By Mickey Friedman
July 20, 2015
It finally happened. That dreaded knock on the door. Right in the middle of SportsCenter.
Ever get the feeling that you just shouldn’t answer? I won’t tell you what I muttered but I managed to find the mute button on my remote and stumbled downstairs. And opened my door a crack.
“Mr. Friedman?”
“Uh …” I croaked.
“Mr. Mickey Friedman?”
“Yeah, but this hasn’t been a very good year for me. I only managed to sell 40 copies of my mystery novel … And so as much as I’d like to help you and your charity, maybe next year …”
“Mr. Friedman, I’m Lieutenant Namaste Newman and this is Second-Class Trainee, Journey.”
I could only see Namaste so I opened the door just a bit more to locate Journey. Her deep blue eyes avoiding mine, modestly wearing her Second-Class Trainee rainbow shawl. Both holding laminated shields.
“We’re from the Yoga Police. Now before you panic or call your attorney or yell to your downstairs neighbors, we want to assure you this is merely a social call. We always prefer conversation to confinement.”
Which believe me was a great relief. I don’t often talk about it but I’ve done time on the Coast. And even for a minor offense like forgetting your mantra, doing 60 days in a minimum security place like San Solitude is no picnic. I can still remember the determined glint in the eyes of the guards who Om-ed me every hour on the hour. I see them every single night: Shakti, Ganesh, and Sparkle.
And the twice a day mung beans on stone-ground spelt.
“Mr. Friedman, are you still with us?”
The truth was, I wasn’t. Still back there in the Free State of Santa Monica, Judge Patchouli O’Patrick, tilting her head up from her downward dog to deliver my sentence.
Anyway, I shook off the memories and summoned every ounce of politeness I could muster.
“Well, how can I help you?”
“It’s come to our attention that you’re misusing your yoga mat.”
“Excuse me?”
“You do have a yoga mat, don’t you, Mr. Friedman? Purple. Purchased in 2010.”
“Yeah … but only because there was this yoga instructor, Spring Break. You know how you see someone ordering Chai tea at Fuel Coffee Shop and all of a sudden you find yourself imagining a new life. The two of you sharing Tuna Tuesday at Taft Farms or Sunday brunch at Pleasant and Main. Maybe there’s other people but you don’t see them. It’s just the two of you staring at the menu, knowing at exactly the same moment that you want some eggs over easy. Two minds; one thought. And you say to yourself, this is the one I’ve been waiting for. So I immediately got myself a yoga mat. And some DVDs of Prana-Mama Breeze, her yoga guide.
“And I rushed home, spread out my mat, and plopped the DVD in my DVD player. And proceeded to wrench my back. Pain, pain, pain. Somehow easing myself down the stairs and twisting myself behind the wheel and driving to the emergency room. Waiting patiently when who comes in but Spring Break and she’s got a paper bag, and I’m thinking how considerate and kind of amazing that she’s on the same wavelength, knowing I’m hurt and I’m here. When just then tall, dark, and handsome Doctor Emmanuel Botstein comes out and I’m thinking finally someone to fix my back. But he moves past me and scoops Spring Break up and into his arms. And she says: ‘I’ve brought you your mung beans, Lovey-Poo, just the way you adore them, on stone-ground spelt.'”
“And I watched a series of ‘love you sweeties’ and more ‘sweeties’ and kisses galore. And before you know it tall, dark, and handsome Doctor Emmanuel Botstein heads back to his office and Spring Break waves a cursory wave goodbye and my back hurts more than ever.
“So the answer is yes, I have a yoga mat!”
“And so you’re now doing your daily yoga?”
“Uh not exactly …”
“And so what exactly would you be doing when you should be doing yoga?
You ever get that sinking feeling you’re completely screwed? That you don’t have what it takes to sell the lie? And you know the truth will make things worse? So I whispered: “Lying on my mat watching TV.”
“You did just say ‘TV,’ didn’t you, Mr. Friedman?”
“Uh yeah .. I guess I did.”
“And if I asked you to tell me the difference between Hatha and Vinyasha?”
“Well I’d tell you that Karen Allen was just terrific on ‘Blue Bloods.’ So convincing she made me cry.”
“Mr. Friedman, would you come with us.”
“I thought you preferred conversation to confinement.”
Then Journey tased me. And I woke up behind bars serving six months in I Ching-Ching.
Every bad journey starts with a single tase.
___________________
This column first appeared in The Berkshire Record newspaper on July 10, 2015.
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