She looked up at him. “Some of us can’t afford to chase dreams with both hands.”
“You could if you let go of whatever it is you’re holding onto,” Cash suggested, shrugging.
He threw his thoughts out there, and they almost knocked Orielle off her square. She was holding onto a lot; much more than her five-foot-nine frame could handle. She was used to carrying it all, letting the weight of her circumstances lie dormant until she could shake them off. This particular situation was hard to shake, no matter how many months passed.
“You always give great advice, Cash,” she said, patting his arm. “Thank you.”
“I’ma start charging. I be spitting that real shit to you.”
Orielle smirked. “Mmhmm. I hear you. I’ll see you next week.”
“Nah. I’ma be out of town, but I’ll hit your line when I touch back down.”
“Sure thing. Be safe.”
Cash chucked his head upwards. “You too.”
Orielle waved bye to Krystal and pushed the door open to leave. The elevator ride down to the main floor was quiet, with her lost in her thoughts. As soon as she left the studio or any place of solitude, reality wasn’t too far behind. The August heat greeted her without a breeze in sight once she made it outside. The beads around her waist, which had tightened over the weeks, clung to her clammy skin as she cranked up her car.
SZA hummed lowly through the speakers as she made her way across town. Orielle rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest, trying to work out a knot that had nothing to do with tension and everything to do with the truth.
Cash was right.
She needed to let go of everything holding her back.
But letting go felt more dangerous than holding on. Singing full-time meant exposing the most vulnerable parts of her as if she weren’t already spilling them in her lyrics. Orielle had learned a long time ago that being vulnerable cost you. She’d paid enough already. The tightening in her chest lessened once she pulled into the parking lot of Relax and Relief Yoga Studio. She already felt a shift in the energy.
From the outside, the studio didn’t look like much. It was discreet, mimicking Orielle’s personality if you didn’t know her. The brick building, with its white lettering and large windows for natural lighting, was perfect. Grabbing her change of clothes from the trunk, Orielle entered the building. Soft music, low lighting, and the scent of eucalyptus greeted her before Maya, the front desk receptionist, did.
“Hey, Ori!” She beamed from her usual spot behind the counter.
Her curly fro was piled high with her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. Orielle smiled.
“Hey, Maya. How are you?”
“I’m good, girl. Where are you coming from?”
This was the part where Orielle struggled. To most, she had two separate lives, and she preferred it that way. Her love for music paid most of the bills and gave her a sense of comfort like no other. Being a yoga instructor was a means of survival for her, a path she had been on since she was a teenager. Growing up in a chaotic, toxic home, Orielle had to find refuge in centeringherself. Blocking out the shouts, belligerent words, her growling stomach, and words of discouragement was no easy feat.
Maya was cool, though. Not everyone was privy to Orielle, the laid-back, passionate woman with a heart of gold and a daunting past. Most knew her as Rielle Summers, the talented R&B singer who let her voice flow like honey over a track, giving women hope and making them feel good. She was an artist. Neither was a façade, and both had helped her make it this far.
“From the studio,” Orielle answered.
Maya tilted her head. “With that one fine rapper from last week?”
Orielle laughed under her breath, pulling her water bottle from her tote. “You stay in my business.”
“Only because I care and that rapper was fine,” Maya said and smirked. “Plus, your life is more interesting than mine. Of course, I’ma stay in your business.”
Orielle shook her head. Her life had been an entire season on Netflix plus bonus content, at this point. From dealing with a breakup she never saw coming, to falling into a depressive state, and then resurfacing to record some of her best work to date, Maya was getting prime subscription treatment. Their banter did exactly what it always did: center her, loosening whatever lingering tension that hadn’t been left outside.
“Well, I don’t have much to tell today.”
Maya fake-pouted. “Fine. I guess that’s a good thing.”
“Full class today?” Orielle asked.
“Not too packed. A couple of regulars called out. Oh! And one walk-in. Some guy and his girl. She’s pregnant and super sweet. Everyone is already in the main room.”
