KICK IT | JENLISA

63

Lisa

My heart was the most active organ in me. It wanted to crack through my chest walls. Uneasiness shortened my breath. Old me would've assumed that she insulted me with an implied brain cell shortage or mine's shape was flat, but now? Was she trying to teach me a meditation lesson or opening up something personal?

How little I knew about her gnawed at the edges of my heart. I clenched my jaw. What battles had she fought?

Heat rose in my cheeks and where my palms rested on my knees. Jennie wasn't talking about napping or resting, but she made sense. Sleepless nights led to a foggy mind that was overcompensated with caffeine. Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy research focused on the effects of repeated head trauma as the brain bounced around the skull. It was a widespread concern across the NFL, a fatal side effect of the punishment we inflicted on our bodies. Concern was shared behind closed doors and in hushed conversations.

The more Jennie spoke, the further inward I delved. She spoke the same words she used in other classes but framed them in a message of recovery and rehabilitation. Relaxation and guided breathing to sharpen mental focus was her theme. Was that why these guys were here?

This wasn't specialised yoga. This was yoga for people recovering from... I wasn't sure.

There had to be clues. Military hairstyles and cut, muscular forms spanned the room. Silent, obedient submission, with all eyes closed, shoulders stacked, and pristine straight spines. They were...

A soft organ sound brought me to Jennie's rounded lips. "Omm..." They trembled and her eyes closed.

In a choir response to their conductor, the room answered. The thickest, strangest sound hummed through the air, bounced off the walls, and pricked goose bumps on my arms. I slacked my jaw and opened my mouth, but nothing came out of my dry throat. The second and third attempts were the same. My mouth rounded, but I choked on dry air. It didn't matter; no one noticed. Shoulders and spines ahead of me relaxed. Heads bowed and sighs intermixed with a heavy silence. Jennie transformed the room in five minutes, and I tasted gratitude in the air. She wasn't a yoga teacher but a therapist if that existed.

"Lay down. Close your eyes. Draw a deep breath." I forced my chest to lift and fall in smooth, rolling movements. "Imagine your breath filling up all the spaces in your body. Exhale, start to slow down your mind."

My brain ran in the opposite direction. Surrounded by relaxed bodies, thoughts smashed my skull. The weight of Jennie's class, her shift in presentation, pressed down on me stronger than gravity's pull to the mat. I crossed my fingers over my stomach and grounded my elbows at my sides. How did she come into this role? It was such a specific application, and she used a raw, personal approach. It couldn't be coincidental. What happened to her? What was she hiding from me?

Fuck, all I knew was drops within a bottomless ocean. Were these guys injured in the line of duty? I cracked open an eye. Some were physically intact, and some wore prosthetics or wound scars. The potential severity of their injuries and sacrifices choked my mouth with dryness.

My shoulder injury could have been much more severe. Cars were replaceable but people weren't. The hot air became heavy. I drew in a breath down to my belly.

I was lucky to walk away from the accident. We all were. In the most inappropriate setting, that night's details flooded my mind. Despite no intention to sleep with either woman I left with, I wasn't innocent. A phenomenally beautiful woman who drunk ass me thought reciprocated my interest, instead shot me down...

Wait a damn minute.