After working at the reception desk that day, Mermaid walked to a nearby health food restaurant to meet a girlfriend. She sat in a booth and looked at the menu, but her mind was all over the place as she scanned - seitan was seaweed, and avocado was tempeh bacon. Grilled vegetables were smashed yams, and Mermaid just felt as if she were a bowl of maple-whipped tofu: stagnant, cold, and too sweet for her own good.

She put her head down and took a deep breath. Her eternal morning of handling crabby colonic customers had absorbed too much of her energy, and she found herself acting a little fussy.  The simplest decision between guacamole with blue chips and a house salad with Indonesian Trance dressing, or a tempeh reuben with vegan kraut-slaw proved to be embarrassingly conflicting.

Maybe she should have just gone to Starbucks for a latte with cow’s milk.

Mermaid tossed the menu aside and decided to wait. And then, it dawned on her: she had forgotten to make the next appointment with David before leaving the centre, and she probably forgot out of subconscious purpose, for she knew she had to get out of there for good.

She did not want to confront the Detox Duo and explain - an encounter that could possibly be laced with passive-aggression, mixed signals and, for what she knew, a magic spell. Even though David was illuminating certain truths and possibilities for her, his withheld seduction was distracting. Dalia was just bad news, and Mermaid felt it now more than ever.

As she lifted her head, Mermaid suddenly spotted a familiar face walking into the restaurant. It was Mittra, a yoga teacher with a cannabis addiction and unresolved conflict with her.

Mermaid nearly grasped the table in an attempt to believe her eyes. Mittra saw her from the distance and nodded to her. She didn’t want to talk to him, especially since he was accompanied by two women: devoted yoginis in his class, she presumed.

David. David is making me run into Mittra, to resolve our issue, just like I ran into Mike last week, she thought.

Mermaid peered at him from across the room of the health food restaurant. He had lost weight, she noticed, and the more closely she looked at his harem girls, she realized they appeared to be slightly older than Mittra’s 35-year old self.

Incidentally, Mittra had been calling Mermaid almost every week since their interaction, in an attempt to make amends. She could not bring herself to pick up the phone, wanting to forget what had happened.

***

Three months earlier, Mittra had picked out Mermaid in his yoga class. At the end of the sequence, when all of the students rested in corpse pose, Mermaid suddenly felt a pair of large, soft hands, scented with a soothing balm, grasp her neck ever so slightly.

Soon, the hands moved to her collar bone and then to her face. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw the face of Mittra, upside down, directly above her. From that angle, Mittra looked like a faded blond horse with the bright blue eyes of a lost little boy.

After class, he introduced himself, and she shook his hand.

In the next class, he massaged her legs at the end when she rested. She wondered if he had any intentions and worried that by welcoming the hands-on, she was possibly sending the wrong message to this stranger. But why should she worry - wasn’t this a public yoga class? She had every right to be adjusted or massaged if the time presented itself.

After that class, they talked again, this time for half an hour. Mermaid and Mittra discovered they only lived a few blocks away from each other.

“Let’s have tea sometime,” he said, enthusiastically. “Give me your number?”

When Mermaid returned home after the class, she found a text message from Mittra: “I love your grace, your curves, and your angelic face.”

A few days later, Mittra showed up at Mermaid’s little apartment on East 22nd Street at 10 in the morning to continue their soul talk. He brought the desired amenities to preface such an encounter: a healthy morning glory muffin, organic orange juice, and Earl Grey tea with Silk creamer. Mermaid opened the door to her apartment wearing a light gray wool robe. There he stood in his leather jacket, several inches taller than she. But something was off; Mittra was high.

***

As they sat at her kitchen table together, Mittra suddenly swooped up her feet, popped and massaged each toe, and stimulated her soles with his strong grasp. She closed her eyes in enjoyment.

“The perks,” he said.

Mittra told Mermaid that he was once so in demand as a masseur that a rich older gay man in Florida offered to fly him down and pay him $2,000 for one massage if he would be naked while performing the massage.

“That really made me realize I didn’t really want to practice anymore.”

“Why not just avoid people like that?” Mermaid asked.

Mittra didn’t answer. He stared at her with his little lost boy blue eyes. Then, he reached over and touched her neck and tilted his head.

“So sweet are you,” he said.

Mermaid felt it was all faux. He was high, and it showed blatantly in his eyes. Mermaid intuitively knew he must have liked to do it in the morning before he went about his day, and disturbingly, to teach his yoga classes.

Mittra liked to do other things in the morning, too. He quickly picked her up into his arms and dashed a few steps into the bedroom. Before she knew it, he had dropped her down, and when she hit the bed, there was a little bounce. Suddenly, he was on top of her, unbuckling his belt. Mermaid didn’t know where the last few seconds had gone. She sat up.

“I don’t want to have sex,” she said, firmly.

“Really? Cuz I’d really like to fuck you,” he said in an aggressive hushed whisper.

“Well, I don’t want to be fucked! No.”

Mittra suddenly became serious and backed away.

“No means no.” He put up his hands.

Mermaid collected herself on the edge of her bed. He buckled his pants and approached her on his knees, holding her hips.

“I’m sorry, Mermaid.”

“What was that - I mean, I’m just not like this - I don’t know you.”

“I just thought we were moving in that direction,” Mittra said, quickly.

Mermaid slapped her hand on her thigh and looked up.

“What? What direction? I mean, did I give a signal? I don’t know. Tell me so I know.”

“No. I was being impulsive.” Mittra sighed. “Mermaid, I have intimacy issues. And sexual issues. It is something I constantly have to work on. It goes back; it’s been with me. I’m…I gravitate toward feminine energy and then I can’t…”

Mittra ran his hand through his blonde spikey hair. “Look.”

“I don’t know, Mittra, all I know is I feel bad. I don’t want you to think I’m teasing you. Is that what you thought?” Mermaid said hastily.

“No, no. I mean, well, you certainly have a subtle quality of, just something. But this is my problem and I am sorry it is getting dumped on you,” he said.

“Well, why, why do you act like this?”

“Well. I mean, genetically, when I was in my mother’s womb even, doctors tell me I got too much estrogen. I love women. But I have trouble with my masculinity because of it.”

Mittra rested his head in her lap. Mermaid looked up at the ceiling.

“And pot, is, you know, a very feminine energy. My mom did it too. The fact that my mom also would lay on the couch and smoke the afternoons away while she was angry with my dad, probably didn’t help me either.”

“I guess you should stop doing it.” Mermaid got up and unlocked the front door. Mittra stared at her, defeated.

“Look, I hope this doesn’t make things weird between us,” he said.

Soon, he was gone. That was the last time she had seen Mittra.

***

Back at the small restaurant, Mermaid peered at Mittra and his yoginis. They were all walking toward the table next to Mermaid.

“How are you, Mermaid? I have been trying to - ”

“I know you have. I just - ”

“This is Debra, and this is Lana.” Mittra indicated. “This is Mermaid.”

Mermaid looked up. Where on earth was Karalyn, her friend? She smiled lightly at the yoginis. Lana looked like a foreign space cadet, and Debra, upon closer look, had a taut face with bangs and short light brown hair. She was at least six or seven years older than Mittra. Almost his equal in height, she seemed to cling to Mittra quite tightly.

Maybe Debra was a middle-aged re-inventor of herself, Mermaid pondered, and being with Mittra was like having an affair with her personal trainer.

“Why haven’t you called me back?” Mittra whispered across the aisle.

“I don’t know…everything was just so unclear,” said Mermaid.

“I know it was.” Mittra stared at her. “And I am sorry.”

Mermaid looked down and then noticed he was still staring her way. She couldn’t do this, have this talk with him. Not here, not now, but it was literally on a table in front of her.

“Hey.” He jolted his neck forward a tad. “I am sorry.”

She looked up again at him and furrowed her brow. She sort of believed him. But just as she opened her mouth to say it was okay, Lana poked him to describe things on the menu for her. Mittra totally shifted his energy, becoming, in Mermaid’s mind, once again elusive, detached, and addicted to female attention.

Maybe he just has a lot of female friends.

She wondered if he had played the maternal card on her that day when he rested his head in her lap and revealed his mother woes and attachment to the feminine. Here was this big, tall man, and did he just want his mom?

Furthermore, why did she feel sympathy? What do you mean by that?

Mermaid realized it wasn’t okay to keep ties with him, and that she didn’t even want him. Sure, he was sexy, but clearly, she was not that high on his list, and now, he just wanted to purge the negative feelings surrounding their missed connection. Had he become super-skinny in three months because she was torturing him by not calling him back? Most likely not.

But maybe he was always like this, dramatizing his romantic rejections until they all became one big rejection. That was something they somewhat had in common, so she felt for him.

If I had a quarter for all of my rejections, Mermaid thought.

Karalyn, Mermaid’s friend from Long Island, finally arrived to the restaurant. Mermaid felt she had no choice but to introduce Karalyn to the Mittra tribe.

“Wow, are you a natural redhead?” Mittra immediately commented upon shaking Karalyn’s hand.

Mermaid looked the other way. Karalyn acted aloof, but Mittra found this even more alluring, and continued commenting on her sense of fashion.

***

When Mermaid got home from the restaurant that afternoon, she logged onto Facebook. Karalyn and Mittra had become friends already—with Mitrra most likely being the requester of said friendship. There was also a message in her inbox from Mittra: “Mermaid—Good to see you today. If I haven’t said so already, I am sorry about the confusions between us. But I wish you would just give me a chance…It is just, I feel like I can really open you up sexually. AND, we can catch a movie sometime.”

Perhaps that would have been a possibility if Mermaid was still 18, but she wasn’t. Mermaid shook her head. She clicked Mittra’s profile. In every photo, if he wasn’t wearing a yogic tunic or praying in an ashram with Tibetan monks, then he was standing next to a different yogini at a social event, staring into the camera as if it were the paparazzi, with a mock-devilish gaze and pursed lips.

She clicked further and noticed he even had photos of himself as a child, under which he had commented, “I was good looking, eh?”. He looked like an androgynous teen Calvin Klein model. Mermaid peered into those same little lost boy blue eyes, and for a second, felt a maternal sense of sorrow for him. But then, she realized his past was not her problem. She composed a response to his message: “Look, Mittra, the only thing that is going to open me up sexually more than I already am, is a real relationship with someone I can trust. It doesn’t seem you seek that.”

Mermaid continued to analyze his photos. A few minutes later, there was a response: “I know that you eventually want and deserve that, but in the meantime … … … ; - ) In the meantime …. …. …. ; - ) ”.

Mermaid rolled her eyes. She didn’t need an awakener for the meantime. If pleasure was really so readily at her fingertips, why did overtures like that only make her feel pain? She hastily deleted the thread and logged off the Internet.

***

The next Sunday morning shift at the centre was approaching, and Mermaid still hadn’t confronted Dalia about quitting. Hoping it would just happen without her taking action, Mermaid decided to put it off further and participate in a documentary filming of Freedom Dance, an event where people (mostly from the yoga community) donned loose white clothing and danced to their heart’s ecstasy to live drumming music.

Before the actual dance began, the participants took part in a group circle and prayer. Passing a bamboo stick around the circle as if it were a holy ornament, everyone said a few words about themselves. Mermaid did not yet know what to say for herself.

“State your intention when you catch hold of the bamboo stick,” said the organizer, a woman with a deep voice whose stage name was Shivanandi.

Strangely, Shivanandi bore a slight resemblance to Dalia: she was petite, powerful, and had short hair. Shivanandi’s husband, Julian, was also present. Julian was in charge of the drumming circle to which participants in the Freedom Dance, would move. Shivanandi and Julian were another Duo, Mermaid realized: The Dynamic Dancing Duo.

The bamboo stick was a few people away from Mermaid, and she realized time was running out to formulate her intention. To take on the next phase of her life with power and grace? Too generic. To dance and move things to happen? The woman before her, a full-figured earth-mother type massage therapist, was taking a lot of time explaining her vow, which included taking care of herself and others.

After she finished, the entire group yelled, “AyO!” and hit the ground with their hand. Mermaid could feel the energy in the room pulsating and began to get butterflies in her stomach. The earth-mother gently passed Mermaid the bamboo stick, and Mermaid could feel her face turn red.

“I want…” Mermaid gazed up at the group who seemed to all be on the edge of their seats.

Sensing a familiar energy, Mermaid looked toward the door. David had entered the loft space. Her heart beat increased. How long had he been standing there? He must have been one of the three Shamanic priests Shivanandi had mentioned who would smudge the participants with sage on their foreheads before the dance began.

Terrified, Mermaid looked at him. How was it that she kept finding him? He looked blankly at her. Mermaid turned her head back to the group.

“I want to take the reins!” She said, her voice deep. She was met with twenty-odd smiles.

“AyO!” They shouted. It was an accepting crowd.

After everyone had stated their intentions, they lined up to be smudged. David brushed past her.

“Hello hello,” he said, not looking at her.

Mermaid couldn’t open her mouth to respond. She wondered if she would cross paths with him again on the actual dance floor and how that would go.

The Shamanic Priests were burning so much sage in the nests of several large sea shells that the room became foggy and filled with an intoxicating smoke. As she breathed in the sage, the only thing Mermaid could feel was an intense wave of something she could only call fear. It was her turn to be smudged. As she stood in line, she realized she wasn’t synched up properly to get David. A man named Azir signaled her instead.

As Mermaid sat before him, Indian style, she could hear David sitting behind her, saying a prayer to his smudge-ee. She wished they could trade places. Azir looked like he had been drinking happy juice and was sitting up way too straight for a guy.

“Why don’t you say what you want to manifest today,” said Azir.

“Well, I want to be powerful.”

“Yes, and what will the dance mean for you?”

“I think it will mean motion, letting off steam,” Mermaid said.

“With this blessing I grant you, I inspire you to go forth in motion and power.”

With that, Azir smudged her forehead with sage and tied a blindfold around her head. Mermaid bowed in Namaste to him. Suddenly this all felt quite religious. He helped her up, and Mermaid, guided by the small sense of sight she had through the blindfold, made it to the entrance of the dance room.

The doors to the dance room opened, and the steamy sage began to infiltrate the room. Like a procession, all the participants gathered and walked in together to sporadic drum beats and an occasional bell. Mermaid peeked through her blindfold. From a distance, she saw David through the open doors. He was putting on a hat.

As he zipped up his bag, Mermaid wished in her head, Stay, please stay. But he had only come to smudge.