Closed Indefinitely. That’s the title of the email that popped up on my phone screen at 4:10 AM during my nightshift. It was from my cycling studio. I had to open it immediately, but it revealed no more information than what the title said.
How could they be closed indefinitely? Was there a family emergency? I hope everyone is all right. I have not seen her for almost two months now. I miss our little chats. Maybe it was a short notice trip and they both had to go. Or was there an accident during one of the sessions? Would they shut down for such a thing?
Perhaps it was because there was not enough business? I know the class sizes were small, but I liked it that way. You didn’t have to be close to anyone. I couldn’t recruit any new clients either. I have very few friends and my obsession with indoor cycling has not rubbed off. I didn’t mind being alone in my pursuit. The studio was a calming space. A place of solace. In that dark room, I was my only obstacle and my only concern. Paying the bills or doing a grocery run didn’t matter. It was an hour that I could wholly and selfishly think of me. Pushing myself and finding out what I was capable of. Working out my anger and frustration before I punch someone in the face. Therapy.
What if indefinite means permanent? What then? I still have ride credits. How long do I wait before finding a new studio? Ugh, that means I have to meet new people all over again. I’ll have to pretend that I’m a cheery person and that I don’t want to punch people in the face all the time. I might even be compelled to shave my legs for first impression’s sake. It’s too cold for that shit. Not to mention it’s only been six months since I had two urgent care visits and two rounds of antibiotics after my razor decided it’d rather be a potato peeler halfway through an upstroke.
I’ve combed the website, the app and the Facebook page. There is still no new information. I have to wait. I can only stare at those two words.
What does that mean?