The Rest of the Story

Two classes in a row now she hasn't shown up. At first, both times, I was a little disappointed because I've gotten curious about what's going to come next with her. Then I got focused on what I was there to do and forgot about her. It would appear that Late Woman school is finished.

Here's the back story, the facts that have fed my lessons with her:

Her name is Diana, which I learned from listening to the teachers, as in, "Well, Diana, at least you're predictable."

The first time I noticed her, months ago, it was because she came in late. She seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't figure out why. It took me weeks to find her in the recesses of my late-middle-aged brain. She was a mom at the school where I taught for nine years, a school not that far from the yoga studio. I remembered her as being a difficult mom, someone no one liked much because she complained constantly and stalked people like a hungry lioness. I had a vague memory of her son as being small, smart and sad. Once I made the connection (and I cringe as I write this), I tucked her in a box of someone-I-don't-like-for-a-really-good-reason. I also assumed (based on nothing in particular) she probably would not remember me fondly if she even noticed me.

That would have been that, except at some point she started setting up in my space every single class, and she was always there. Several blog posts later and hours of "what am I going to do with these feelings?" brought me to class a week ago Tuesday.

Diana came in late as usual. The class was small so there was space all over the room, even in front where she likes to be. I was in the middle row. She set up to my left, leaving me no room to  move my arms without clocking her (which, thank God, I wasn't compelled to do - this time). There was some room to my right, so at the end of warm-up, I shifted just a little. She. Followed. Me. Moved her mat to stay close to me. Like we were bound by some magnetic force field that couldn't be broken.

Pat noticed this time and mentioned it was clear to her that Diana felt some really strong attraction to me. And that's when a small bit of new memory rose to the surface. I was kind to her once. I remembered talking to her about her son and advocating for him with the principal and his teacher. Not much else, but enough for me to completely change my picture of her behavior.

So the story I told from her side of things is a very possible truth. It might not be, but that doesn't really matter at this point. What does matter is that my heart now sees a more complete picture - one that allows me the freedom to love both myself and her.

Photo from Flickr