Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair Page A

teacher.”
    â€œYoga, I’ve wanted to learn yoga for a long time.”
    â€œKate’s pretty good. She’s taught me some stuff.”
    â€œCould you show me?” I was surprised that I felt comfortable enough to suggest that we do something that might require us to leave the kitchen. But I’d been curious about yoga ever since I’d heard about it, back when I was in high school. I was feeling mellow from the wine, and I was comfortable in Traci’s company. I doubted that she would come out of a bag that I couldn’t handle.
    â€œSure, why don’t we go into my room and sit on the rug. I’ll put on some Joan Armatrading and show you a few postures, OK?”
    â€œWho’s Joan Armatrading?”
    â€œA dynamite West Indian sistah from England. You’ll love her.”
    I followed Traci down the long hallway into her room.
    Traci turned on the box and disappeared into the closet. She reappeared wearing drawstring pants and a T-shirt. She hit the lights and played with the dimmer switch.
    â€œThat’s good,” I said when the room was not too dark, but not too light.
    We sat down on the blue and turquoise braided rug in front of the empty fireplace listening to Joan’s deep, rich, jazzy voice. The sole of my right foot was resting on the inside of my left thigh as Traci had instructed. I glanced around her crowded room in the soft light. I admired the large Boston fern that hung in front of the middle window. A poster that read “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle” made me chuckle. The furniture was mostly crates, cinder blocks, and pieces of plywood, except for a foam mattress and rocking chair.
    â€œJust a little more,” Traci said, gently pressing my right knee toward the floor.
    â€œWhoa, I don’t know if I’m in shape for this.”
    â€œJust go with the flow. You’re doing pretty well, although you really shouldn’t exercise in these tight pants.”
    â€œI guess it would be a little easier without them,” I agreed.
    â€œTake them off, then.”
    The thought of sitting around in my panties with somebody that I barely knew was a little strange. But like I said, I was feeling kind of mellow after the wine. Besides, what was there to be afraid of? And I was wearing my good panties. So, I unzipped my pants and pulled them off. Traci took them and threw them over the bentwood rocking chair.
    â€œCool, now let’s try the other side.” Traci knelt in front of me and began pressing my left knee toward the floor.
    â€œGood, all right, now sit cross-legged and let’s try both knees.”
    â€œAre you sure I’ll ever be able to walk again?”
    Traci ignored my concern and squatted in front of me and started pressing my knees down.
    â€œMmmmmm, mmmmm,” she giggled.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” I asked.
    â€œNothing,” Traci said, but she continued laughing at me.
    I straightened my legs out. “Why are you laughing then?”
    Traci sat back on the rug and sighed. “It’s not something I can tell you.”
    â€œWhy not? I want to know.” Maybe she was laughing because I was in lousy shape, I thought. What kind of a hostess was she, making fun of somebody? Traci knew I’d never done yoga before.
    I frowned. “It’s not polite to laugh at somebody and then not tell them why.”
    â€œStevie, I wasn’t laughing at you.”
    â€œTraci, I’m the only person here. We’ve already established that.”
    â€œLook, Stevie, I’m just a little high. You know things are funnier when you’re high.”
    â€œYeah, but what was funny in the first place?” I asked. I was beginning to feel paranoid, even though I hadn’t smoked any of the joint.
    â€œAll right, Stevie, I was laughing because,” Traci giggled and covered her mouth.
    â€œTell me,” I demanded, feeling more and more irritated by the