Triton [hs au | completed]

5) We're Going to Be Friends

||Arden||

"We're going to hold this pose while we exhale. Let the stress of the week leave your body with your breath." Devon's calming voice directs. I've been coming to Art and Soul yoga studio every Sunday morning since I moved here. It's almost like a religion for me.

Devon is an amazing teacher without being too "find your inner child" about it. He always puts on music during his classes. Today it's my favorite album, "Some Girls" by The Rolling Stones. Nothing relaxes me like Mick's vocals and Keith's smooth guitars.

"How was your week, Arden?" Devon asks me after class. He's pulling his waist-length dreads back into a ponytail.

"Interesting and somewhat stressful. I needed this today." I answered honestly as I roll up my mat.

"Well, I'm glad I could help." He's always been nice to me and even helped me find me apartment when I first moved here. He excuses himself to talk to another one of his students.

I head out on the two block walk to my apartment. The air is chilly and I wish I'd worn warmer clothes. A text notification comes through my headphones. It's from Mariah.

"Brunch?" is all it says.

"Sure. I'm on my way back to my place. Time and place?" I text back.

"Georgio's at 11?"

"See you then" I know she probably just wants to grill me about Harry, but I haven't made a lot of friends since moving here in July and I'm not in a position to be picky.

I arrive at my building and start climbing the four flights of stairs to my apartment. I'm greeted at the door by a grumpy Jack who is annoyed that he hasn't been fed yet.

"I'm sorry, I was running late this morning." I coo as I pick him up. "Let's get my poor baby some food." I watch him for a few minutes to make sure he eats. I talk to my cat more than any sane person should.

After a quick shower, I walk across my cozy studio to my massive vinyl collection. I survey the overflowing shelves and attempt to pick out something to listen to while I'm getting ready. I finally settle on a Hollies record. It's one of the few things I have left of my mother.

I never got to meet her. She died giving birth to me and my father made sure I knew it every chance he got. All I have left of her is a stack of records and a framed picture. I found both in an old trunk in my father's attic when I was in high school. The picture sets beside my turntable; we have the same red hair. I feel like these records are my only connection to her.

In high school, I would close myself in my room and listen to them over and over while pouring over my homework. As soon as I had spending money I would spend entire afternoons in thrift shops, flea markets and record stores searching for first edition, used records. Records my mother would have chosen for herself; records my mother may have held at some point.

I finish applying my makeup, throw on some jeans, a henley and grab my jacket. I lower the dust cover on my turntable, turn out the lights and take my phone of it's charger.

"Bye Jack. I'll be back soon." I lean down to kiss the top of his head before leaving. Fortunately, Mariah has chosen a place I can walk to, so I won't have to bother with the subway. I put my headphones in and let the Beatles be the soundtrack to my walk.

New York City is a lot more lively than Ithaca, but I am enjoying living here. It was a big adjustment, but I love the independence of living alone in the city that never sleeps. There's always something new to see or do. Even if that something new is a drunk pissing off a stoop. Which is something I see far too often.