight was gradually putting the day to rest when we stepped through the building’s creaky front door and onto the Wallbrook Avenue sidewalk. “Now that I have taught a class of two students, I shall go home and prepare for several months of teaching dozens of pupils English and literature,” Eileen proclaimed.

“The school year starts later this month?” Janice asked.

“Yes. The Herculean effort to teach proper grammar to junior high school students and instill an appreciation of literature in them will soon commence.”

“Well, we appreciate what you do for us,” Janice said as we began our walk to the parking lot. “You said there were supposed to be two other ladies joining us in class?”

“One of them has family obligations that have kept her away. Another chose napping over exercise after a day of work. It would be nice if they were to show up, but I’m fine with giving more attention to fewer students, a luxury I don’t have with my ‘real job.’”

“It’s just as well,” Janice stated. “There isn’t much space in our tiny room.” She turned to me and grinned. “But that’s okay.”

I smiled modestly, trying not to display too much pleasure in remembering the sensation of nylon and bare skin as our feet briefly touched while stretching my long legs into a pose.

“I will see my two acolytes next Wednesday,” Eileen said to Janice and me as we reached the parking lot. The three of us waved goodbye and headed for our cars. “Songbird,” the smooth jazz tune by Kenny G, could be heard through the sound system of a nearby bistro. The music of Kenny G and acts like the Pat Metheny Group and Basia were the beautiful musical calm after the spectacular brilliance of Prince, Cyndi Lauper and the pre-scandal Michael Jackson. Bantering with Janice as we strolled among the bistros, nightclubs and entertainment venues of Wallbrook Avenue…I wanted to make that happen, and I resolved to embark on a special trip to find something that might help.

#

“I know we’re dating, but not twenty-four hours a day.” If Janice’s angry words had been a visible color, they would have shown as a scarlet red that contrasted the eggshell blue walls of the room. “It’s not okay for you to show up unannounced at all hours of the day and night.”

Eileen nodded sympathetically. I placed my gym bag next to my mat, sat down and timidly tapped Janice on her shoulder. Janice yelped and sprang an inch or two off her mat, then smiled at the sight of me. “Oh, hello,” Janice said to me with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Sorry,” I replied as I reached into my gym bag. The laminated cover of the book I handed to Janice had a crease in its lower right-hand corner and was slightly yellowed with age and wear.

Janice read the book’s title out loud. “A Way to Get away from Yourself: A Beginner’s Guide to Astral Projection.”

“I found it at the secondhand bookstore on Turner Road.”

“The title looks like something you’d think up. If I didn’t know better I would swear you wrote it.”

“Nah. This book was published before I learned to type.”

Janice showed the book’s cover to Eileen, then turned back to me. “Have you read any of this and tried a technique?”

“I did this past weekend. Couldn’t make much progress because someone was always making a lot of noise in my apartment building or the parking lot, even late at night, and according to the book a quiet environment is needed.”

“That would not be a problem for me, I don’t think. I live on Canterbury Street and there usually aren’t disturbances in the neighborhood after sunset.”

Canterbury Street is in the city’s historic Culpepper district, a quaintly appealing neighborhood of colonial style houses with gable windows among willow trees and towering oaks. Being intimate with Janice in that atmosphere, incorporating yoga maneuverings to create a slowly sensual experience…Janice’s words had piqued that desire in me.

Janice patted the book’s cover. “Can I borrow this?”

“You can’t borrow something that’s already yours,” I replied.

“This is mine to keep? Oh, thank you!” Janice placed the book on the other side of her mat with a gentleness evidently not practiced by its previous owner. Eileen rose to her feet. Another yoga class—another hour with Janice—was beginning.

Janice tugged the sleeve of my T-shirt when we stepped outside after class. “Let’s talk. I want to hear about what the book says and your experience with it.” She gestured at the outdoor deck of a café across the street. “Want to get a non-alcoholic beverage and discuss this?”

“Uh—yeah,” I stammered, surprised by this kind of invitation I’d wanted but not expecting there and then.

Eileen looked pleased as she waved goodbye and headed towards the parking lot. Janice scanned the length of Wallbrook Avenue and frowned. “Heavy traffic and no pedestrian crosswalk to make drivers think about slowing down for us,” Janice lamented.

“There’s a crosswalk up the street,” I stated. “We could walk to it, cross the street and walk back to where we’re going, but we’ve already exercised enough, I think.”

“If we knew how to do astral projection we could just send ourselves above the traffic.”

“Yeah, but our bodies would still be here.”

“True. Hadn’t thought of that consequence.” Janice laughed, looped her arm around mine and together we walked—cautiously— across the street.

Janice and I discussed astral projection and many other things while sipping lemon tea at one of the café’s round outdoor tables. It was nearly closing time when we left the place. I walked Janice to the parking lot, thankful for the light provided by a nearby streetlamp as Janice and I stood next to her car.

“Wednesday evenings are always good, but this time was better,” Janice said. She patted the side of her purse where she’d deposited the book. “I will read this and let you know if I make any progress.”

“Thanks. Okay.”

Janice bobbed slightly upward to peck my cheek with her soft lips, then eased into the driver’s seat of her car as her puckered lips retracted and spread into a smile. I giddily made my way to my old car, allowing myself a minute or two to get off Cloud Nine before attempting to drive. I remained in a good frame of mind despite a pickup truck following too closely until I reached the apartment complex, the driver leaning on the horn when I slowed down to turn into the parking lot. I was feeling too good to be upset by that jerk’s impatience. If the jerk had a problem with me slowing down so I wouldn’t lose control while turning, too bad.

#

My clock radio usually clicks on to wake me up at 6:00AM, but that Friday morning the ringing of my phone at 5:34 did it. I huffed and swore, thinking it was the morning board operator at the TV station calling about a problem. I answered my nightstand phone with a grouchy “What’s going on?”

“I just did it!” Janice’s voice shrieked through the phone.

“Uh…Janice?”

“Yeah. I got your number from Eileen. Woke her up. Sorry if you were asleep. Wanted to tell you I left my body a little while ago. I was up all night trying. I skimmed along the surface of a pond. And I soared with geese. It was wonderful, didn’t even mind the obnoxious honking noise they make.”

“If a trombone were a living thing and tried to blow its nose it would sound like a goose,” I replied.

“Yeah, that’s what they sound like, and at all hours of the day, even before dawn.”

“Are you sure you didn’t fall asleep and dream those experiences?” The pessimist in me had caused me to ask that question, and I immediately wanted to kick myself for it.

“Yes, I’m sure and I’ll show you how to do it. This evening, maybe, or sometime this weekend depending on when you can come over and we can be together for a long time.”

Be together for a long time…those words Janice spoke aroused me, once again causing imaginings of intimacy that had been in my thoughts since Wednesday night, a hoped-for experience that I wanted more than an opportunity to achieve astral projection. “Sure, whenever the time is right for you,” I responded.

“Great. Well, you need to get ready for work, so I’ll let you go. I should do the same but will make one more trip to…wherever. Talk to you—and see you—later. Bye.”

I often didn’t shave on Fridays—my way of starting to unwind for the weekend—but I did on that particular morning. Showered, shaved and splashed my face with the best aftershave I could find that was inexpensive yet smelled good. Put on slacks and a polo shirt instead of jeans and a T-shirt, and the station staff would undoubtedly comment on my attire. “This weekend I am going to do some things I want to do and you all need to make an effort to solve problems yourselves instead of calling me—” that’s what I was tempted to say to them. Janice’s inviting words had thrown me so off-kilter that I bumbled through my morning preparations like someone who hadn’t learned anything about balance and focus during yoga classes. I dropped my keys while locking my apartment door. I scooped up the keys, grateful that the sun had risen so I could easily see them—and they nearly slipped out of my hand again when I saw the trembling guy standing next to my car.

“You and Janice were into weird shit,” the muscular guy with a scraggly beard stated accusingly. His heavy breathing moved the design on his Guns ‘N Roses concert souvenir T-shirt forward and back.

“Bobby.” His name was all I could say as I recalled being tailgated Wednesday night and noticed one word in his statement…were.

“Yeah, the guy Janice was supposed to be spending time with instead of you and her hanging out together, her kissing your face. I rang her doorbell this morning and she didn’t answer. Busted open the door and went upstairs. Janice was sitting on the floor in her bedroom, legs crossed and eyes closed. I yelled at her, pushed and slapped her…no reaction. It was like she was in a trance. Not even having gas poured on her made her react. I lit a match…” Bobby tilted his face towards the bright morning sky and wailed.

#

I’ve been able to perform astral projection a handful of times in the decades since the vessel containing the special person I knew was destroyed by her boyfriend, now a prison lifer. I’m often too tense, unable to relax enough to accomplish it. I stress out because I’m desperate to escape my own body so I can search for Janice. I wonder where she is or if I can possibly find and communicate with her. Some of the so-called experts I have consulted say it may be possible, others don’t believe it can be achieved. Yesterday Eileen and I both tried, were unsuccessful and wept as we sat on the floor of Eileen’s suite in the assisted living facility where she now lives. If I ever find and speak with Janice, I hope she tells me she hasn’t been sad, that she’s been spending a lot of time skimming ponds and soaring with geese.

Dell R. Lipscomb