Page 97 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

November 24, 2018

“What are we doing,Tommy?”

“Yoga.”

We’re both stretched out on my front porch in a weird downward dog position and I’m not flexible enough for this. I’m not graceful either, and my clumsiness makes me stumble every time we change positions.

“It’s not just good for the body, it also clears the mind,” he explains.

“And why do we want our minds to be clear?”

“Because it feels like I’m doing nothing with my life. I have no purpose. Let’s move into child’s pose.”

I follow his movements, dropping my chest onto my knees. “I thought you liked not having a plan and living life on a whim. Did your mother say something to you?”

We inhale and exhale together. “She said it was a waste of time pushing me out.”

“She’s awful!”

“Don’t get angry. We’re supposed to be finding our Zen?”

“What is that?”

“It’s the G-spot of your soul.”

“You’re so deep, Tom.” We move into an awkward runner’s stretch, lifting one arm toward the sky. I’m not sure if I pulled something funny, but this doesn’t feel right. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I want to do something that makes me happy, but I don’t even know what makes me happy. Have you decided what you want to do after school?”

“Nope.” We switch our legs over and raise the other arm. “I don’t want to go to college, though. Dylan’s mother was asking me about that a few weeks ago and I told her I’m not cut out for that stuff. I lack discipline, so I guess I have to get a job that requires skill, not knowledge. I don’t know, Tom. Sometimes I feel like I’m just going to end up flipping burgers somewhere.”

“Your mom would be so proud, spending all that money on private education just for you to flip burgers. Maybe become a prostitute. That’s a job that requires skills, which you have, by the way, but at least it pays more.”

“A prostitute? That would make my mom super proud.” We move onto our backs, pointing our toes and reaching our arms above our heads.

“What if we never amount to anything?” He rolls his head to the left to look at me. “What if I wake up one morning and I’m forty in a dead-end job with a huge belly, and all I do for fun on a Saturday is sit in my boxers and drink beer.”

“We’re best friends for life now, Tom, and trust me, I won’t let that happen to you. Your huge belly will be from caramel vodka, not beer.” My body still seems to be rejecting yoga as we flip onto our stomachs and push our arms straight to stretch the torso. “Okay, let’s make a pact. From now until we find our dream job, we will dabble in everything. We’ll give each job a try, get experience in a wide variety of industries, and if we don’t love it in six months, we leave.”

“That won’t look great on a resume. We’ll look unreliable, or they’ll think we kept getting fired.”

I groan because he’s right. “You know what? Life is a journey, and it’s okay to not have a map, and it’s okay to lose your way now and then. The key thing is to enjoy the bumpy ride, so let’s just have no plan and see where the wind takes us.”

“Yeah!”

I roll my eyes before looking at him. “That’s exactly what we’re doing now, Tom, so we didn’t need to do yoga to figure that out.”

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