“Oh shit,” I breathe.
“What?” Felix pushes past me, either to see for himself or save me. I watch his eyes go wide as he takes in the scene. The carpet is covered with bodies. Even more troubling are the white masks, like everyone keeled over at a Phantom of the Opera convention.
“They’re breathing,” Felix points out, after the stunned silence gives way to another round ofahhhhhs.
Obviously I’ve reached the same conclusion, but in light of recent events it wasn’t unreasonable to think I’d stumbled onto more corpses.
“Hi, kids!” Mrs. A’s cheerful voice is recognizable even before she shoves her mask up to smile at us. “You’re just in time.”
“For what?” Felix’s question teeters at the midpoint between curious and cautious.
“We asked Cheryl to come by and lead us in some movement exercises,” Grandma Lainey explains, gesturing at a slight woman in black Lycra with a wavy white bob. Cheryl lifts a hand in greeting, like we’re being introduced at a dinner party. “She used to help out at the theater, when we were feeling blocked.”
“I specialize in working with artists,” Cheryl says. “Releasing physical tension can open pathways to creative flow.”
“We thought it might be helpful in the present circumstances,” Mrs. A adds.
Nothing like death to plug up the pathways!
“Would you like to join us?” Cheryl asks.
“We thought you’d never ask,” Felix answers for both of us, hooking his elbow around my arm and tugging me to the last remaining patch of open floor—aside from the area under the billiard table, which everyone is carefully avoiding.
The others wait as we wriggle onto our backs, stretching out side by side like we’re sharing a comforter. I try to surreptitiously glance around to check whether I’m doing it right, but it’s hard to see without lifting my head. This is the weirdest slumber party I’ve ever been to, and that includes theVeggieTales–themed lock-in at Sam’s church.
“Right now we’re working on constructive resting,” Cheryl informs us. “Focus on relaxing your muscles, beginning at the top of your head and working slowly down the body.”
That would be easier if my body wasn’t acutely conscious of the inch of carpet separating me from Felix. My nervous system is pretty sure this is a Code Red situation.
“We exhale with anahhhhh,” Cheryl says before demonstrating the hushed whisper we heard through the door. “And breathe in through the nose.”
As we allahhhhhand then inhale, not quite in sync, I wonder if Mervyn would classify this as acting normal. Probably not with the masks.
I try to concentrate on my breathing, while also telling my shoulders to unclench. And then I must overcorrect, because I’m starting to get lightheaded.
“Where is the floor?” Cheryl asks.
“Underneath me,” the Castle Claude crew replies, in what is clearly a familiar call and response.
“The floor supports you,” Cheryl continues. “A firm foundation. Know that you are rooted and grounded.”
Felix takes his hands off his stomach and lets them rest at his sides, patting the floor like he’s confirming its solidity. Or maybe he’s congratulating it on a job well done. When his pinkie brushes mine, any progress I’ve made on the relaxation front flies out the window. My muscles are now strung tighter than the colored rubber bands they used to wrap around my braces.
“Do you agree to play?” Cheryl asks the group. “Are you open to experience?”
I sense Felix looking at me and turn my head in time to catch the double eyebrow wiggle before his loud and enthusiastic “Yes!”
Our grandparents and their friends chime in with their own affirmatives. Mine is the quietest, a soft but determined “Yeah.”
“Then let’s play the name game.” Cheryl offers no further explanation, but I get the gist when my grandmother says, “Pool table.”
This is followed by Malia’s confident “Chandelier.”
As people continue to call out the names of various objects, Cheryl’s soothing voice instructs us to anchor ourselves in the material world.
“Be present in your body, in time, and in space,” she continues. “Trust the evidence of your eyes.”
“Virginia,” Felix says.
