Coming Out

Coming Out

I sat in a partial front split, my hands white knuckling a pair of foam blocks–my feet trying in vain to grip the sweat soaked yoga mat. My legs shook like I was approaching the electric chair as my ass dropped that much closer to the floor. The reptilian side of my brain, the side that causes a sane man to recoil at the sight of a colorful snake, pleaded with me to recognize my limits. I consciously shunned this innate wisdom, choosing instead to listen to the yoga instructor Crystal who told me to “breathe”.

“Your form looks great,” she said, as she pushed me ever so gently deeper into the stretch, her culturally appropriated dreadlocks resting on my quivering shoulders.

“I don’t know,” I said. But I did know. I knew that this was fucked and my nuts were never meant to rest on the ground in a front split like Jean Claude Van Damn.

Crystal was some twenty something Stevens student who was born with the ability to twist her body into a pretzel on demand. Problem was, in her mind every overweight pencil pusher was capable of the same, if they just learned how to breathe.

“Through your nose, listen to Arrow. Notice his breath resembles the ocean.”

I looked over at Asshole Arrow–the speedo wearing alpha male of the yoga mat. This dingleberry always chose the spot right next to me so when the instructor called for the side straddle stretch, his taint was close enough to my face to tickle my nose hairs. All the teachers loved Arrow and I was pretty sure he was bending a few of them into pretzels after class. He always stayed after class to talk about stupid shit like “vulnerability” or “chakra balancing”. The girls ate this up. I hated Arrow and his eucalyptus scented asshole.

“Focus. Melt into the pose,” Crystal said. She exhaled in sync with me, driving her palms harder into my shoulders. Her breath smelled like concentrated garlic–dirty hippies. My body didn’t melt into the pose as the teacher predicted but instead snapped, crackled and convulsed down to the floor. Ancestors deep in my DNA screamed, begging me to stop this nonsense.

I didn’t listen.

Soon the familiar sound of muscles, and fascia tearing overpowered whatever mystic mix was playing on the stereo system. Pain shot through my nervous system shocking my brain like a taser into submission. I yelped and fell over to my left knocking over Asshole Arrow.

The room blurred and melted like I was in a Dali painting. Arrow helped me to a seated position and began rubbing my shoulders. “Whoa my friend Relax. Crystal get some lavender oil.” Arrow moved his hands from my shoulders to my hamstrings and began to knead them like pizza dough sending a spark of agony.

“Stop! Stop! ”. Arrow released my battered legs and Crystal put essential oil on my scalp. What’s next, a crystal up my ass?

“Do you need an ambulance?” asked Crystal.

“God no.” That’s all I needed, some more harassment from collection agencies.

So I took up Asshole Arrow on his offer to help me hobble back to my apartment. He changed into his hemp tracksuit and gripped me under both armpits, pulling me to my feet. I managed to balance on the two, what I assumed to be torn hamstrings, long enough to throw an arm around Arrow. On the way out of the studio I heard all the women, “ohh he’s such a great guy” “yes, yes wonderful”, “what a catch,” they repeated this to one another like it was another one of the class’s mantras.

Me and Arrow squeezed through the tiny studio door into the waiting room with Courtney taking up the rear. The waiting room was the size of a large walk-in closet and consisted of a large pile of shoes and a couple of fold up bikes. Arrow placed his hand on the small of Courtney’s exposed lower back. Despite the studio being one-hundred-and-five degrees she smiled, bit down on the tip of her tongue and blushed. “Call you later,” he whispered.

I knew it.

Arrow pulled me up a narrow flight of stairs outside. A cool Spring breeze distracted me for a moment from the stabbing sensation. It was prime time in Hoboken. The sidewalk was packed with drunk college kids, and yuppies heading for the gym. A few old school locals sat in front of Benny’s Pizza probably reminiscing about how the neighborhood had changed. As I hobbled by them, hip to hip with Arrow one of the guys flashed me a wise ass grin letting me know that he thinks I just got pounded in the ass by this guy.

“What are you smiling at,” I said, arm still around Arrow.

The man took a pull off his cigarette, smoke flowed up and over his acne scarred face.”Just being, what you guys call it, inclusive. Letting you know this is a safe place.”

“Yeah, well you might smile at your boyfriends over here but don’t be doing that shit to me.”

The table erupted into a series of “Hey’s” “Ho’s” and “Whoa’s”. The three other guys at the table cracked up. Scarface didn’t think it was too funny.

“Let's get back to the house,” said Arrow, slowly pulling me along down the sidewalk.

“Listen to your butt buddy, I don’t wanna be hit with a hate crime for smackin your faggot ass.” I felt the muscles in Arrows back tense.

Scarface was right in a sense, I wasn’t in any type of position to be getting in a fight out here so I tucked my tail and started hobbling away with Arrow.

Arrow stopped walking. “You guys should be ashamed of yourself. He didn’t choose this life.”

The table cracked up again.

“Wait …,” I said, but before I could finish my thought, Scarface flicked his cigarette into Arrow’s face and stood up from the table.

Arrow jolted towards the man. My arm fell off of Arrow’s shoulder and I crumbled to the sidewalk. From my new vantage point I noticed that a crowd had gathered, half of them recording the show on their iphone.

Well what they recorded would later become viral and attract me some unwanted attention. My new buddy Arrow roundhouse kicked this dude in the head and sent him to the pavement right beside me. 

The video didn’t end there as it should have.

What followed the knockout was a close up of Arrow explaining to the onlookers that, “This man was harassing my friend for being a homosexual”. The video ends with a close up of the blood draining from my face.